In the Beginning: Mars Origin "I" Series Book I

Copyright © 2012 Shondra C. Longino

All Rights
Reserved.

This eBook is
intended for personal use only, and may not be reproduced, transmitted, or
redistributed in any way without the express written consent of the author.

In the Beginning
is a work
of fiction.
Any
references or similarities to actual events, organizations, real people -
living, or dead, or to real locales are intended to give the novel a sense of
reality.  All other events and characters portrayed are a product of the
author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

ISBN: 
09895463-1-4

ISBN: 
978-0-9895463-1-7

Library of
Congress Cataloguing Data

2013942619

For more, visit my
website:
www.abbylvandiver.com

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Cover Design by
Shondra C. Longino

To My Beloved
Mother,

Leslie Vandiver

1914-1998

Here, you will
live forever.

 I love you.

An excerpt from
Manuscript #109, 1 of 4, Cave. 4

It was a world without interference.
Efficiency universally governed. Symbiosis gravitated toward reason. There was
no conflict, but peace. We created Paradise. We ourselves created Eden.

It was an experiment, one of a multitude
set to prove our superiority. But for whom did we need to produce such
evidence? Perhaps that is why we are destined to die. In our dubious need, our
contrivances instigated our own destruction.

God Help Us.

It happened only by accident.

But how could that matter now? It was
done.

We had, in arrogance, destroyed our place
among the stars. And to continue, we needed a place to wait for God to redeem
us. To come again and make us whole. The irony of it now as we look to Him.

But where else could mankind find his
hope? We shall wait for Him there. The place where we once ruled as gods. Where
we now will be forced to remember our place.

What was once, shall be again. It shall be
as “In the beginning . . .”

Israel

October
22, 1949

The Editor-in-Chief sat behind his desk.
His hands trembled as he closed the notebook. He took off his glasses slowly,
trying to conceal his unsteadiness, but the involuntary shaking of his leg gave
away his uneasiness. A fear that chilled his blood had welled up inside him
each time he turned a page. And by the time he’d read the last page of the
notebook that fear was edging on anger. 

He placed his glasses on the top of the
worn leather notebook and pushed it and the manuscripts to one side. Using a
handkerchief he retrieved from his pants pocket, he wiped beads of sweat from
his balding head. He studied the man that paced before him. This man had
not stood still the entire time he had been reading the translation. Now, he
knew why.

It rained fast and hard outside the window
adjacent to his desk. The drops of rain hitting against the window pooled along
the edges of each pane of glass. An awkward silence lingered as he tried to
compose himself, the only sound coming from his old wooden chair, which
squeaked with each movement of his leg.

The metal lamp sitting on the desk dimly
lit the room, casting distorted shadows. But the periodic lightning showed
glimpses, sharp and clear, of the man pacing before him.

The Editor-in-Chief turned his gaze to the
window and stared out into the darkness. He tried to calm himself. After a long
while, he blinked and blew out a deep sigh. He checked the time on his watch.
It was late, after seven thirty, and it was the Sabbath.  He should have
left more than two hours ago. Even his wife had urged him not to leave home.

“It’s not a day for work,” she had said.
“And, there’s going to be a thunderstorm.”
For a short time only
, he had
reassured himself,
just to check on things
. And then he had discovered
this little man waiting for him. Glancing back out the window, he wished now he
hadn’t come in.

Finally he spoke.

“Well, this is interesting,” he said,
looking over at the man, his calm voice masking the rapid beat of his heart.

“I know. That’s why I asked you to look at
it.” The man’s voice was strained. His slow, nervous pace exacerbated his
slumping posture and his gestures showed desperation, agitation - hesitation.
His face had become a grayish ash which matched his rumpled suit.  He stopped.
Standing in the middle of the floor, his eyes darted from the notebook on the
desk, to his perspiring hands, to the floor, never meeting the eyes of the man
behind the desk. He slid his tongue over his dry lips and rubbed his hands
together.

“So, Dr. Sabir,” the Editor-in-Chief cocked
his head and peered at him out the side of his eyes, “what have you to say?
What conclusions have you drawn from your translation of these manuscripts?”

“I don’t know if I should say . . . If I
can say,” he answered.

Anger reached up from the Editor-in-Chief’s
belly and almost choked him. Slamming his hand on the desk he stood up, walked
over to Dr. Sabir and pushed his face close into his, his voice escalating. 

“Well, Doctor, if you can’t say anything,
or think you shouldn’t say anything, why did you bring this to me?” He glared
at the man.

“Who could have written this? What is it?”
he continued. “This isn’t anything like what was found in any of the scrolls or
manuscripts from the other caves.” His face was red, his brown eyes appeared
black, and droplets of saliva spewed as he spoke. “This is agnosticism. Are you
to have me believe that this is of our God and His people?” He stood chest to
chest with the man, his fist balled up at his side as he fiercely tried to
muster some restraint.

Dr. Sabir’s usually bright blue eyes were
dull. He lowered them, almost shutting them, and stood very still. The
Editor-in-Chief took in a sharp breath and blew it out into Dr. Sabir’s face.
Breathing in again, he relaxed his fists and after a long moment returned to
his desk and sat down hard in his chair.

Dr. Sabir began to pace again.

The Editor-in-Chief pulled the notebook
over to him, put on his glasses and flipped through its pages.

“Who is this ‘we’ and ‘us’ that are
mentioned throughout?” he said swiping his hand across the page. “Are you
trying to approximate it to the wording in the Book of Genesis? I may be
mistaken, but I thought you said it was the Q, that imaginary document that the
Christians are looking for to substantiate their ludicrous belief in the New
Testament. Is it the Q?” He barely paused for an answer. In a clearly agitated
voice, he asked one question after another, not giving the man a chance to
answer, not that he attempted to.

“There doesn’t seem to be any mention of
their Christ by name or reference. And,” the Editor-in-Chief continued. “With
that in mind, I would find it easier to believe in the existence of the Q than
what you’ve translated.”

“No, there isn’t any mention of Christ,”
Dr. Sabir eked out a barely audible response. “And yes, at first, I thought it
may have been the Q because it was so different, but after the first few verses
were translated, it was plain to see that it was not.” He stumbled over his
words and bowed his head. “N-no mention of Christ,” he repeated, “but it is surely
not like anything we have ever known.”

The Editor-in-Chief knew his verbal attack
did not help the good doctor to gather his wits or ease his anxiety. But,
he couldn’t help it. This was beyond belief.

Dr. Amos Sabir, renowned archaeologist,
author, pundit and now the bearer of this revelation. It was understandable
that he looked as he did because announcing this revelation would be
catastrophic.

And with that thought, he yanked off his
glasses and forcibly pushed the documents across the desk.

He knew it, too.

There was no doubt in his mind that what
Dr. Sabir had written in the notebook was what the manuscripts revealed.

He placed his open hands at the center of
his forehead, and dragged them down each side of his face. Yelling at this man
was not going to help. He needed to calm down. But what exactly would help? He
didn’t know. Perhaps he could try to convince Dr. Sabir that they were fake?

Perhaps he should try to convince himself.

“Nothing is unknown, Dr. Sabir,” he said,
finally, calmly. “This appears to be older than any of the earliest manuscripts
found of the New Testament, so that could lead us to believe that it is some
part of the Q. Or, seeing that the manuscripts are even older than the Old
Testament documents we have, perhaps it is a non-canonized book of the Old
Testament,” he said, voice even, as if speaking to a child. “Or,” he took a
deep breath, “perhaps this is a hoax. Perhaps someone has perpetrated a cruel
joke on you and on all of us.”

“I beg to differ. This is not a
joke.” Dr. Sabir said. “I had thought of these things as well, but none of
the other manuscripts suggest what I have divined from these documents. There
isn’t anything in the Bible that has ever suggested anything like this. Nothing
in any history book. Nothing anywhere. And something I had not thought of
previously, in my excitement, I overlooked the simple fact that the Q would not
have been written in any of these languages. It would have been written in
Greek, the language of the New Testament. This is not the Q. This is just what
you think it is.”

“What I think it is? Doctor, what do
you
think this is?” he asked, his eyes piercing, offended by the boldness of his
daring disregard for the sanctity of their endeavors.

“These manuscripts describe the creation
of man on Earth by man himself,” Dr. Sabir answered.

“That would be impossible,” the Chief
Editor said. “Please, Doctor, don’t be absurd.” He rested his elbow on the
desk, and rubbed his brow back and forth with his fingers.

“Perhaps I have stated it wrong,” the
doctor said. “This has really taken a toll on me. I have gone over it again and
again. I know exactly what it is. It is just hard to put it into words, to
actually say it aloud. I’ll start again.” He swallowed hard and spoke slowly,
deliberately. “It is the continuation of our species. It is a narration
detailing the actual beginning of life, rather, of our life, here. This
document suggests a new beginning of man, something that, until now, was not
known or ever imagined.”

“I repeat, Doctor, nothing is unknown,” he
said, his voice escalating again. “There are not any new revelations here.” He
slapped an open palm down on the desk.

Listen to him
, the
Editor-in-Chief thought, taking in a breath to try and quell his anger.
So
pompous - so sure.
Glaring at Dr. Sabir, he felt the anger turn to hate.
He wants fame. To make a name for himself. He doesn’t care about the
consequences. He doesn’t care what would happen to the Dead Sea Scrolls if this
got out
.

He doesn’t care what happens to me,
either,
he
thought
, because if he did he wouldn’t have brought this to me
. 

He looked at Dr. Sabir and squinted his
eyes - taking in a narrow view of this narrow man. He knew what he must do.

“There is nothing unknown,” the
Editor-in-Chief said with finality.

“Why do you keep saying that?” Dr. Sabir
said. “To say ‘nothing is unknown’ is quite arrogant. Do you presume to know
everything that has happened in this world? This was ‘unknown’ until now.” Dr.
Sabir pointed to the manuscripts on the desk. “And, it must be made known to
all now that we have uncovered it.”

“This is only
your
interpretation
of what is in the manuscripts,” the Editor–in-Chief said. “And we surely cannot
tell the world something based only on what you have interpreted it to be.”

“My interpretation?” Dr. Sabir said,
raising an eyebrow. “All my other work has been taken as I have given it. I am
an expert in this field. If I wasn’t, I would not be here. I would not have
been chosen, by you, I may add, to be here as a lead interpreter for the
translation of the Dead Sea Scrolls if I were not qualified. It is as I say.”

 “Everyone trusts my interpretations,” he
continued. “There on your shelves are books I’ve written that you use for
reference.” He waved his hands toward the bookcase. “Are you saying that I now
need someone to corroborate my translations? What I know to be true?”

It didn’t matter now that this man had
found his voice. The Editor-in-chief had stopped listening. He rocked back and
forth in his swivel chair and wrapping his short, stout fingers around his pen,
started tapping it on his desk, purposely exhibiting an unassuming air of
indifference.

“All I am suggesting, Doctor,” he said in
a composed voice so overtly contrived that it was taunting, “is perhaps you
need help in finding out its meaning, its
true
meaning. Your
interpretation is, to say the least, quite incredible.” 

“You can’t garble this. No matter who else
looks at it, it will come out the same.”

No matter who else looks at it?
 The
Editor-in-Chief chuckled at the thought. No one else would ever see this. He
would put an end to it, tonight. First though, he needed to find out who else
knew.

“Well, I’ll keep the notebook and manuscripts
for now, and Monday we’ll figure out how to go about this matter.” He pulled
the documents back over in front of him and folded his hands on top of them.
“But for now, are there any other copies of this?”

 “My interpretation, hmpf,” Dr. Sabir
muttered. Then he lifted his head, straightened out his back and looked
directly into the Editor-in-Chief’s eyes. “No, there aren’t any other copies.”