Silently, he consulted his cybernetic muse: “LOGOS, any ideas here?”
<
“Am I really the sponsor of Chronos in this timeline?”
<
“Martin,” Andrea said with emphasis. He realized she had spoken his name several times to get his attention. “I’ve called your car. It’ll be waiting at the south entrance. You should go now. It’s for your own good.”
The building which housed the Chronos Project was now a multistoried complex, not the inconspicuous structure Martin was familiar with, but surprisingly he also knew this place and found his way to the south entrance with no problem. A sleek red convertible with gold neon stripes along the sides and large silver tailfins on the back waited at the curb.
At first glance he noticed something odd, then realized that the vehicle had no wheels. As he approached, a door opened automatically, and he climbed inside onto a comfortable leather seat. The door closed, and the car lifted slightly off the ground. “Maglev transportation,” Martin realized as the car propelled itself along the metal path in the street by magnetic power.
“Destination, sir?” a voice from the dashboard speaker requested.
“Home, I suppose,” he responded, adding under his breath, “wherever that is now.” He doubted that his quaint suburban neighborhood in Roswell still existed. The vehicle merged smoothly into traffic and headed toward the towering structures ahead. “This city appears massive, LOGOS. Any idea how big?”
<
“Amazing. New Palenque, you say? Yes, that sounds right. I remember living here for the last fourteen years. Strange, having memories of two lifetimes in my head.”
Beside the road at frequent intervals, Martin observed tall, rectangular monoliths, each displaying a column of video screens. Images of public construction projects, scientific experiments, and space travel projected on the screens along with the faces of two men who resembled one another closely. The monoliths reminded Martin of textbook photos of a Maya stele, an upright stone slab bearing an inscription of a king’s achievements. The glyphs on such ancient monuments had helped scholars crack the Maya language.
“Those men must be the current rulers of the empire, showing off their accomplishments. Politicians still like to claim credit for everything, no matter which reality we’re in. Twins, aren’t they? Yes, I remember now; this culture prizes twins since two were heroes in their great mythological epic of the classical era.”
<
“You have access to the city’s datasphere now?”
<>
“Well, that should be helpful in sorting out what’s happened to create this current timeline. Our new friend Xenox has caused quite a major ripple in history this round.”
The car passed by massive buildings, most in pyramid form, their bases wider than their height; still, Martin estimated that many reached at least fifty stories tall. Between the buildings stretched expansive public plazas bedecked with gardens, fountains, and open-air cafés. Finally, the vehicle pulled up to one building and onto a platform that ascended to the floor on which Martin lived. When it stopped at a dizzying height, a walkway extended out to the car, allowing Martin immediate entrance into his residence.
Once inside, he was impressed to see/recall that his living space encompassed the entire floor of the building. Slanted walls of glass gave him an impressive view of New Palenque, stretching out as far as the eye could see. The sun was setting, and the lights of the city began to flicker on like fireflies in the twilight. Hearing the sound of water, he turned away from the windows and discovered a miniature waterfall cascading down from a balcony into a small stream which divided the open atrium in two. Several stone bridges gave passage from one side to the other. Trees in planters made the area feel almost like a tropical rainforest.
On an interior wall, several niches held ornamental objects decorated with symbols Martin recognized as Maya glyphs. Over one of the objects, a holographic head hovered, his eyes closed. He looked vaguely familiar. When Martin turned aside to inspect another part of his residence, he was surprised to hear someone call out to him.
“So, Martin, home at last. No greetings for your honored progenitor? Typical of the younger generation, no respect.”
It spoke! The floating head, which he had taken for a curious art object, was staring directly at him. Who was this?
<
Of course. The Maya revered their ancestors, treating them almost like gods. Often they buried their remains underneath their houses. “Forgive me, sir. I confess my mind has been preoccupied of late.”
“Sir? Why so formal, Martin? You always call me Papa Zach.”
“Yes, uh, Papa Zach. Well, how are you today?”
“Can’t complain. None of the old aches and pains anymore. Things are pretty cozy here in this virtual afterlife. Nothing like that horrible underworld Xibalba that the Old Ones imagined. They must have eaten way too many hallucinogenic mushrooms to have dreamed up that stuff.”
<
Good idea. “Hey, Papa Zach. What else can you tell me about the Old Ones? Did they ever record anything in their myths about, say, some strange being showing up one day out of nowhere, maybe prophesying about the future?”
“How should I know? You think I’m that old? Listen, sonny, if I could get out of this box, I could still run circles around you. Like I said, no respect at all.”
<
Apparently so. “Listen, Papa Zach. We’ll talk later. I’ve got some work to catch up on.”
“Sports business, I bet. That ball team of yours still on its winning streak? Go Mighty Macaws! What companies have you acquired lately? I hope they’re better than that new razor corporation you won. I say get rid of it fast. Who wants their cheap steel blades? Nothing beats our firm’s good ol’ obsidian. Sharpest edge around.”
“LOGOS, can you check on what he’s talking about?” Martin asked. “My status in this society still feels vague to me.”
<
“Yes, I remember now,” Martin said. “Pokolpok is among the world’s oldest sports. In the ancient times, it wasn’t just an athletic event. The Maya played for blood; the losers often lost their heads.”
<
“Capital losses? Ha! LOGOS, do you realize you made another joke?”
<
“Exactly. It’s what we call a pun. That’s wonderful! You’re exhibiting a sense of humor.”
<
“You mean Groucho Marx.”
<>
“Excellent, LOGOS, I’m impressed. Touché.”
<
“That’s OK, LOGOS. Keep working at it.”
“Hey, sonny boy,” the voice from the hologram interrupted. “Who’re you talking to? Unless my sensors are on the fritz again, there’s nobody else in the room.”
Martin hadn’t realized he was speaking to LOGOS out loud. “I have these conversations with myself now and then.”
“And they said I was crazy. Keep it up, Martin, and they’ll deport you with the rest of the Wayebs.”
Martin made a mental note to research that last reference, but for now, all he wanted to discover was a comfortable bed. After today’s startling developments, he was exhausted and could barely keep his eyes open. The quest for the Maya/Xenox connection would have to wait until tomorrow.
14
4 Muluk / 17 Ch’en
Martin was dreaming again about his dashing alter ego Dirk Deadly. This time the adventurer was acting out some of Martin’s favorite old movies. Stake in hand, Dirk raised the creaking lid of Dracula’s coffin, hoping to find the emerald necklace in the vampire’s clenched fist. The count’s eyes snapped open and froze Dirk with their hypnotic stare. Dracula wrested the stake from the hero’s hand and raised it to strike.
Abruptly, the dream shifted to a motel room where Dirk was taking a shower. His shoulders relaxed as he enjoyed the sensation of the warm spray on his skin. He began belting out a tune from a classic Gene Kelly musical: “Siiiingin’ in the —” when suddenly, the curtain was torn aside, and a Maya priest stabbed him in the heart with an obsidian dagger.
The shock of the attack jolted Martin awake. The piercing shrieks of the dream’s soundtrack became a persistent beeping coming from a flashing screen beside the bed. When he turned over, the device detected movement and replaced the blinking light with a list of indecipherable symbols. Suddenly, the image blurred, and he could read the words in English, which he guessed was his itinerary for the day.
“LOGOS, did you do that?”
<
“Thank you, I guess. Just don’t take over my mind, please. I prefer the illusion of free will, at least.”
<
“I assume you’ve been alert all night, planning our next move. Any ideas where to begin?”
<
“Probably a good idea.” He reviewed the screen on the wall. “Looks like this morning I have a meeting about a recent acquisition and a tour of our plant by a school group. After that, I’ll ask my assistant, which as an executive I assume I have, to clear my afternoon schedule.”
He paused, remembering. “Yes, my assistant is Itzel, a traditional Maya name meaning ‘rainbow.’ It’s curious. Each new experience triggers a suppressed memory from this timeline. The images are becoming stronger, more vivid, more … real. But at the same time, I sense that some memories of my actual life are growing fainter. For instance, I can’t recall my dog’s name. Was it Sally? We can’t wait too long to try and correct this situation, or else I may become more in sync with this reality than the original one.”
To prepare for the day, Martin showered, then selected from a wide assortment of tailored clothing in the large walk-in closet. He took his car down to street level and ordered it to drive him to his first appointment at the law firm handling his current case. The Mighty Macaws had won another victory last week, and the losing team’s company was being forced to sell out to Martin for an extremely low price. He gathered that this arrangement had replaced the practice of hostile takeovers in his previous world.
Once at the meeting, Martin allowed his lawyers to conduct the proceedings as his mind wandered elsewhere. He had no interest in this new acquisition, a company which manufactured jade figurines of Maya gods. There had been renewed fascination with the ancient deities after the Great Revival. How did he know that?
LOGOS responded to his silent question. <
“Yes. My parents told me about all the fearful rumors of the Maya ‘End of the World’ in 2012. Of course, the Maya themselves never saw it that way. They shook their heads at all the apocalyptic hysteria. LOGOS, we should investigate this Great Revival in more detail to see if it has any connection to our timeline problem.”
The head lawyer interrupted Martin’s thoughts. “Mr. Chamberlain, I believe that concludes our business here. Do you have anything to add before we adjourn?”
Martin apologized for being distracted, shook hands with everyone, and left for his next appointment. As owner of the Precision Cut surgical supply company, he was scheduled to greet a group of school children touring the manufacturing plant. Arriving late, he entered the building’s atrium as the tour guide started her description of the unique quality of their products.
“Boys and girls, did you know that obsidian — here’s an unfinished piece I will pass around; be careful with it — as I was saying, obsidian is a type of volcanic glass. How many of you have studied volcanoes?” Some students raised their hands. One boy mimicked the sound of an explosion. “Good, several of you. Anyway, since ancient times, people have used obsidian as one of the finest tools for cutting.”
She stepped over to a display which projected illustrations explaining the company’s products. “In technical terms, we can sharpen an obsidian blade to thirty angstroms; that’s a unit of measurement equal to one hundred-millionths of a centimeter. Imagine that! When you consider that most household razor blades are three hundred to six hundred angstroms, obsidian is super sharp. We like to say our blades can cut it with the best materials around.”
She paused for a chuckle but was greeted with silence and bored stares. “Anyway, I see our company president has arrived. We’ll let him say a few words before the rest of our tour.”
Martin fumbled through some awkward explanations, trying to remember what products his company sold, and then sent the children on their way with their guide to visit the manufacturing floor. Before they all left, he noticed one boy wearing a purple T-shirt with a cartoon character on the front, a strange figure with three arms and three legs. His eyes widened in recognition.
“That’s Xenox!” he exclaimed. “Wait, young man. Can I speak with you for a minute?”
The boy took the lollipop out of his mouth. “Guess so. What?”
“You like cartoons? Who’s that on your shirt?”
“Kooky Kaan, of course. Don’t you know anything?”
“No, I don’t have children your age, so I haven’t watched cartoons in a while. Tell me about him.”
“He’s the greatest! He’s real smart and invents all kinds of cool stuff. He’s always fightin’ bad guys like Dr. Ignorance and Superstition Man. ‘Course he lived a long time ago. Back in the god times.”
Martin thanked the boy and told him to catch up with his group. Then he stopped at the reception desk to call his assistant, telling her to clear his schedule for the next few days. He rushed out of the building to his car.
“LOGOS, that was him! The alien. It has to be. You saw that too, right?”
<
On the dashboard screen, a series of pictures began scrolling, all of which resembled the character on the T-shirt. Most were other images from the cartoon show, but some were more artistic, such as statu
es in public parks and museums. A few in particular caught Martin’s attention. “That one on the bottom left, the rough carving in stone. Can you identify that photo?”
<
“Yes, of course!” Martin jumped up in his seat, hitting his head on the ceiling. He rubbed the spot but was too excited to care about the slight pain. “Why didn’t I see this before? With that long snout, sharp teeth, and those bony ridges around his neck, Xenox somewhat resembles the feathered serpent god who appears in almost all Mesoamerican cultures for two thousand years. The Aztecs called him Quetzalcoatl. The Maya named him Kukulkan, or ‘Kooky Kaan’ as our enthusiastic young friend said. This is the clue we’ve been hunting. Xenox must have visited the ancient Maya and convinced them he was their god.”
Martin continued to scroll through the images on the screen. In modern culture, the alien was usually called Kaan. His triple-limbed form was featured on posters, billboard advertisements, and cereal boxes; one opera had been composed about him called The Wisdom of Kaan. However, the descriptions didn’t quite match up with what Martin remembered about the mythical serpent deity. Something had changed, but he couldn’t put his finger on it yet.
“LOGOS, we must search historical records for any references to this Kaan, when he first arrived, and most of all, what he did to alter the timeline in such a major way. The classic Maya began to lose power in the ninth century and abandoned their magnificent stone cities by the tenth. Scholars still debate the reasons. So Xenox must have traveled back before that period of decline, giving them something which kept the empire from falling.”
<
Temporal Gambit Page 6
