Steve Alten - The Mayan Resurrection

None of that had any bearing on our present dilemma. We were castaways, forever separated from the collective. In space, the crew had called the shots, but now the ships were dead, and anarchy ruled the day.

If we had been a colony of ants, we’d have been working side by side before that second dawn. If we had been a beehive, there would have been no question of authority.

But we were modern man, cursed with ego, full of self. So before we could begin searching for food and fresh water, before we could start designing shelters, before we could see to our most basic needs

… first, we had to decide who was in charge.

Imagine twelve cramped space vehicles filled with hundreds of emotionally crazed passengers and a limited number of atmospheric suits. It took three hours of negotiations on the ship-to-ship communicators just to determine where the first council meeting would be held and who would attend.

Atmospheric scientists wanted to be heard. So did the geologists, horticulturists, medical staff, engineers, architects… in fact, everyone wanted to voice an opinion. It was an endless gaggle of babble, compounded by the hopelessness of our situation.

Finally, one man rose above the fray to bring order to the chaos… the only man who could.

Devlin Mabus.

Mabus? Father, was he related to Peter Mabus, the billionaire?

He was his grandson. Devlin’s company, MTI, had financed a third of the Mars Colony. His team had selected more than half of the survivors on our space vehicles. He had already been appointed to the president’s new cabinet as vice president and was easily the highest-ranking Mars official present among us.

More important, Devlin had boarded his private shuttle with two dozen heavily armed bodyguards, all loyal to the influential billionaire and his poisonous mother.

Devlin decided each ship would elect three representatives to serve as liaisons to communicate with the newly formed Council, over which he would preside. This hierarchy worked well enough… until the day one representative openly voiced his disagreement, causing a rift among the leadership. Devlin took it all in stride, then had the dissenter relocated to his own ship so that the two could ‘come to a political resolution on behalf of the colony.’

The dissenter’s opinions changed. Two days later, he went for a ‘stroll.’

The ‘stroll’ was a walk outside the shuttle without an environmental suit.

The ‘stroll’ was suicide.

This Devlin sounds an awful lot like his grandfather.

I have no doubt he was even worse, having met his mother, a woman who could manipulate a small nation with her beauty, and crush them in her evil embrace. She was as alluring and as deadly as a Venus flytrap, and she was Devlin’s best friend and only confidant. The two of them made quite the pair, and yet, as much as I feared them, our colony survived on the virtue of their combined strength.

With each passing day, our situation grew more hopeless. Exploration teams would leave every dawn in search of food and water, but could never venture too far, forced to return before the giant beetles made their nightly appearance.

Traps were set to capture a few specimens. We learned the insects were blind, existing on microbes found within the volcanic rock and moss.

Unfortunately, the alien insects were not edible.

As hope faded, the suicide walks increased. Sometimes it was an individual, sometimes an entire family. Depression spread like the plague. A limited supply of environmental suits kept most civilians confined to their ships, increasing our feelings of isolation.

Still, our colony was blessed with some of the best minds our species had to offer. Using spare parts, engineers were able to upgrade an unmanned aerovehicle one of the children had brought on board. Each morning our drone scout would venture forth like Noah’s dove, searching for salvation.

And then, on the afternoon of our forty-third day on the planet, we found it…

Quenton Morehead is alone with Lilith in his one-room church, the two of them repainting the pews. For the last two days he has kept clear of the girl, her sudden confidence and exhibitionism shocking the minister while turning him on.

A new approach was needed, one that played up to his granddaughter’s newfound persona.

‘Lilith, have we spoken before about the Succubus?’

‘Succubus? No, you never mentioned it.’ Feeling his eyes upon her, she allows her breasts to jiggle beneath the skintight top as she vigorously strokes the paintbrush.

Quenton fights the urge to drag her onto the dais and rape her. ‘The Bible tells us that the Succubus was a female demon who visited men, seducing them while they slept.’

‘And why should I be interested in this Succubus?’

‘For one thing, her name was Lilith, and she was very powerful.’

Lilith stops painting. Don Rafelo had never spoken of this. ‘Tell me about her.’

‘Lilith was Adam’s first wife, created out of the earth long before Eve came ’round. The Bible says the Succubus was a tantalizing beauty, like yourself, who refused to submit herself sexually to Adam.’

‘You’re not equating yourself with Adam?’

‘The point is, God created Lilith to pleasure Adam, but she resisted her calling. She left the garden and eventually became pregnant. It was Lilith’s daughters who mated with Cain and Abel.’

‘Good for her.’

‘The Succubus was powerful.’

Lilith looks up. ‘How so?’

‘She’d approach her victims under the cloak of night as a wind demon, using sex to control their will. The Succubus could control even the strongest of men. It is said that any man who fell for the Succubus never awakened from her spell.’

Lilith allows one of the overall straps to slide off her shoulder.

Quenton moves closer, taking the bait.

The teen’s cocoa skin crawls with his approach. ‘I can smell the stench of your lust, Quenton. Try something again, and I’ll hurt you even worse.’

‘You owe me. I could have sent you away long ago, but I didn’t.’

‘I wish you had. Maybe I wouldn’t curse my own existence.’

‘Just as I curse the day my wife and I took your mother into our home.’ He inches nearer. ‘See, I know who you are. You can’t fool me any longer.’

‘And who am I?’

‘Lucifer’s mistress-the Succubus-Lilith, reincarnate.’

‘Does that make you afraid, Quenton, or excited?’

‘Hush your mouth, heathen.’

‘I’m the heathen?’ She turns to face him. ‘How dare you-you, who spent so much time violating my innocence.’

‘What I did, I did to exorcise the Devil.’

‘And who is the Devil to threaten a man of God, a man of virtue? Why should you fear this fallen angel, Reverend Hypocrite? Ah, maybe it’s not fear, but jealousy that drives your hatred, after all, Lucifer is the angel of pleasure.’

Quenton stares at the girl, his body quivering.

‘Would you like pleasure, Quenton?’

Saliva drools from his open mouth.

‘Answer me, Reverend Sin. Would you like to screw me?’

‘Yes!’ He lunges for her, but she raises her fists, keeping him at bay.

Quenton bites his lower lip. ‘Why do you tease me?’