Steve Alten - The Mayan Resurrection

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 Yucatan 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…

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 fiancee. 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.