I estimated a million of these humanoids were being held in suspended cryogenic animation, stacked one atop the other within invisible energy fields. It was impossible to tell how many of them there were, for the stacks disappeared high overhead into the darkness, and wound around the entire interior of the building.
I knew they were alive, and I knew what they were, for somehow, I could sense their unified presence observing me.
They were posthumans. Alive but not alive, unified yet all alone… unable to touch or feel.
Unable to love.
In the chaotic months that followed, every member of our colony would complete the transhuman metamorphosis. Coming out of our comas, we were like infants suddenly made aware of our bodies, each day revealing wondrous new discoveries about our genetic transformation. Besides the obvious leaps in intelligence and body strength, we found we could communicate concepts telepathically.
More astounding was our ability to extend life expectancy.
Numerous factors cause aging and death among Homo sapiens. One is telomerase, an enzyme that elongates the ends of chromosomes. Every time a cell divides, telomerase shrink. When the length drops below a set threshold, Homo sapiens cells stop dividing and mortality approaches. Other proteins, like apolipoprotein E, can postpone aging, but are present in limited quantities, as opposed to free radicals-the highly destructive, oxidizing molecules produced by the body itself that lead to senescence and disease.
Given the gift to control our own cellular functions, we found we could now isolate and eliminate free radicals from our bodies while increasing the production of apolipoprotein E and glutathione. Further, we could reduce the loss of telomeres, potentially increasing life expectancy tenfold.
Perhaps more.
Our newfound focus was not just inward. Telepathy allowed us access to all of New Eden, including its recorded history, and we soon discovered the aliens’ society had been a dichotomy of existence.
Long before we arrived, the world we had named Xibalba had been a planet influenced by two distinctly different cultures. The first was the transhuman race responsible for constructing the floating city. The dwellings, the landscaping, the agricultural pods and environmental controls-all were designed for these beings. Little was known of their origin, but it was obvious they had cultivated their domain over thousands, perhaps millions of years. They were space travelers, masters of genetics, and were far superior to us in every way.
At some point in Xibalban history, a fantastic scientific discovery was made that allowed these ever-curious transhumans to transcend their third-dimensional physical world and enter the realm of the spiritual. The decision to pursue or ban this science would split the Xibalban race in two. The group that rebelled against the discovery would leave the planet, traveling to God-knows-where, while the other group remained behind, intent on evolving beyond their physical forms to walk in God’s shadow.
Self-programming, immortal, and unlimited in power-the group that remained behind would evolve into the posthumans. The beings held within the cryogenic pods were their physical remains.
It is the traces of posthuman DNA, Jacob, that makes us Hunahpu.
Professor Ian Bobinac was the most accomplished geneticist in the colony. On Earth, he had pioneered the use of ‘Vee-Gees,’ vaccine genes-genetically engineered cells used to produce antibacterial, antivirus, and anticancer substances directly into the human body. On Mars, his work in genetic manipulation would have been applied to alter reproduction schedules among cloned livestock.
Bobinac was a genius even before his brain had been affected by transhuman metamorphosis. Having ‘evolved,’ he now spent most of his time living inside his own brilliant head. What finally brought him out of his self-evolving ‘funk’ was the mystery surrounding the alien lines and glyphs flashing along the exterior of the great posthuman hall.
Bobinac soon discovered a communication emanating from the structure-an audible communication- translated at a refresh rate of 267,000 cycles per second. By comparison, the spoken word is transmitted at a mere 16-20 cycles.
What Professor Bobinac had discovered was a posthuman language, composed of 212 distinct graphemes (English uses only forty-six phonemes). Most bizarre, the posthumans’ collective mind was still dispersing their communication across the planet.
But to whom?
The moment I heard of his discovery, I asked to be transferred to Bobinac’s team. As marine geneticist Bill Raby, I immediately recognized the 267,000 harmonic cycle as one shared by a sea creature back on Earth – whales.
While the effects of our genetic metamorphosis were universal, our newfound powers affected each of us differently, magnifying our own unique personality traits.
Lilith Mabus and her son, Devlin, craved power. As time passed, the olive-skinned Adonis grew increasingly belligerent, his sociopathic tendencies, combined with his mother’s influence, driving him to lead the life of a modern-day Caligula.
Whiffs of wild tales spread through our small community. Some told of private gatherings hosted by Devlin in a transhuman dwelling he had taken over, referring to it as the ‘president’s mansion.’ There were rumors of lurid orgies and Satanic rituals led by the bewitching Lilith, though nothing could be substantiated.
In truth, most of us were too involved with our adjustment as ‘superior beings’ to take the time necessary to investigate these tales. But as the fourth anniversary of our arrival on Xibalba grew near, there was a growing movement to oust the planet’s self-appointed leader and his wicked parent.
Devlin and Lilith had other plans.
Prior to abandoning the planet to hunt the Xibalban transport in Earth-space, the Guardian had taken DNA samples from posthuman subjects. Ten thousand years in our past, they had introduced dilutions of this super- elixir into Homo sapiens, genetically altering our species, driving us up the evolutionary ladder.
Unbeknownst to the rest of the colonists, both of Devlin’s biological parents had possessed Hunahpu DNA. Cold and calculating as a human, Devlin’s evolution as a transhuman gave him the extraordinary ability to decipher and manipulate polygenic traits within his own DNA.
In short, Devlin Mabus could self-evolve.
Evolution can be traced back to the first bacteria that took life from Earth’s primordial soup. Housed within our DNA is a record of every phase of our evolution, from ocean dwellers to reptiles, from the first insectivorous mammals to our primate cousins.
Remaining in isolation for weeks, Devlin had tapped into his genetic code, manipulating a master gene that would help him reengineer his entire being.
On the morning of our fourth anniversary, New Eden’s colonists gathered in our adopted public square.
It was Lilith who stepped out of the shadows of the president’s box to address the crowd.
‘Holy, Holy, Holy is the Lord of Hosts, who has reached across the cosmos to save His Chosen Ones from death. He has led us to the New World and Blessed us with its wonders. He has given us a taste of His wisdom, and transformed each of us into something better than what we were. And now, He has heard the cries of His children.
‘Who among you has sinned? Who among you suffers inside? Which of you are consumed in guilt? Raise your hands and be made accountable!’
In unison, we raised our hands, many of us weeping at the memories of the deceased loved ones we had abandoned back on Earth.
‘Do you seek salvation? Speak the words aloud.’
For such a small crowd, our shouts were deafening.
‘We are here today because of a miracle. Long ago, my son, Devlin, was given a vision. In this vision, he saw the incubator Earth cast out humankind. Like a modern-day Noah, he was instructed to build a fleet of spaceships-cosmic arks-in which he would lead the chosen few to salvation. Look around you and tell me this is not so. It was Devlin’s vision that led to our rebirth. It was because our true creator touched him that we are here today.
‘And now another miracle has occurred. In your prayers for salvation, the one true creator has sent us his archangel. Behold my son, Devlin, the Seraph!’
Jude and I held hands, our breath taken away as Devlin stepped out of the shadows of the president’s box and into the light. A hush grew over the crowd as we ogled the creator’s handiwork.
