by Alten-Steve
‘Traitors to whom?’
‘To our Creator, of course. He who brought us here. He who saved us from ourselves back on Earth.’
‘Then you believe the death of billions was a planned event?’
‘Of course. Read the Bible. Wasn’t Noah’s flood a planned event?’
‘I can’t accept that. I think you and the others accept it because we’re all so overburdened with survivor’s guilt.’
‘Bill, you’ll never be happy unless you open your heart to the Creator so that He might show you the way. Come worship with me tonight in our angel’s house. Listen to the truth, my darling, and the truth shall set you free.’
Jude’s brainwashing ran deep, yet I could not bear the thought of leaving without her. Realizing my only chance at luring her away was to learn more about her ‘angel,’ I agreed to attend Devlin’s service.
The Mabus House of Worship was an immense transhuman dwelling, its alien archways and flying buttresses giving it the feel of a futuristic Notre Dame. Inside the hall were thousands of hover pods—private antigravitational pews that formed a ring around Devlin’s pulpit.
Two ‘thrones’ were positioned in the center ring. In one sat Devlin, a crown of gold leaves situated atop his curly black hair, his wings folded in behind him. To his right was his mother, Lilith, the sheer material of her ‘priest’s robe’ screaming blasphemy to the Judeo-Christian values both Bill and Michael Gabriel had been raised under.
A cherub-faced transhuman male took his place at the dais, gazing at the capacity crowd through false rose-colored glasses. Instead of using the now-familiar telepathy, he spoke aloud, his Louisiana drawl sounding bizarre in these most alien of settings.
‘And the truth, dear brothers and sisters, shall set you free. Yes, these are wondrous times, yet a gray cloud has invaded our lord’s blue sky. False prophets have infiltrated New Eden, my friends. They cleverly disseminate their destructive Earthly heresies among you, hoping to infect our New World and turn you against our archangel, Devlin, whose generosity and wisdom brought us to our cosmic oasis. In their jealousy, our enemies concoct clever lies, hoping you will be led astray. But fear not, devoted souls, for God condemned them long ago, and they will all soon suffer a swift and terrible end.’
A chorus of ‘Amen.’
I felt Bill’s consciousness crawl cold beneath my own.
‘For our Creator and his archangel spare no one when it comes to blasphemy and sin, just as God spared only Noah and his family of seven from the Great Flood back on Earth, just as the Creator spared only our chosen flock from the devastation and ice age that consumed the seven billion lost souls shortly after our escape. These false teachers are unthinking creatures, born to be caught and killed. Be not sympathetic, for their destruction is a just reward for the harm they have done. They are a disgrace and a stain among you, and their arrogance is laughable.’
And then this plump man removed his comical rose-colored glasses and stared at me.
I could feel the eyes of the congregation upon me.
Devlin stood, his wings standing on end—a hawk, about to strike. In a soothing, almost loving tone, he said, ‘Seize and dismember him.’
A hundred hands were upon me, dragging me from my floating pew. They stripped me naked and stretched me out on the floor, prey for the Seraph, Devlin, who hovered above, brandishing a pair of three-pronged silver claws in his hands.
Adrenaline soared through my body as my mind tried to fathom the hideous death to come.
What followed then, dear Jacob, was truly a miracle.
In the midst of my terror, my being was suddenly overcome by a strange, yet familiar feeling—a feeling of utter calm. It was the same feeling I had experienced in my childhood as Michael Gabriel, when the treacherous T’quan had pinned me down by the edge of the Yucatán well.
It was the same feeling I had whenever I remote-viewed.
I stopped struggling, allowing my mind to enter the void.
The cathedral appeared to brighten. Above, the winged Devlin seemed frozen, his unchanging expression—a mask of rage.
My heart pumped in my ears, and I could feel my muscles growing stronger. In one fluid motion, I yanked my arms free from the worshipers’ grip and jumped to my feet.
Devlin stared past me through half-closed eyes, his pout-mouth halfway in sentence. For a fleeting moment, I felt the urge to leap into the air and tear those wings from his spine, to rip his throat apart—
—until I felt the icy presence of another pair of eyes upon me.
It was Lilith.
Her mouth never moved, but her telepathic voice made me cringe. I feel you, One Hunahpu. I’ve been waiting for your arrival for a very long time.
Her words seemed to pierce my soul, injecting me with a fear so intense that I nearly leapt out of my tingling skin. Still naked, I pushed through invisible waves of energy and raced out of the alien chapel, every muscle in my body burning with lactic acid, the voice of the Succubus cooing to me from the void—
—while Bill Raby’s consciousness screamed at me for abandoning his Jude.
I ran from that ungodly chapel, racing through the streets of New Eden at inhuman speed, continuing until I arrived at the home of Christopher Coburn, a close friend and agricultural scientist known within the Guardian’s inner circles as Viracocha. Leaping from the void, I pounded on his door, my overwrought muscles burning with lactic acid.
Chris dragged me inside, sending an encoded warning through the Guardian ‘grapevine’ while I hurriedly dressed. Then we ran from his dwelling, making our way to the spaceship.
Devlin’s people were scouring the city, hunting us like vermin. Those caught were publicly eviscerated and crucified, the children thrown into labor camps for ‘retraining.’
Only twenty-four Guardian made it off New Eden alive.
Omnipotence in the hands of a sociopath is a dangerous thing. As challenges are vanquished, boredom sets in. Eventually, even the private orgies and human sacrifices become trivial.
I suppose I always knew what Devlin was planning, ever since the day I first discovered the posthuman arena. Mabus and his mother coveted immortality, and the godlike powers of the higher realms were a temptation too strong to avoid.
They would stop at nothing until they could locate the portal into the posthumans’ netherworld.
I am certain now that this was the reason Xibalba’s society had split. While some transhuman beings sought immortality in the spiritual domain, others must have believed there remained some discoveries better left to God.
Having barely escaped the domed city, we directed our lumbering spacecraft into orbit, landing on the far side of the larger of the two moons, hoping the satellite’s mass would deafen our enemy’s telepathy.
The moon was a lifeless rock floating in space. No water. No soil for growing. Even with our ‘enlightened brains’ how long could we possibly survive there?
Imagine our shock when we discovered the transhumans’ abandoned lunar outpost.
Smaller than New Eden, it was nonetheless a habitat of immense proportions and incredible technology. Located within an immense dome-covered crater, the abandoned habitat held oxygen-and water-processing plants, agricultural pods, and solar-powered reactors. Dominating the periphery of the crater were acres of photovoltaic solar panels—massive trackable sheets stretching seven storeys high.
The most impressive structure had been erected within the heart of the dome itself. It was a monstrous pyramid, a copy of Egypt’s Giza, only three times the size. The facing was composed of translucent gold-paneled mirrors—conduits channeling enormous amounts of energy into the structure—
—as if the pyramid were a massive, cybernetic incubator.
Inside this lunar fortress we discovered artificial intelligence … harbored in the guise of a dart-shaped, gold-paneled starship.
The Balam.
The sight of the ship tore at the fabric of my very existence …
30
/> NOVEMBER 22, 2033: HANGAR 13, KENNEDY SPACE
CENTER, CAPE CANAVERAL, FLORIDA
3:26 p.m.
‘I’m sorry, miss, but I can’t give out that information.’
Lauren Beckmeyer stares at the armed guard, her blood pressure still soaring from the three-hour wait. ‘I’ve told you a hundred times, I know he’s in there. Just tell him it’s his fiancée. He’ll come out.’
‘And I told you that even if your boyfriend is in Hangar 13, this is still a restricted area and you don’t have clearance. Now you either get back in your Corvette and drive away like a good girl, or I’ll have you arrested.’
Lauren flashes the man a killing look. She climbs inside her car and guns the engine, the roadster’s rear tires spewing gravel as it heads back across the causeway.
‘If we are to succeed on Xibalba, you must learn your role,’ instructs Jacob. ‘Our attack must be synchronized. Every action, every thought must be rehearsed over and over again.’
They are standing within the holographic chamber, now programmed to the ancient Mayan Ball Court. Jacob is in his white training suit, Sam in black. Three storeys up, Dominique, Dr. Mohr, and his staff are watching from behind the thick Luxon glass.
‘I feel ridiculous,’ says Sam, still weary from two hours of intense virtual-reality combat training. ‘Why do we have to wear these stupid outfits?’
‘I told you, the atmosphere on Xibalba is heavy in carbon dioxide. The masks allow us to breathe, the body armor protects us. In the training arena, the suits are linked to our nervous system. If you get hit by a holographic warrior, you’re going to feel it.’
‘Wonderful.’
‘Lose the attitude, Manny, I need you to take this seriously. You may not feel threatened in this arena, but make a mistake on Xibalba and I promise you, you’ll die painfully.’
Immanuel kicks at the synthetic limestone surface. For the first fourteen years of his life, the dark-haired twin had been bossed around by his overbearing brother. Virtual-combat programs, Eastern philosophy, training all hours of the day and night … everything centered around nightmarish tales of a Mayan hell called Xibalba.
Immanuel Gabriel had spent the first two-thirds of his life trying to escape his overbearing twin’s fantasies. Now, as an adult, he is being drawn right back in.
Enough!
‘That’s it, Jake. I’m sick of these games.’
‘Games?’
‘Games, neurosis, whatever you want to call it. Maybe you had Manny Gabriel spooked, but Samuel Agler wants nothing to do with it—or you.’ He removes his headpiece, tossing it on the ground.
‘Immanuel—’
‘This Hunahpu gene may allow us to focus inward better than the next guy, but it’s screwing with your mind. Mom warned me years ago that it could lead to paranoid schizophrenia—and now you’ve got it in spades!’
Jacob looks up at Dominique, who backs away from the viewing glass. ‘Our mother has no idea what she’s dealing with.’
‘I think she does. Our father was locked up as a mental patient, diagnosed a paranoid schizophrenic. Mom was his intern.’
‘Our father was not schizophrenic. His sentence in that asylum was based on bogus charges.’
‘Believe whatever makes you happy. Keep playing your combat games, only do it without me. See, Samuel Agler has a life, and it’s not here.’ He strips off the body armor and heads for the exit.
‘Computer, lights.’ The arena loses its violet hue. ‘Manny, look around. Do you honestly believe NASA would invest millions of dollars in a facility like this just to humor me? Do you really think all this is part of some schizophrenic delusion?’
‘Jake, you live on a government installation, just as we did on Longboat Key. You train in a holographic suite, using a program you designed after the Popol Vul’s story. That doesn’t make it real, and it doesn’t impress me either. Heck, you should see some of the training facilities we have at the University of Miami. Blows this shit away.’
‘Manny—’
‘All this Mayan Underworld crap, it all began with our grandfather and his stupid journal. He’s long gone, and so is Mick. Personally, I’ve accepted the fact that our whole family is nuts. Mick was a schizoid, Mom suffers from severe depression, I’m living under a false identity, and you—well, you’re the head squirrel. I love you, man, but I have to go. Have a good life.’
Jacob shakes his head in disbelief, then looks up at Dr. Mohr. ‘This is going all wrong. I need to show him.’
Mohr’s voice sounds metallic over the speaker. ‘Jake, we talked about this. Your brother doesn’t have clearance.’
‘He’s my brother. He has more right to see GOLDEN FLEECE than anyone on this base.’ Jacob jogs out of the arena into the corridor. ‘Manny, er, Sam, before you go, I want to show you one last thing.’
‘Give it up, Jake.’
‘It won’t take long, I promise. Humor me one last time.’
Jacob takes his arm, leading him down a long subterranean corridor. They stop at a steel door guarded by two heavily armed soldiers.
‘Morning, sir.’
‘I want to show my brother GOLDEN FLEECE.’
The guards look at Immanuel, then at each other, unsure. The guard on the left says, ‘Sir, your, uh, your brother doesn’t have clearance.’
‘Contact Dr. Mohr. He’ll approve it.’
‘Forget it, Jake,’ Manny says. ‘Whatever it is, I’ll see it another—’
‘Contact Mohr. Now, please.’
The guard activates his comm link. ‘Excuse me, Dr. Mohr, but Jacob insists we allow his brother inside to see GOLDEN FLEECE.’
‘Request denied. Escort Jacob and his guest to my office immediately.’
The guard looks at Jacob. ‘Sorry, kid.’
In a blur of movement, Jacob lashes out with two vicious karate chops, striking each guard along the carotid artery.
The unconscious men slump to the floor.
‘Damn, Jake, you trying to kill them?’
‘They’ll be fine. Come on.’ He presses his palm to an identification pad.
The heavy steel door swings open.
Jacob grabs his protesting twin by the arm, leading him inside.
‘Yo, man, that was not cool. This is NASA. I don’t need trouble with the PCAA.’
‘Thirty seconds.’ Jacob pulls him down a short recess leading into an immense facility. ‘Just take a quick peek at what’s inside, then I’ll leave you alone for another six years.’
‘That’s not what I’m … oh … oh … shit.’
They are standing at the entrance to a mammoth factory, twenty storeys high, as wide and as long as six football fields. But it is the object at the center of the facility that causes Immanuel Gabriel’s heart to race, his muscles to turn to jelly.
It is an enormous spacecraft, 722 feet long, its dagger-shaped, warship-sized hull composed of shimmering, mirrorlike gold panels. The monstrous keel is situated twenty feet off the ground, resting on a series of rubber-tipped concrete-and-steel racks.
Manny sucks in slow breaths, forcing himself not to hyperventilate. No way … this isn’t real. It can’t be—
The forward two-thirds of the starship’s ‘blade’ morphs into the rear one-third ‘hilt,’ where two colossal assemblies are mounted along either side of the vessel’s tail section, each bulbous structure as large and as high as a three-storey building. Several technicians in white suits are working inside the alien engine, their lights revealing a wasp’s nest of charred, afterburner-shaped housings, each orifice no less than thirty feet in diameter.
‘This is the Balam, the starship the Guardian piloted to Earth 65 million years ago. Balam was a Mayan deity, represented by the jaguar, who protected the community against external threats. The vessel was excavated years ago from a subterranean chamber in Chichén Itzá. The great teacher, Kukulcán, who was in fact the last of the Guardian survivors, instructed the Maya to erect his pyramid over the site—’
Immanuel feels the room spinning.
‘—and the ship is also armed with an ion cannon. Our father used the weapon to defeat Tezcatilpoca on the winter solstice of 2012.’
Immanuel drops to a knee, his lungs struggling for breath. He lies back on the cold concrete surface, staring up at the ceiling, which seems a mile away. God, please, this can’t be real …
‘Manny?’
Immanuel squeezes his eyes shut. Come on, Mule, wake up, just wake the hell up—
Jacob drags him onto his feet. ‘Now don’t go schizoid on me, bro. Our deeply depressed mother wouldn’t like that.’
‘Jake … I can’t do this … I’m not ready—’
‘Yes you are. Come on, I’ll give you the tour.’ Jacob puts his arm around Immanuel’s waist, steadying him as he leads him toward a small gantry rising halfway up the port side of the starship. He lowers his voice. ‘The reason the government invested so much money into my so-called dementia is this ship. They don’t give a rat’s ass about Xibalba or the Mayan prophecies. Project GOLDEN FLEECE is all about reverse engineering this starship to see how it draws energy from our planet and deep space.’
‘No … this isn’t real—’
‘We were kids when NASA finally excavated this vessel and transported it, quite covertly, to Kennedy. Problem was, they had no way of accessing it—at least until I came along.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘The Guardian designed the entries into the ship with a genetic code. You and I are the only ones capable of entering and commandeering the vessel. NASA was forced to give me carte blanche in exchange for my cooperation.’
They reach the gantry and board a small open lift. The elevator rises five stories to a gold panel marked with a three-pronged alien candelabra, the insignia glowing crimson red.
‘The Trident of Paracas,’ Manny whispers. ‘I remember this from Julius’s journal.’
‘The sign of the Guardian.’ Jacob points to an eight-foot-high access plate. ‘Go ahead, close your eyes and command the entry to open.’