by M. G. Harris
“Dude, I am a god!” he roars, laughing. “Just watch them try to do that without blowing apart.”
“Did we lose them?”
“Nope. They’re on our six.”
“What?”
“It’s cool. They can’t catch us now. And their weapons are out of range.”
“But they’ll see where we land.”
“Don’t think so.”
I look down to see we’re flying low above the ground again. There are mountains everywhere, sparsely covered by trees. Ahead is the sea, by the second growing larger in the window.
“The Gulf?”
“The Pacific Ocean,” says Benicio. “We’re flying over Chiapas. Tapachula.”
We drop still lower, change direction as we fly over a huge installation underneath. Seconds later, behind us I see the three Mark I’s swing around the same collection of buildings, still following us.
We’re heading straight for a huge, conical volcano. It looms, dominating the entire screen. Benicio takes us so low that we’re practically hugging the terrain. As we fly over the crater, the Muwan swerves suddenly to the left around the cone and then flips up, looping backward. Straight into the jagged opening of the crater, only yards above the rocks. I’m bracing for impact when the rock wall ahead parts and we fly into a wide tunnel.
“We’re in the volcano?”
I hear his smile. “You got it, cuz.”
The tunnel leads vertically through the heart of the extinct volcano, into a huge, empty magma chamber beneath.
And it’s lit. Four powerful arc lights beam like little suns, lighting up the vast space. It’s at least the size of the chamber of Ek Naab. Benicio skims the Muwan around the perimeter at a sedate pace. At intervals the walls of the chamber give way to plunging tunnels that lead who knows where, their lights disappearing into the far distance. Eventually Benicio finds what he’s looking for and turns into one of these tunnels.
We fly along in silence for a few seconds. I’m so astounded that I can’t think of anything but dumb questions. I’ve just about had enough of being the wide-eyed kid around Benicio, and I’m beginning to wish I were the one yelling Dude—I am a god!After all, I brought the codex back …
So, I wait for him to speak. Which, of course, he eventually does.
“Pretty cool, no?”
“Oh yeah.”
The tunnel emerges on a mountainside miles away. The Muwan bursts free of the rock and into the cool air of a misty early dawn. We fly out, low, coasting under the lip of a small canyon with a river at the bottom. After a few miles of following the river, Benicio changes direction. We jump out of the canyon, back over fields and hills. Then we’re over the jungle, heading straight for the blue line on the horizon—the Caribbean Sea. Twenty minutes later the craft slows to a complete stop, hovers and lowers onto a deserted beach.
So—Chetumal again.
I can hardly believe this is happening: I’m back, with the Ix Codex. And I did it all by myself. Well, practically.
BLOG ENTRY: VIGORES AND ME
It was about five in the morning. Still gloomy; the sun was still over the horizon. I walked with Benicio through the deserted streets of Chetumal, to the banks of a river. Benicio pointed and I saw right away what he wanted me to do.
“There he is,” he said. “He’s waiting for you.”
I stared at the figure sitting on the bench by the river. Blanco Vigores, dressed in a loose-fitting, cream-colored linen suit and a panama hat. He hadn’t heard us approach, or if he had, he was ignoring us. It looked like he was deep in thought. Or something.
Not exactly what I was expecting, to be honest. For some reason, I’d assumed that Carlos Montoyo would be the one to greet me. But no. I guess this codex business—it’s between us Bakabs.
Benicio left me with the old guy, and even left his own gas mask, because we both noticed that Vigores hadn’t brought his own. Forgetful, Benicio said, tutting. Benicio went back to the Muwan, I guess. To wait.
When he’d gone, I walked over to the bench. Vigores didn’t move, even when I was right there. I cleared my throat. “It’s me, sir. Josh.”
He looked up slowly. It struck me then how lonely he looked.
“Hello again, young Josh.”
“I’ve got the codex,” I said, a bit pointlessly.
He smiled. “I know.”
“You need the gas mask.”
Vigores just patted the empty space on the bench beside him. “Sit at the end of the bench. I’ll be fine.”
So there we sat in silence for a few seconds. Me, nervous about the deadly poison gas that was released from the codex every time something nudged its case. Vigores, sitting there as calm as could be.
He asked about my mother, which threw me completely. “Um … better than she was. She got my friends out of jail. So, that was good.”
He nodded. “Will she let you come to live with us in Ek Naab?”
I shrugged. “Would she have to come too?”
“Of course.”
“I can’t see that happening.”
“Why not?”
“’Cause she has a life. Even without my dad, she’s got her friends and her job.”
And she’s not going to fit in at Ek Naab, I wanted to say. Nor me. But it might have sounded rude.
“Josh, it may not be safe for you in Oxford now. Simon Madison knows about you. He knows what you are. What he knows, they will know.”
“But he knows that I’ve already found the codex. He’ll work out pretty quick that it’s gone back to Ek Naab.”
“Even so, the knowledge you have is dangerous. To you, Josh. And to anyone you choose to tell.”
I guessed he was talking about Tyler and Ollie. So I made a decision. “I won’t tell. Not my friends, not my mom. I’ll be like a vault.”
The old man turned to me, but this time his eyes didn’t meet mine. “You still have the phone we gave you. Use it to call us whenever you are in danger. Or even if you just suspect.”
I waited for him to say something else, but that seemed to be it.
“So … now what?”
“You can go back to your friends in the hotel.”
“That’s it?”
Mildly, he replied, “What did you expect? A hero’s welcome?”
Well, yeah, actually … why not?
Chapter 44
What Blanco Vigores tells me is way too secret to blog.
I swallow. “Some answers would be good.”
Vigores nods, leans on his stick, and gazes into the river. “Go ahead.”
“Well … I want to know about the codex, of course! Can I see it?”
He doesn’t take his eyes off the river. “You want to see it? Very well. Open the codex casing by holding both sides at once, locate the dimple studs with your fingers, press them in, and hold for ten seconds.”
I do as he says. The dimple studs are tiny depressions on the left and right sides of the box, inside which are tiny hidden buttons. These yield only to hard pressure, enough to mark my fingertips after holding them in for ten seconds. Nothing happens until the tenth second. Then I hear a hissing sound, like a vacuum being released. Around the edges of the top of the case, a crease appears. Until then, the volume looked impossible to open. I run my fingers along the crease and dig a fingernail underneath. The hissing sound grows louder for a second. Then there’s a final little pop. The lid springs open.
Inside there’s a pile of thick parchment pages, tanned with age, folded concertina-fashion, just like Mayan codices I’ve seen in museums. The hieroglyphs are rendered in faded colors. The pages are thick, densely covered with glyphic writing.
“Pick it up,” Vigores says with pride. “Your ancestors’ work.”
“Itzamna wrote this?”
“Not this actual codex. You’ll see no codex this old—almost fifteen hundred years! It’s almost a shame to destroy it, but destroy it we must.”
“What?” I can barely hide my indignation. After everyth
ing I’ve been through to bring it back?
“You misunderstand. Parchment doesn’t preserve well; even in a hermetic environment like this case, its days are numbered. Therefore, a Bakab must make a faithful transcription at least every fifty years. Only when the reproduction has been passed as a faithful and authentic transcription by the other three Bakabs do we destroy the former version.”
“Why?”
“Such was Itzamna’s instruction.”
“But why? You could copy it, scan it, distribute it—”
Vigores interrupts gently, “This knowledge isn’t for general consumption, Josh.”
“You want to keep all this knowledge to yourselves?” I ask. “You think that’s right?”
Vigores says, “So have we been instructed.”
“That’s what Madison has against you all, you know.”
Vigores just nods calmly.
“That’s what he said. ‘We’re gonna do what the conquista should have done. We’re gonna finish off Ek Naab.’ Something along those lines.”
“The information in the Ix Codex will lead to a powerful technology. Perhaps the most powerful yet—the technology to counteract the electromagnetic pulse of the superwave. That power mustn’t fall into the wrong hands, Josh.”
“But how will it do that?”
“Well,” he says with a bashful grin, “we haven’t read the codex yet. We need to transcribe, then decipher it. Now”—he taps the space beside us with his white stick—“seal the case again. The sea air is highly damaging to parchment.”
I take a final glance at the parchment pages. It’s incredible to think they can hold such a secret. And to anyone but the people in Ek Naab, the writing is total gobbledygook. Written in a code, using Mayan glyphs. Then I close the codex case and return it to the sisal backpack, safely at the other end of the bench.
“But this amazing power … it’s safe in your hands?”
“We’re not interested in world domination, Josh. We’re guardians of an ancient secret, something that will preserve civilization on the planet. Every member of Ek Naab’s community is dedicated to that end.”
“And what happens after 2012?”
Vigores sighs. “Well, that’s another matter.”
“So it could be that everything Itzamna did was to save civilization from the 2012 thing?”
“Yes.”
“And after 2012, you’re free. Ek Naab will have this amazing technology. What will they do with it?”
Vigores looks thoughtful. “By then you’ll be part of the Executive. You can shape the destiny of Ek Naab. In fact, young Josh, I’m sure that you will. As for the technology being safe in our hands, the alternative is rather more dangerous. Josh, if we don’t develop this technology, at the end of 2012, the world will be propelled back into the nineteenth century, with the population problems of the twenty-first. Oh, without computers there won’t be any machinery of war. But as we’ve seen, if people want to kill each other badly enough, they’ll use knives, axes, clubs. And millions can die.”
I struggle to grasp the implications of the vast responsibility they’ve suddenly burdened me with. If I choose to help them, to follow the destiny that’s been laid out for me, I might save civilization, sure—while equipping Ek Naab with the kind of power that would corrupt anyone. If I don’t, then I can join the club of “people who destroyed civilization.”
“You hesitate only because you don’t believe in your heart that a civilization can end,” Vigores remarks. “You’ve lived your whole life in a thriving civilization that can see its direct, unbroken origins in the Middle Ages. But remember for one minute what you’ve seen of fallen empires—the ancient Greeks, Romans. Of us, here in Mexico. Just as you’ve walked in the ruined streets of our Mayan cities, don’t imagine that one day people won’t stroll through the ruins of Manhattan, or London. This has happened to every other civilization on the planet so far. It will happen again. We all exist in the shadow of tomorrow.”
“What will you do with the codex now?”
“I’ll take it back to Ek Naab and we’ll begin the transcription. A pilot will pick me up shortly.”
“Not Benicio?”
“Benicio has other orders. You should go to him now. Say your good-byes.”
I stare at Vigores again. I feel as though I’m missing something here. Like there’s something between us, something unsaid. He seems sad and resigned and I don’t understand why.
All I can manage to say is, “So, you and me. Think we’ll ever meet again?”
He nods. “I’m sure of it. But not for a while. I suspect you’ll grow up a great deal before we do.”
“Well … yeah, of course. I’m not a little kid anymore.”
Almost wistfully, he replies, “That’s true. I wish it didn’t have to happen so quickly. But there it is. Things are what they are.”
His manner suddenly changes. “Now go. Benicio will be waiting for you.”
“Don’t forget the gas mask,” I say. Vigores nods absent-mindedly. I’m worried that he hasn’t heard me, so I push the gas mask into his hands. I picture the codex being received in Ek Naab. By a bunch of Mayans wearing full-on protective clothing, I’d guess.
Still staring into the water, Vigores tells me, “Josh, you’ve made us prouder than you can know.”
I don’t know what to say other than, “Thanks.”
“Good-bye, young Josh.”
“Good-bye,” I tell him, standing up, trying to think of something else to say. “I’ll keep in touch.”
And then his face turns up, looks in my direction. “One more thing, Josh. The storm.”
“Yeah, it hit-big time,” I say. “In Catemaco.”
Vigores shakes his head. “No,” he replies. “It’s yet to come.”
“Uh … okay,” I say. Why is he telling me about a storm? “I’ll warn Benicio …”
Vigores just looks right past me as I walk away. Well, I guess he is blind. I leave him sitting on the riverbank and catch up with Benicio in front of Hotel Delfin.
Benicio turns to me, arms outstretched. “Give me a hug, cousin. This is good-bye.”
“So you’re not going back to Ek Naab?”
“Not me, not right now. I’ve got something else to do.”
I hover, curious. “Yeah, Vigores said. What’s up?”
When he answers, Benicio seems almost reluctant to speak. “Well, it’s about Ixchel. She didn’t come back yet, which is kind of strange. We’ve lost touch with her.”
“She’s done this before?”
Benicio looks glum. “Uh-huh.”
“She keeps running away from home?”
“Well … she is kinda angry with the decision of the atanzahab.”
“The matchmaker?”
Suddenly it all makes sense. The arranged marriages for the Bakabs. The sudden appearance in her life of the last guy in the world she wanted to see.
“It’s me, isn’t it?” I say slowly. “She’s supposed to marry me. And she doesn’t want to.”
Benicio says nothing, flashing me a look that’s somewhere between sympathy and annoyance.
It’s nothing personal, Ixchel had said. A matter of principle.
Now it’s pretty clear—those words were really intended for me. I don’t want an arranged marriage either. Well, of course not. But I don’t much like the feeling I’m getting right now.
“She ‘usually comes back,’” I say. “But now that she’s actually met me, she’s gone for good?”
“It’s not personal,” murmurs Benicio.
“Why are you going? Shouldn’t it be me?”
“You?” Benicio laughs. “You’re a kid! You don’t know your way around Mexico.”
Angrily, I say, “I did okay. Found the codex, didn’t I?”
“Hey, you already knew where it was. Montoyo told us about your dream. That’s why I let you go.”
I’m stunned. “You … let me go?”
“I saw what happened on the beach with
Madison, saw your friends rescue you.”
I stare at him, dumbstruck.
Benicio continues. “I saw you leave your friends at the gas station. So I called to Carlos. And he ordered me not to pick you up. To let you wander. You had a journey to complete, Josh. You carried the location of the codex in your subconscious.”
“You let me go …?” I repeat, reeling.
“I lost you in Acayucan,” he comments. “Looked for you in the bus station. Guess you didn’t get off the bus.”
“You were tailing me?”
“On a motorcycle. We carry one in the belly of the Muwan.”
“A Harley?”
“Yeah.”
I stare at him. “I saw you.”
“When I lost you,” Benicio says, “I went back to the Muwan, back to Ek Naab.”
“Good thing for me I got that cell phone working.”
“They can survive almost anything, those phones.”
I’m silent, chewing my lip. It’s tough to deal with the fact that the Mayans were prepared to leave me in situations of potential violence, of real danger.
Benicio touches my arm. “We didn’t hang you out to dry, Josh.”
He looks uncomfortable, though. Like he’s itching to leave. He pats my back again. “We’ll see each other again, I’m sure.”
Will we? But when? Now that they’ve got their precious codex, seems to me that the Mayans of Ek Naab are only too eager to get back to business.
“Oh, I almost forgot,” Benicio says. “Carlos sent you something.” He hands me a pen-sized syringe. “For when the NRO talk to you. Which they will want to do, and soon. This will make it possible not to give away the secrets of Ek Naab.”
“The amnesia juice? Oh … now I get it. You want me to forget everything?”
“Don’t worry!” Benicio laughs. “This just works to suppress your nervous system. A tranquilizer. You’ll be as cool as a cucumber for several hours. Even a polygraph test won’t crack this.”
I look at the syringe. “The NRO …? What should I tell them?”
“Just tell them what they want to hear.”
“Which is …?”
Benicio shrugs. “Hey, who better than you to invent something, Blog Boy? Just tell them what they already believe.”