by Alten-Steve
Lilith directed her light at the source.
Bats. Tens of thousands of them.
‘They won’t harm us,’ Don Rafelo assured her.
And so she continued on, her scalp tingling from the moist bat droppings, her insides repulsed by the ammonia-like stench.
For two hundred yards she followed a terrain last visited by men more than eleven centuries earlier. Eventually she came to the mouth of the pit, the thirty-foot-wide hole’s depths disappearing into darkness.
Long ago, ancient cave dwellers had fastened a bamboo ladder to the hole’s near-vertical walls. As Lilith looked down, the face of the walls seemed to sparkle in her light, the limestone underworld transformed into quartz crystal.
Cool waves of air rushed up from the hole, chilling her face.
‘Uncle … I’m scared.’
‘Holes in the earth cannot harm you. Once your true father embraces you, as he embraced me, nothing will ever scare you again. You will know yourself intimately and see the universe in ways you never dreamed.’
‘Our Fallen Angel will speak to me?’
‘Yes. You will feel his presence as he slips inside your mind, you will register the reverberations of his power as he touches your soul, imparting his wisdom, guiding you as he has guided me.’
‘Lead me to him. I need to feel his love.’
Gripping the handle of the lantern in her teeth, she climbed down the ladder, her mentor following her into the heavy blackness.
Sixty feet down … Seventy.
Lilith stumbled as the ground suddenly reappeared without warning.
She was at the bottom of the pit, standing in the rubble from an ancient human sacrifice. Splintered bones crackled beneath her feet. Human skulls and their twisted vertebrae lay entwined by the remnants of jade jewelry and the remains of sacrificial cloths.
A thousand years ago the pit had been a freshwater cenote. The water had eventually drained, exposing the decayed flesh to the rats.
She turned to Don Rafelo. ‘Who were these people?’
‘Followers of the cult of Tezcatilpoca. See? His spirit points the way.’
Lilith’s light revealed a narrow passage—a drain for the cenote’s waters. Gathering her strength, she continued onward.
A tricky forty-minute descent through the winding tunnel led into another chamber, this one as vast as an indoor sports arena, its curved walls reflecting surface waters of a subterranean lake.
Don Rafelo pointed. ‘The fifth level. You have arrived.’
‘Uncle, the walls—why do they sparkle?’
‘This entire chamber is composed of quartz crystal. Crystal is a living organism, possessing trapped electrical energy. The walls sparkle with their knowledge.’
She followed him to the edge of the underground lake, its freshwater surface as clear as glass, the saline layer along the bottom enshrouded in mist.
‘The sacred cenote’s hidden waters,’ Don Rafelo said. ‘We are not far from the sea. Remove your clothing, it is time for your Baptism.’
Lilith stripped naked. Shivering from the cold, she stepped into the lake and sank, misjudging the translucent layer of mist separating fresh water from saline for the bottom.
She surfaced, coughing. ‘It’s freezing!’
‘Swim out toward the center. You’ll find a flat rock you can stand upon.’
Lilith swam into the darkness, her wheezing breaths mixing with the crisp sounds of splashing water echoing throughout the cavern. Reaching the midway point, her hands groped unseen rock and she pulled herself atop the slippery limestone rise, her teeth chattering, her head suddenly buzzing with electricity.
Surrounded by darkness and rock, Lilith waited, glancing back toward the lantern-backlit shoreline for guidance.
Don Rafelo’s long shadow danced in the eerie light as he chanted, ‘King of the Fallen, Commander of Hell, I have brought you your wife, Lilith, the Demon Queen, who presides over all Succubi, so that she may preside over your children, in this world—and beyond!’
In her dementia she saw fire ignite along the shoreline, the flames accompanied by a coven of Satanic worshipers, naked, save for their goat masks. ‘Hail the rebirth of the Succubus. Hail Lilith, Demon Queen!’
‘Speak to your master, Lilith. Beckon him to take you.’
‘Fallen Angel … it is I, your mistress, descendant of the Dragon Queen of Creation, summoning you from the fires of Hell. Reveal yourself to me, let me taste your existence. Guide me, so that one day, a child of mine might pry open the gates of Gehenna and release thee!’
The human brain functions by transmitting electrical signals from one nerve cell to another. These electrostatic brain waves have rhythms that can be segregated into four distinct ranges.
Beta waves, occurring at 13–40 cycles per second, are the most rapid and dominant of the four states, most often associated with anxiety, alertness, and concentration. As we become more relaxed, the brain shifts to alpha waves. Lower in frequency, (8–13 Hz) they are most closely connected with the first stages of meditation.
When calmness and relaxation deepen into drowsiness, the brain shifts to the slower (4–8 Hz) rhythm of theta waves. The theta wave state is associated with childhood memories, sudden insight, and creativity. It is also the state the brain enters during bouts of clairvoyance and prophetic visions, as well as lucid dreams and fantasies.
The slowest stage—delta waves—take over when we are asleep or unconscious.
Electromagnetic waves are always present in the atmosphere. Earth’s standing wave resonance averages 7.8 Hz. Electrostatic deviations, such as overhead power lines, can expose the brain to frequencies exceeding 60 Hz. Long-term exposure to such strong fields can lead to biophysical health problems originating at the subcellular level.
An intense electrostatic field was present in the Mexican cave, the deviation originating from the remains of the object that had struck the seafloor of the Gulf of Mexico 65 million years earlier. Unbeknownst to Lilith, her loud, reverberating chants had disturbed stored electrical energy from within the chamber’s quartz crystal walls, amplifying its electrostatic intensity. The effect scrambled the electrical impulses in Lilith’s brain, altering her theta wave state.
As she bellowed in the subterranean darkness, Lilith’s brain waves suddenly dropped below 6 Hz. Electricity crackled in her ears. Acid rose in her belly, smoldering in her nostrils like fumes from a funeral pyre.
Against this backdrop, she imagined a voice whispering into her mind:
I am all that you are. I am all that you shall be. Together we shall destroy our enemies and dethrone the tyrannical Yahweh.
‘Instruct me … Father.’
An icy presence caused her to open her eyes. In her schizophrenic delirium, she saw a mud brown mist envelop her, dwarfing her as it took shape.
Crimson red eyes.
Demonic ears, tapered back like a bat.
A muscular four-limbed torso, its bulk gyrating around her within the haze.
The devilish beast seemed to be inhaling her scent, its cold tongue lashing out to taste her flesh.
Delta waves took over, tugging Lilith toward unconsciousness as the demon’s rancid breath exhaled excrement into her feverish dementia.
I will guide you, Lilith.
I will lead you to Xibalba …
26
The Space Shuttle is the most effective device known
for destroying dollar bills.
—CONGRESSMAN DANA ROHRABACHER
NOVEMBER 22, 2033: UNIVERSITY OF MIAMI MAIN
CAMPUS, CORAL GABLES, FLORIDA
8:56 a.m.
The black stretch limousine is waiting for him outside the practice facility.
Samuel Agler takes a quick look around. Seeing no members of the media, he tosses his bag over his shoulder and jogs across the street, climbing in the backseat of the vehicle—
—failing to notice the maroon Chevy Corvette L-9 coupe parked at the end of the block.
; Lauren Beckmeyer is in the cockpit of the slick roadster, watching as the limousine pulls into traffic. ‘Family emergency, my ass. Let’s see where you’re really going … and with whom!’
She activates the power switch, sending the sports car’s massive hydrogen fuel cells growling to life.
‘So, where are we headed?’ Sam glances at his mother, who is wearing a loose-fitting cream-colored bodysuit, made of the latest breathable fabric.
‘Cape Canaveral.’
‘GOLDEN FLEECE?’ A chill races down his spine. ‘Is this really necessary?’
‘For security purposes, yes.’
Up front, Mitchell Kurtz finishes programming the limo’s onboard navigation system, then adjusts his seat to a reclined position and closes his eyes. Ryan Beck is in the passenger seat beside him, engrossed in a game of Situational Combat Training—Level 4.
Kurtz opens his eyes. ‘Hey, Pep, I need my beauty sleep.’
‘Nag, nag.’ Without missing a beat, Beck reaches out a muscular arm, activating a soundproof barrier that sections off the front cab of the limo.
Like all cars approved for America’s new supersmart highways, the limousine is equipped with an autodriver, part of a ‘telematics program’ featuring navigational sensors embedded in the roadway, linked through Global Positioning Satellites. Designed and approved in 2017, with the first million miles on-line by 2019, America’s new computerized highways regulate traffic patterns and speeds, prevent accidents, and reduce crime rates by giving law enforcement officials the ability to override any suspect or stolen vehicle traveling on their interstate. With infants being tagged at birth with microchips, kidnapping became a thing of the past, the ‘crime net’ able to locate a missing child instantly while overriding the kidnapper’s vehicle.
By fall of 2023, all registered vehicles had been required to have hydrogen fuel cells and autodrivers on board, the technologies hailed as the ultimate solution for congested roads, the disturbing rise in vehicular accidents involving alcohol and drugs, and America’s dependence on OPEC.
The limousine pulls onto the northbound ramp of SH-95, the autodriver directing the vehicle to the far left lane before accelerating to 130 mph. Lane speeds are determined by pre-reserved destinations and current traffic density.
Traveling in a non-rush hour time slot, the 210-mile journey to Cape Canaveral will take ninety-six minutes.
Dominique turns to her son, attempting to ease tensions. ‘How was yesterday’s practice?’
‘I’m not really in the mood to talk.’
She shoots him a hurt look, then reaches under the seat for her sensory-deprivation headpiece. Positioning the visor over her eyes and ears, she activates the program. Classical music replaces the limo’s hum, her consciousness instantly transported to an azure lagoon surrounded by a lush tropical jungle. A cool breeze stirs the palm fronds. Dominique climbs onto a foam cushion, lies back, and floats.
Sam stares at her face, watching his mother’s stress lines wash away.
While virtual reality has replaced all other forms of entertainment, many critics claimed the devices were more addictive than heroin. New shutdown safety features were now required after hundreds of VR bangers had literally starved themselves to death while using the machines.
Sam activates the recline button of his own slumber chair and closes his eyes, thinking about Lauren—
—unaware that his fiancée is following him, less than ten car lengths behind.
Situated on 140,000 acres of wildlife refuge, located northeast of Cocoa Beach, Florida, are the two barrier islands housing America’s gateways to space.
The smaller barrier island east of the Banana River, bordering the Atlantic Ocean is Cape Canaveral, former home of the Cape Canaveral Air Station and its unmanned launches. Just west of the Cape is Merritt Island, situated between the Banana and Indian Rivers. This larger land mass belongs to the Kennedy Space Center (KSC), which includes the facilities of NASA and her sister organization, 3M-P (Manned Mission to Mars Project).
The origins of KSC and America’s space program can be traced back to the first Cold War, when the conflicting ideologies of the United States and the Soviet Union blossomed into a full-fledged race into space. In an attempt to keep pace with the Russians, America formed the National Advisory Committee for Aeronautics (NACA), ordering the Department of Defense and other ‘rival’ national organizations to step up their own research in the fields of rocketry and the upper atmospheric sciences. Unfortunately, the lack of a unified program and the typical in-house bickering among the Armed Forces combined to severely hamper the nation’s progress toward achieving their number one goal: human spaceflight.
America would receive its wake-up call on October 4, 1957, when the Soviet Union successfully launched Sputnik 1. Responding to a race the United States was clearly losing, President Dwight D. Eisenhower created the National Aeronautics and Space Administration. NASA would take control of space away from the Armed Forces and absorb all existing research centers.
NASA began by focusing the bulk of its hundred-million-dollar annual budget on Project Mercury—a series of launches and experiments designed to evaluate whether humans could survive in orbit. Thirty-one months later, Alan Shepard Jr. became the first American to fly into space. Mercury’s success led to the Gemini Project, an extension of the human spaceflight program that utilized a spacecraft built for two astronauts.
President John F. Kennedy recommitted the nation to space in 1961 by announcing his goal to land a man on the moon and bring him back safely before the end of the decade. It was a specific goal—exactly what NASA needed, giving birth to Project Apollo. On July 20, 1969, eight years, eleven missions, and $25.4 billion dollars later, astronaut Neil Armstrong uttered his famous words, ‘That’s one small step for man, one giant leap for mankind.’
Mankind would take a giant leap backward in 1967, when politics once more interfered with science.
The Outer Space Treaty was a document initiated, negotiated, and rammed through Congress by a group of National Security and State Department officials whose only desire was to use fear to shut down the space program so that monies could be redirected to the Vietnam War. Within four short years, space funding had dropped a crippling 45 percent.
Had this not occurred, the momentum of the Apollo program might have led to the establishment of a moon base in the 1980s and a Mars colony before the year 2010, uniting the global superpowers, preventing the nuclear war of 2012.
More devastating political decisions would follow.
A 1969 task force was asked to come up with three long-range space options. These were: a manned Mars expedition; a space station in lunar orbit with a fifty-person Earth-orbiting station serviced by a reusable ferry, or the Space Shuttle, a vehicle designed to take off as a rocket and return to Earth by gliding home like an unpowered airplane.
President Nixon opted for the Space Shuttle.
On April 12, 1981, the shuttle’s first mission, STS-1, took off from NASA’s launch operations center, now renamed the Kennedy Space Center. For the next six and a half years, the STS Fleet would perform brilliantly as their crew conducted a wide variety of scientific and engineering experiments in space.
A Space Shuttle launch costs approximately $600 million dollars, yet this extraordinary price tag has little to do with the laws of physics or engineering. In simple terms, the business of space never had any cost constraints or competition, leaving the fox in charge of the henhouse.
As an example, Lockheed Martin, the largest aerospace contractor in the world, rarely accepted hardware contracts on a fixed-cost basis. Instead, they ‘suggested’ what a space vehicle might cost, then added 10 percent as a profit. Once contracted, a myriad of managers and planners are added, driving up the cost of the vehicle—along with Lockheed Martin’s profit.
Besides making space extraordinarily expensive, this tactic created an ‘old boy’ mentality that stagnated progress in space technology, resulting in no new U.S.
launch systems in development. Instead, NASA continued to use an antiquated vehicle, armed with pre-Pentium electronics inferior to most video games, and fragile heat-dissipating tiles designed before breakthroughs in materials science.
Cost overruns and White House cuts would lead to even more serious negligence.
Following the Challenger and Columbia disasters, and the public’s realization that the development of the International Space Station held no scientific purpose, the Bush and Maller administrations forced a ‘reorganization’ of the space program, refocusing its strategies not on space exploration, but space missile defense systems reinforced by policies of fear. Six years and $120 billion later, the only major accomplishment of SDI was to jump-start the second Cold War.
And once again, the future of humanity stumbled.
What the space program lacked was vision and a clear set of goals. Landing probes on Mars was important only if it led to the colonization of the Red Planet in the foreseeable future. What the public really wanted was space tourism. What had happened to all the promises of the ‘Buck Rogers’ era? Space, like politics, had become the frontier of the elite, each mission becoming more prosaic. Tax-payers could care less what temperature aluminum oxidized in a vacuum; they wanted to be a part of the action. The Wright Brothers’ invention had led to the advent of commercial airlines. Space had led to the sale of personal computers.
When would John Q. Public be afforded the same opportunity to take his family into space?
The Russians would be the first to give space tourism a go, funding the Cosmopolis-XXI (C-21) space plane, a craft designed to be piggybacked atop an airplane and released at 56,000 feet. From there, the space plane’s solid-fuel rocket engine would propel it to an altitude of sixty miles for three minutes of weightlessness.
At $98,000 (or $540 per second) it was hardly a bargain, and the space plane was fraught with mechanical problems.
President Chaney’s ‘vision’ speech moments before Jacob Gabriel’s murder was turned into a rallying cry that recommitted the American public to the space program. Two months after the Gabriel twins’ death President Marion Rallo and a new team at NASA announced its Manned Mission to Mars Project (3-MP), an ambitious 143-billion-dollar project designed to establish a series of habitable hubs on the Red Planet’s surface by 2049.