The Mayan Resurrection (61 page)

‘I could have stayed there forever. I could have let her drain me, dying a happy man. But then these blue specks appeared—a pair of Hunahpu eyes observing me from beyond the fog.

‘It was my father. “You have allowed the serpent into your garden,” he said, “and once more you’ve been deceived.” Then
the fog lifted, and I saw the Abomination for what she really was.

‘She was part-human, part-demonic creature. Her skin had bleached ghostly white, her long hair was black and knotty. The corneas of her eyes were violet-red, her pupils like a viper. But it was her mouth that made my soul retch—a vertical slit, like a fleshy trap—like a vagina, Mother, only it was filled with hundreds of these sickening stubbly black teeth.

‘Blood was smeared across the monster’s unholy slit … my blood! She stood before me, an obscenity of humanity. Her hideous lips spread apart, inhaling my consciousness inside her orifice, and I knew I was in Hell.

‘And though I had no body, I could still feel her heat melting the flesh from my bones, and though I had no nose, I could still smell the putrid scent of demon’s vomit, and though I had no mouth, my tortured mind screamed over and over as the Abomination entwined her naked limbs deeper around my mind, and ground her rancid groin into my being.’

‘My God …’

Jacob wipes tears from his glazed-over eyes. ‘I was drowning in her sulfuric maelstrom, ranting and raging and screaming as if caught in a swirling pool of lava, then suddenly I was in an oasis of calm. Somehow Mick had reached in and saved me, pulling me to safety. I could still feel the Abomination clawing at my back, tempting me to look at her. And even though I had just escaped her Hell, it was all I could do to keep myself from turning again.

‘My father pulled me into his arms and held me, whispering that I am the true Hunahpu, the
Nephilim
messiah, and that he would be there for me when I needed him.’

Dominique wipes a tear. ‘How did he look?’

‘Weary. And then he faded back into the white light.’

Warning bells sound, snapping Jacob to attention. ‘Computer, report.’

WARPED SPACE DETECTED, COURSE TWO-ZERO-THREE MARK SIX. TIME TO INTERCEPT: FOUR MINUTES, TWENTY SECONDS.

‘Origin of warped space?’

GRAVITATIONAL RIPPLE.

‘The wormhole?’ Dominique asks.

Jacob nods. ‘Computer, plot and execute intercept course.’

She follows Jacob forward into the control room.

‘Computer, activate forward screen.’

A three-dimensional image of space appears on the wall before them. Located in the upper right hand corner of the screen, growing in size as it travels from east to west, is the frightening scarlet-ringed aperture of the wormhole.

Jacob stares at the object. ‘I think you’d better strap in.’

Dominique climbs into one of the pilot chairs, which instantly conforms to her physique. The mouth of the vortex appears before them, radiating like a swirling, orange-red alien moon.

ACTIVATING EXOTIC-MATTER BEACONS.

The image of the scarlet orifice blurs as the negative energy field of the starship’s exotic-matter force field carves an invisible path before them.

Jacob pulls himself into his command chair as the wormhole’s mouth grows to occupy the entire forward screen. ‘Hold on!’

The sleek starship crosses the wormhole’s threshold, the cosmic tunnel’s intense gravitational forces instantly sucking the vessel down its throat, propelling it through its conduit.

Dominique’s arms are suctioned to her chair, the intense gravitational turbulence shaking the vessel hard enough to loosen her back teeth. She bites down, her eyes barely able to focus on the forward screen.

They are rocketing through an iridescent sky-blue funnel, rimmed by a strange bloodred hue. At the very center of the image is a black dot … growing larger … larger—

And suddenly they are flung free, hurtling through space into an unrecognizable sector of the Galaxy.

Before them—an alien silvery-red planet.

Dominique whispers. ‘
Xibalba
…’

Jacob nods. ‘Computer, reactivate main engines. Plot a course for the larger of the two moons.’

PROBES HAVE BEEN LAUNCHED FROM THE LUNAR SURFACE, APPROACHING GRAVITY RIPPLE.

‘Activate aft screen.’

The image of space changes. Appearing on-screen—the wormhole’s exit, bathed in emerald green. Moving into position along the perimeter of the orifice are hundreds of school-bus-sized probes, each emitting a luminescent blue beacon.

Dominique stares at the image on screen. ‘What’s happening?’

‘Someone’s stabilizing the wormhole, preventing its gravitational field from collapsing.’

‘The Guardian?’

‘Let’s hope. Computer, establish orbit around the planet’s larger moon. Prepare an escape pod to take us to the lunar surface.’

ABOARD THE
BALAM’S
ESCAPE POD

The twenty-seven-foot escape pod circles the lunar base, then descends to what appears to be a docking berth.

Jacob clutches his head, his eyes squeezed shut.

‘Jake, what’s wrong?’

‘Voices … so many voices … probing my mind telepathically—’

A written message appears across the pod’s main viewing screen.

W
ELCOME
H
OME
.

The pod touches down with a
hiss.
Alien hydraulics rotate the vessel into position.

Without warning, the entire landing pad and escape pod plummet hundreds of feet below the surface.

Dominique grips her seat, her stomach jumping with the sudden descent, then they are slowing, braking on a cushion of air.

The pod’s outer hatch yawns open, revealing a massive subterranean facility.

Standing before them in absolute silence are hundreds of humanoids, seven feet tall, all possessing silky white hair, bright azure-blue eyes, and elongated skulls.

Jacob and his mother are escorted down a long corridor to a private chamber. Waiting for them inside are three Guardian elders. Two are males, possessing white hair and matching silky beards. The female’s hair is also snow white, her luminescent eyes holding a maternal quality. All three are wearing skintight biopneumatic bodysuits, entwined with biochemical capillary-like vessels pulsating with energy.

The older of the two males, dressed in a black bodysuit, speaks aloud, solely for Dominique’s benefit.

‘I represent First Clan.’

The women, wearing gray, states, ‘I represent Second Clan.’

The younger male, in a white jumpsuit, steps forward. ‘I represent Third Clan. It is an honor to meet you, First-Mother, though your presence was not anticipated.’

‘Who are you?’

The younger male holds up two fingers. Balanced on each fingertip is a dime-sized, paper-thin device. ‘These are bionetic implants. All you wish to know will be downloaded.’

Before Dominique can object, the younger male touches the device to her left temple—

—inhaling her consciousness into darkness.

Where is Immanuel?

He refused to join me.

Illogical. He was programmed to be here.

The Hunahpu gene remained dormant for too long. He possessed free will.

You cannot succeed without him.

My father will assist me.

Your father is lost.

Dominique forces open a heavy eye.

She is lying on a free-floating couch, the room spinning in her head. The three bizarre-looking humanoids are standing before Jacob, their eyes closed as they communicate with him telepathically.

‘Speak out loud!’

They turn slowly to face her, their glowing eyes now open.

‘Who are—’ As her lips purse to form the words of her first question, a wave of information instantaneously washes over her mind.

The Guardian … survivors of an Earth holocaust … destined for Mars Colony … twelve spaceships diverted through wormhole … arrived on
Xibalba
as
Homo sapiens
… evolved into transhumans through retrotransposon manipulation …

Dominique grips the sides of her head where the neural implants have been embedded.

‘Stop,’ Jacob protests, ‘you’re overwhelming her.’

The female transhuman blinks, causing the neural transmission to cease.

Jacob kneels by his mother’s side. ‘Are you all right?’

Dominique nods.

‘We will communicate aloud,’ the female commands.

‘I want to see Mick. Take me to him.’

‘One Hunahpu is long gone,’ the elder male coldly states. ‘Our concern now is for the
Nephilim.
’

Dominique stands. ‘I don’t believe you.’

‘Michael Gabriel failed,’ voices the younger male.

‘You don’t know even where he is, do you?’

‘We know,’ the elder male retorts.

‘No … you’re lying, in fact, your whole brotherhood is one big lie! This lunar outpost, the
Balam
… none of it’s yours, you only inherited the technology, you don’t really understand it. You’re like a bunch of children operating a television. You can program it and adjust the volume, but you don’t know the first thing about how it really works, do you?’

Jacob looks at the Guardian elders and smiles. ‘My mother may not be Hunahpu, but don’t underestimate her, or her bond to my father. Tell her everything.’

‘What you say is true,’ the female Guardian admits. ‘The
Balam
was here when we arrived, we still don’t know its origins.’

The younger male steps forward. ‘Like you, we once lived on Earth as
Homo sapiens.
But our species was threatened by a great cataclysm—a super volcano, whose imminent eruption would cast Earth into a species-ending ice age. Some of us were chosen to begin our lives anew on Mars. Ours was the last group that managed to escape Earth before the caldera erupted. On our journey to the Red Planet, our twelve ships were seized by the wormhole, which deposited our ships in this time and place.’

Dominique covers her mouth. ‘Wait a minute … are you saying everyone on Earth will die? When will this happen? How soon?’

‘Less than a decade after the Hero Twins’ twentieth year.’

‘Oh my God.’

‘The planet we now orbit was once inhabited by an advanced race of humans. Before we arrived, this transhuman culture made a breakthrough in human evolution. By linking their minds into a collective consciousness, they were able to create a resonant “supermind,” one that would allow them to transcend the physical world into the spiritual. This discovery ultimately divided the culture in two. Those who sought to abandon their physical bodies in order to walk in God’s shadow eventually evolved into a posthumanoid species. Those who opposed this evolutionary blasphemy abandoned the planet.’

The female takes over. ‘The physical and spiritual realms are connected by a nexus—a transspatial existence that bridges the gap between our physical dimension and the spiritual worlds. By creating a collective mind, the transhumans could bypass physical death and enter the spiritual realm using high-frequency psychotronic harmonics. That gave them access to the nexus, but still prevented them from entering the higher spiritual realms they sought. In order to gain access, they needed another life-form—a host species—one capable of reproducing these psychotronic harmonics within the nexus itself. From genetic catalogues, the transhumans selected a species once indigenous to the planet. Using advances in gene splicing and cybernetics, they began cloning
and genetically manipulating generations of these biological creatures to serve their own selfish needs.’

A volumetric image appears before them. It depicts a crater-shaped sea of silvery, almost metallic liquid. Moving just below the surface are immense serpentine creatures, their broad backs churning the undulating broth.

Dominique’s eyes widen. ‘It’s the creature—the one that rose from the Gulf of Mexico, the one Mick destroyed in Chichén Itzá.’

‘Tezcatilpoca,’ Jacob whispers. ‘The Mayan name for “smoking mirror.”’

‘The mirror into the soul,’ the female adds. ‘These docile, intelligent beasts were genetically altered and enhanced to exist on both sides of the “mirror of existence.” It is their harmonics that summoned the wormhole. Their posthuman masters used the Tezcatilpoca to pass through the nexus into the spiritual world. Our fellow castaways—our own fallen brothers and sisters—followed them down this same dark path. Now the vanquished cry out to us for salvation. They must be saved.’