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…
30
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.
‘I feel ridiculous,’ says Sam, still weary from two hours of intense virtual-reality combat training. ‘Why do we have to wear these stupid outfits?’
‘I told you, the atmosphere on Xibalba is heavy in carbon dioxide. The masks allow us to breathe, the body armor protects us. In the training arena, the suits are linked to our nervous system. If you get hit by a holographic warrior, you’re going to feel it.’
‘Wonderful.’
‘Lose the attitude, Manny, I need you to take this seriously. You may not feel threatened in this arena, but make a mistake on Xibalba and I promise you, you’ll die painfully.’
Immanuel kicks at the synthetic limestone surface. For the first fourteen years of his life, the dark-haired twin had been bossed around by his overbearing brother. Virtual-combat programs, Eastern philosophy, training all hours of the day and night… everything centered around nightmarish tales of a Mayan hell called Xibalba.
Immanuel Gabriel had spent the first two-thirds of his life trying to escape his overbearing twin’s fantasies. Now, as an adult, he is being drawn right back in.
Enough!
‘That’s it, Jake. I’m sick of these games.’
‘Games?’
‘Games, neurosis, whatever you want to call it. Maybe you had Manny Gabriel spooked, but Samuel Agler wants nothing to do with it-or you.’ He removes his headpiece, tossing it on the ground.
‘Immanuel-’
‘This Hunahpu gene may allow us to focus inward better than the next guy, but it’s screwing with your mind. Mom warned me years ago that it could lead to paranoid schizophrenia-and now you’ve got it in spades!’
Jacob looks up at Dominique, who backs away from the viewing glass. ‘Our mother has no idea what she’s dealing with.’
‘I think she does. Our father was locked up as a mental patient, diagnosed a paranoid schizophrenic. Mom was his intern.’
‘Our father was not schizophrenic. His sentence in that asylum was based on bogus charges.’
‘Believe whatever makes you happy. Keep playing your combat games, only do it without me. See, Samuel Agler has a life, and it’s not here.’ He strips off the body armor and heads for the exit.
‘Computer, lights.’ The arena loses its violet hue. ‘Manny, look around. Do you honestly believe NASA would invest millions of dollars in a facility like this just to humor me? Do you really think all this is part of some schizophrenic delusion?’
‘Jake, you live on a government installation, just as we did on Longboat Key. You train in a holographic suite, using a program you designed after the Popol Vul ’s story. That doesn’t make it real, and it doesn’t impress me either. Heck, you should see some of the training facilities we have at the University of Miami. Blows this shit away.’
‘Manny-’
‘All this Mayan Underworld crap, it all began with our grandfather and his stupid journal. He’s long gone, and so is Mick. Personally, I’ve accepted the fact that our whole family is nuts. Mick was a schizoid, Mom suffers from severe depression, I’m living under a false identity, and you-well, you’re the head squirrel. I love you, man, but I have to go. Have a good life.’
Jacob shakes his head in disbelief, then looks up at Dr. Mohr. ‘This is going all wrong. I need to show him.’
Mohr’s voice sounds metallic over the speaker. ‘Jake, we talked about this. Your brother doesn’t have clearance.’
‘He’s my brother. He has more right to see GOLDEN FLEECE than anyone on this base.’ Jacob jogs out of the arena into the corridor. ‘Manny, er, Sam, before you go, I want to show you one last thing.’
‘Give it up, Jake.’
‘It won’t take long, I promise. Humor me one last time.’
