by Steve Alten
—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 c
orridor. 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.’
‘How?’
‘Just imagine the panel opening.’
Immanuel closes his eyes. Concentrates.
Nothing happens.
‘Concentrate!’
‘I am, asshole!’
‘Here, watch.’ Jacob closes his eyes. A second later, the panel retracts with a gush of compressed air, revealing a passageway.
‘You’ll get better with practice. Come on.’ Jacob leads his twin inside.
The interior is dark and warm, the corridor’s arched ceiling rising a good thirty feet above their heads. The curved walls are barren and smooth, composed of a highly polished, translucent black polymer. Behind the tinted glasslike surface Manny can make out elaborate circuits and machinery.
‘The ship is divided into different levels. We’re on the upper forward section, heading toward the bridge. These curved walls are actually interface panels linked to a central command computer, which in turn, responds to the frequency of our Hunahpu thought-energy patterns.’
‘Does this thing have a bathroom?’
Jacob smiles. ‘It has everything. But here’s the most amazing thing—this ship is not just a spacecraft, it’s sort of a living composite machine-organism.’
‘A what?’
‘It’s artificial intelligence. At the center of the ship is its brain—a crystalline biological organ situated in a fishbowl the size of a truck. Running out of the brain stem are billions of microcircuits and exotic metal conduits that feed like blood vessels throughout every square inch of the ship. This ship not only reads my thoughts, at times I think it talks back to me.’
‘The Guardian created all this?’
‘No. The ship was made available to them, by who or what I have no idea.’
The end of the corridor opens into a massive, onion-shaped control chamber. Rounded walls radiate a faint electric blue. At the very center of the cathedral-style, domed ceiling is a five-foot-wide passage, which rises straight up like a chimney.
‘Is this vessel … operational? Jake?’
Jacob is standing at the center of the room, his eyes closed.
A pencil-thin blue laser light blinks on above his head, its beam kissing his white hair.
Manny jumps back as the chamber instantly powers to life. Blue LED lights illuminate from behind the tinted walls and floor panels, revealing a myriad of alien conduits and circuits, machinery and biochemical plasma ducts.
‘Listen and learn. We’ll call this first lesson Guardian Astronomy 101.’
A volumetric projection takes shape just above the polished floor, the image—a spiral galaxy, rotating like some luminescent cosmic pinwheel in the vastness of space, hauling more than 500 billion pinpoints of light around its slowly swirling vortex.
‘Welcome to the Milky Way.’ Jacob points to the galactic bulge, a swirling cloud of brilliant cosmic dust. ‘Computer, magnify galactic center ten to the power of six.’
In a dizzying zoom, th
e galactic bulge expands across the entire chamber.
Immanuel stands within the projection, looking down upon a mist of three-dimensional penny-sized fiery red and orange stars, all clustered around the heart of the rotating maelstrom.
Dead center of the galaxy is a black hole. Like the slow-moving hub of a wheel, the black hole appears to be churning the entire galaxy, every so often inhaling one of the tiny stars into its monstrous onyx gullet.
