The Underlying Hand

The Underlying Hand

Book One of the Divine Chronicles

Smashwords Edition

Copyright © 2011 by Roger P. Koch.

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

A first novel is a daunting, lonely and often de-spiriting process. The following individuals are few but were extremely important in taking this project to fruition: Aneeta Sundararaj (www.howtotellagreatstory.com; The Banana Leaf Men) whose encouragement, support, advice and assistance in editing the initial drafts, was instrumental in my pursuing it to the finish; Marc Schoonmaker and John Palmer for their enthusiasm in the elements of the story; and Janelle Tan for suffering, often in silence, my erratic moods throughout the latter part of the story’s gestation.

I would like to acknowledge Michio Kaku for ideas on the Stages of Civilization, and David Hawkins for the Ladder of Consciousness. Additionally, many ideas were derived from the writings of Pauwels and Bergier as well as Zechariah Sitchin despite their apparent ‘bad’ archaeology.

Sceptical scrutiny is the means, in both science and religion, by which deep thoughts can be winnowed from deep nonsense

—Carl Sagan, writer

Earth—circa 64,000 A.D. (Ante Diluvium)

You are what your deep driving desire is. As your desire is, so is your will. As is your will, so is your deed. As is your deed, so is your destiny

—Brihadaranyaka Upanishads

Ideas emanate from the void, turning into superstitions and grow into religions. Recognised as truths, they soon revert to superstitions before returning once more to the void

—Unknown

How often have I said to you that when you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth

—Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

Prologue

Nin began to break from her meditations, stretching to prepare for her return trek down the cliff face. The earlier caressing breeze now slapped at her face with an icy sting.

She sensed before she saw the creature, which crept at her with teeth already bared. Looking past the animal, she noticed her guards were kept separated from their arms by a group of similar creatures with their characteristic snarl.

The lone rabid canine approaching her emitted a growl, ready to pounce. It was twice her size. Behind Nin, who now faced her attacker, was a sheer drop, with only a small ridge of snow jutting from the cliff face some few feet below her. To jump would be too dangerous as she doubted the solidity of the snow ridge below, but anyway pointless as the creature would otherwise follow. She realised she had never faced any real danger before, and though her heart pounded at her breast, she lacked the ability to imagine what the creature’s jaws could actually do to her. But she knew her life was over, and she faced her impending death with a mixture of trepidation as well as gratitude for an experience that had witnessed such beauty, savage as it was.

The wolf took a single step before lunging with its snout agape and jaws ready to tear, and during the time dilation that took place while those jaws approached, she took in all the features of the animal. Along with the brown-stained teeth were yellow, sinister eyes with their black corneal slits.

Its front paws caught her on the chest, and she was thrown back over the cliff edge as the snout came at her face, and she smelt the vitriolic breath from its final assaulting snarl. At the same time, she could hear the guardians’ weapons ablaze in the distance and the whimpers of the other creatures, which were immediately silenced. At least her protectors had managed to save themselves, but it was too late for her, she rued.

She landed on her back on the jutting ridge, with the creature’s weight fully on her, the impact of the fall cushioned by a mattress of recent snow. Somehow it held their combined weight, but that was of no comfort to her, and she shut her eyes instinctively as she awaited the fatal chomp into her bare neck.

Silence. Time dilation? The hot flow all around her midriff, she found curious.

After some moments, she opened her eyes warily, still expecting the worst.

The animal was slumped over her, and as she cast her sight over its bristling fur, a great lance jutted out from its back. The effusively warm ooze she had been feeling—its lifeblood—had already begun to ebb. She moved her eyes up the cliff face over which she had fallen, in search of a clue. And as she cast them to her right, on a smaller plateau than the one from which she had fallen, she caught sight of another very different creature that gazed at her with an expression she groped to absorb: Affinity. Simpatico. Kinship. It was Phileo. She didn’t understand it. She just felt it. Nin returned his stare in similitude.

The creature’s eyes slowly closed and reopened. With a gentle and benign nod, he disappeared into the shadows.

Her recent terror and its resultant adrenaline distilled that unuttered mutual sentiment into quintessence. It was indelibly stained into her psyche and gave presage of her future.

So this was a hominid!

Chapter One

Emptiness—it surrounded without, exuded within.

She wasn’t sure why, but little Nineveh worried in sympathy with her father, who paced up and down the royal chambers aboard the Nibiru. Her parents were either unaware or unconcerned of her proximity, allowing ‘Nin’ access to their conversation. While outside, space slid past at 160,000 miles per second, she was standing still. Born aboard, she had no way of comprehending what was missing. She just felt it. And she made up her mind then and there to find out what it was.

‘I’m beginning to wonder if it was worthwhile leading this escape from Marduk’s destruction, only to languish and be picked off out here in space by an unseen enemy.’ Jova opened up to his wife in a rare exhibition of candour and doubt—uncharacteristic for the king, even in their marital privacy.

‘Well, the alternative was annihilation.’ Shtar, his second wife and Nin’s mother, was flat in her response, missing the pith of his argument, and with no hint of the solace or camaraderie he sought. ‘Perhaps the healers will find a solution soon,’ she offered, before returning to her reading of ancient parchments.

‘Cellular destruction is not something that can be cured by medicine. It will take extraordinary insight to prevent it,’ Jova mumbled as if to himself, realising that any sort of intimacy was futile, but needing to express his thoughts in the hope of finding a solution. ‘The Nibiru was built as a station, not a vehicle. At our near light speed, space dust has sheared almost all of our ionic shields. And unless we can reinforce the protective glass bubble, even our crops will be wiped out. My time on the bridge has exposed me to cosmic bombardment, but at least the two of you are safe,’ he added, having ensured that the royal quarters were reinforced with gold and other shielding material.

Nin wondered whether her mother knew that his ‘time on the bridge’ was spent mainly with Aunt Irania. Worse, did she even care?

Shtar became engaged. ‘Oh, we must protect the synthesised manna production facility at least. We’re the last hope for our species.’

Nin studied the marked difference in the appearance of her parents. Jova was already elderly, and the folds around his jowls were sagging, as were the lids around his metallic blue eyes. His still upright gait showed the beginnings of a stoop, making him appear shorter than his otherwise average seven and a quarter feet. Shtar, who had left Marduk as a young graduate, was still in the bloom of adulthood, but her cool demeanour accentuated by soft grey eyes and chiselled cheekbones gave her an air of maturity and jaded wisdom.

‘Precisely.’ Jova fretted. ‘That synthesis requires harvest from the amaranth tree. If they can complete erecting the bubble, it should protect the area around our fresh crops and reduce our exposure. But it won’t prevent the increasing mutations and sterility. I’m afraid our goal and even our survival may hinge on the work of Ea’s geneticists.’

‘Yes, I’m sure Ea’s team will come up with something soon.’ Shtar returned to her impassivity. If she felt any jealousy towards Ea, the son of Jova’s first wife, Hera, she gave no indication of it, and Jova marvelled, but was equally dismayed, at her detachment.

‘Hmm, you have great belief in him. Understandable as you both share such interest in the ethereal.’ He turned aside to mumble to avoid drawing attention to the growing distance with his son, especially since casting aside the mother. ‘I wish I knew how he’s progressing.’

Any intended response was cut short by a noise Nin had previously never heard. Indeed, any noise aboard the craft was rare. The moaning hum of the Nibiru, the womb that bore them on this journey, was as unremarkable as the starkness of its ubiquitous fluorescent lighting.

‘The alarm! Something’s gone wrong with the exterior bubble,’ Jova shouted as he ran out of the room, noticing his daughter on the way out. ‘Nin, stay down here with your mother and don’t come out till I return.’ He cast an angry look at her attire before exiting.

Nin wore her only outfit unbuttoned, even exposing a childish breast, hoping her defiance against shipboard discipline would serve to engage her mother’s attention. But hardly perturbed by the alarm, Shtar didn’t appear to notice, returning to her reading. Had there been any threat to the child’s well-being, there might have been a reaction. But in the Nibiru’s controlled temperature, there was no danger to her health, and thus Nin realised her rebellion had no practical significance to mother.

‘I don’t know where to start.’ Uriel, the king’s counsellor fretted, summoned to describe the events that had triggered the alarm. He remained standing in the foyer, too agitated to sit on the gilded sofa of the royal reception room. But his hesitation was short lived as he blurted out his account.

‘I was on the surface doing some final observations before the horticulturists installed the bubble, which would limit the view. Despite his protective suit, I recognised our Chief Agriculturist Nazar-El’s short and stocky frame, guiding the last panel into place.’

Nin had never seen the sage so visibly disturbed, so much so that he used Nazarel’s formal name, failing to elide the guardian officer’s ‘El’ epithet as was the common colloquialism. She studied Uriel as he continued, ‘I turned to observe a nurse with her infant, exchanging waves with a horticulturist— apparently her husband, who was assisting to install the glass-alloy lattice. The baby was intact and healthy, so rare nowadays. But I was still worried about the effect of possible cosmic ray damage to it despite where we were in the protective bubble . . .’

Uriel was the most elderly member of the entire Nibiru contingent, included due to his immense academic and esoteric status, having also been counsellor to the previous Marduk King. Noticeably older than Jova, his strikingly limpid ice blue eyes betrayed his powerful intellect, but the rest of him appeared a kindly and benign soul. Nin liked him.

‘Naturally, I could hear nothing from the soundless exterior but saw the mother’s expression metamorphosing from initial contentment to abject fear.’ Uriel continued. ‘I turned around to witness the cause of her panic. An undetected tiny meteor had shattered through one of the panels and into the crane, killing its operator and scattering fragments. A shard pierced Nazarel’s hood and threw him to the ground, still clutching that crucial-locking piece that would combine all the others.

‘The connecting panels began losing support and were swaying precariously, injuring some and exposing others to unprotected radiation. I was rooted to my position, unsure how to assist, knowing that the closure of the gap was crucial to the survival of the entire Nibiru. I could see the chain reaction of the collapsing panels would not only wipe out all our food-production facility, but also eventually destroy the navigation tower that ultimately stood in the path of the collapse.

‘Just then, I caught sight of a quick-thinking and incredibly agile young botanist, weaving and dodging the superstructure collapsing around him and dashing to relieve the stricken crane operator. Meanwhile, the workers who had gathered around the injured Nazarel prised the locking panel from him. Three of them carried the piece and assisted the heroic botanist, who had by now regained control of the crane.

‘As you can see, I’m not as limber as I once was. And while procrastinating as to how I could be of help, the young mother left her child on the floor, rushing past me towards her horticulturist.’ ‘Watch over my Shalimar!’ She cried out to me as she ran into the exposure.

‘Automatically, I went over to pick up the infant before returning to witness the unfolding accident. I was stunned by the bravery of the workers, exposing themselves in aiding the injured Chief Agriculturist and assisting the valiant new crane operator who was already deftly shifting the controls in the protected cockpit. And, holding her babe in my arms, this old astronomer was dismayed to see the nursing mother and her husband amongst them, regretful and ashamed at my helplessness,’ Uriel finished his recount, eyes downcast.

From the conversation that followed, Nin learnt that eleven herbalists, including the new parents, succumbed to injuries and radiation and in mere hours afterwards, exhibited extreme cases of tumours and cancers resulting in excruciating pain and an agonising death.

Uriel had taken the baby to her parents’ ward at the Medical sector for a final farewell to alleviate their further anguish, assuring them that their daughter’s welfare was at least safeguarded. After their rapid demise, he carried the child to his large quarters.

‘I am nothing like your heroic mother and father, my little one.’ The elderly sage, hitherto happily resigned to a solitary and androgynous life, whispered to the gurgling infant as he placed her in a makeshift cot. ‘But if you can bear with this old bachelor, I will carry out your mother’s last request as best I can.’

‘How awful for the poor child!’ Shtar cried. Never known for tact, she didn’t consider the implied insult to Uriel. ‘But how did Nazarel survive?’

Unperturbed, Uriel replied, ‘Luckily for him, his suit remained intact and the shard, which gouged his right eye, also served to seal his hood at the same time, and he was thus not exposed.

Jova returned them to the pragmatic. ‘And lucky for all of us that astute young botanist repaired the protective covering. Otherwise, all our food supply, and much more of the ship, could have been damaged.’

‘Yes, but despite all our reassurance, he is disturbed that he was unable to save the parents of the infant, particularly as they were such a rare example of fertility. Naturally, he was recruited to undergo guardian training and apparently as a result of that belief in his inadequacy, he has accepted.’

‘With that wit and agility, why wasn’t he spotted earlier as a guardian?’ The king asked.

‘He’s brilliant despite his self-doubt, but he has a strange speech anomaly and he’s given to humour, a trait that does not sit well in the guardian brigades as you can imagine,’ Uriel explained

‘I hardly consider recruitment to guardian training as a reward, and I’m glad it was his choice,’ Shtar added sarcastically.

‘Well, this accident has me even more worried about our survival. The length of our journey is predetermined, so it is imperative that we find a cure for this affliction affecting our reproduction,’ Jova commented before making an excuse to visit the ‘bridge’ as he escorted the calmer but still-shaken Uriel out of the royal suite.

Excuses unnecessary, Nin decided to visit her older stepbrother Ea at the Healing Institute and observe his progress.

Like the toneless hum and the monochrome light, the faint clinical scent that pervaded the Nibiru from its antibacterial diffusers was unnoticeable in its ubiquity. The ship had clearly been designed for function with no thought of aesthetics—sparse, featureless. But as she entered the Healing Institute the aroma accentuated, nuzzling Nin in wispy floral scent—a consoling embrace.

She sensed some excitement amongst the normally dour lab assistants as she passed them on her way to Ea’s division.

‘Nin!’ Ea exclaimed as he caught sight of her. ‘It’s so great to see you, my little sister!’ He gushed as he swung her around like a gyroscope. He was unusually exuberant and Nin responded in pent-up glee, lapping up his attention.

‘You know, I believe I may have found the clue to our cure.’ He enthused.

Nin didn’t know what exactly the cure meant but shared his excitement. However, as she remembered the recent accident, she sobered.

‘I wish your cure could have saved those who died in the accident.’

‘No, sweetie. It can’t cure those already afflicted. But it can prevent those like you from getting damaged, possibly forever!’

The technicians who began to gather around Ea in anticipation of his announcement dispelled her momentary reflective sadness, and Nin thrilled at being present at her brother’s apparent success. She later returned to her quarters in euphoria at their growing bond.

‘I am so glad Ea has finally achieved and perfected the cure for our affliction. He deserves the accolades,’ Jova shared with his step-sister Irania during their following tryst. But the joy in his son’s achievement was not apparent in his tone.

Despite its immense speed and large as the Nibiru was, the journey felt like imposed hibernation, made more ominous and desperate by cosmic affliction. The announcement of Ea’s discovery and genetic cure had thus animated the feckless passengers briefly with hope and enthusiasm, immensely elevating his status.

‘And our course is set so there’s really not much call for my leadership in this floating prison,’ he expressed, a little frustrated.

Irania was quick to catch the real meaning of his insecurity. ‘His achievement is no more than a momentary flash. Everyone recognises it was you who saved us all from the fate that befell our kind, and you who set that course in the first place. They’ll soon be begging for your leadership when they’re once again lost in the new world.’ She placated him with a calculated look of adoration she knew he craved. Even with the effects of deprivation in the artificial environment of the ship, she managed to maintain the allure in her eyes and much of the proportions of her physique. ‘But we need to also make sure that they understand your position is sacrosanct and they must not be allowed to forget it.’ She added, emphasising her support.

Jova fast tired of Shtar’s imperviousness and indifference to his attempts at gaining her adoration or even participation.

By comparison, the fiery amethyst-eyed Irania, whose seductive beauty even the other females were forced to acknowledge, could turn the heads, and thoughts, of any male. And once she had Jova’s head turned, she made it a point to keep it turned forever in her direction, arousing his libido along with his ego. It wasn’t therefore difficult to thrust a cleavage into the weak and faltering relationship.

It seemed as if Irania assumed the role of queen from birth, and she was fully aware what the recent amendment to the Law of Inheritance could mean to her. She thus set mind and body to achieving that goal and was soon pregnant with their son, Enlil.

Jova thus diverted, had married her immediately thereafter, and the parting with Shtar occurred with minimal overt fuss. Whether that slight to her femininity had any effect on her, neither Nin nor anyone else could tell, but Shtar never again bothered herself seriously with any other male—whether for companionship or pleasure.

‘I am sure with our attention and grooming, our Enlil will make a fine heir, so much more than the dissident son of that old crone, Hera,’ Irania declared to Jova in the final stages of her pregnancy. ‘And your recent amendment to the Law of Inheritance almost ensures it.’

Jova was taken aback by her naked and tactless ambition. ‘Yes, but remember, both Hera and Shtar remain my official wives. There is no precedent to such multiple marriages, and my recent Law of Inheritance depends on consensual acceptance.’

‘Even if they didn’t appreciate your achievements, there’s none aboard who would dare challenge your authority.’

The more he thought about it, the more he felt at ease with the marriage to his half-sister.

Finally, someone who understands the machinations of power!

Chapter Two

As she grew, Nin absorbed herself in the multitude of chronicles in the ship’s library as well as those incorporated in its memory. Typically, communication was carried in the form of holographic visuals accompanied by auditory announcements. But following her mother’s lead and craving to maintain her heritage, she taught herself the ancient art of reading. Something in those ancient written words, and the images they invoked, appeared more real than the sterile documentary that the ship’s audio-visuals afforded.

‘I am amazed at Marduk’s rapid progress. Our technology seemed to have grown exponentially in just the past few generations. What a great heritage!’ She marvelled to her mother, having learnt that Shtar was much easier to engage in abstract matters.

‘Yes, but at what cost to our spirituality?’ Came the enigmatic reply.

The response was disillusioning but made her think. And while she resented the aloofness, she began to appreciate her mother’s adherence to truth rather than insincere platitudes.

In adulthood, engaged in the ship’s heavily technical and factual chronicles, Nin turned her attention to more complex issues.

‘How long is this journey going to take, Captain Gabri-El?’ Nin addressed the Nibiru’s captain formally. The space station’s roughly circular diameter was ten miles, and Nin had gained considerable exercise, exploring much of it. But she had never been to the captain’s bridge and was thus awed by the novel experience.

‘In time or distance?’ Gabriel asked. ‘It’s a good question, really. At nearly nine-tenths of light speed, we have time dilation effects that make our position in relation to Marduk time or even our target star’s time a very complex mathematical correlation. As for distance, that’s of course related to time.’

Nin appreciated the captain’s genuine attempt to answer her without conde- scension. ‘I would like to know how time was calculated on Marduk, and how you correlate it but perhaps later. Is there a simple answer?’

‘Well, if we take the entire length of our intended journey, you were born about one-tenth of the way after we left. As mentioned, time becomes aberrant at these speeds and in our galactic position, but I estimate you have lived approximately thirty-eight Marduk years—a pre-adult.’He turned to observe her to verify his last comment. ‘We have less than another tenth of that to go to the target solar system. In fact, we are approaching the distance of its nearest star.’

There was little more she could learn from Gabriel, and so she turned her attention to her brother and her own increasing interest in genetics. Besides her attachment to Ea, if their species was to survive and thrive, she believed that field would be the key factor.

She stopped briefly at the laboratory entrance to observe her elder brother deep in thought as he bent over his experiments at the Healing Quarters of the Nibiru. Despite the periodical solar radiation treatment and exercise that were part of shipboard nutritional discipline, and even with a reasonable approximation of the simulation of a virtual Marduk gravity, the lack of natural light gave them all a dissipated appearance with pasty, almost translucent skin. Alike all the Marduks, Ea’s body had atrophied. His slight build accentuated his eight-foot height.

‘Manna maintains our inner health but is no substitute for starlight. And even my invention, while protecting us from cosmic rays, makes no difference to our external appearance,’ Ea explained to her unasked question, subconsciously aware of her inspection of him.

Born aboard ship, she was not to know his true physical appearance until later in the new world. There, as it was on Marduk, Ea’s strongest distinguishing characteristic, a pair of deep emerald green eyes, set in a dark, rich brow, gave the impression of the bearer’s powerful intellect but somehow a weak resolve. But now, en voyage, those had paled to take on a hint of yellowness, still setting him apart from the others, whose eyes generally tended towards light blues and dissipated greys in the artificial but life-sustaining glow of the Vril-induced light. His slightly elongated skull, accentuated by the shipboard practice of shaving, was typical of all the other Marduks.

‘But you, little sister, should consider yourself doubly lucky to have been born at all!’ he teased the young adult.

‘Doubly?’ she queried.

‘Well, reproduction was initially prohibited aboard the Nibiru due to space limitations, although our father’s eminence would have made yours a special case. But over time, the cosmic rays from throughout the galaxy pierced our shields and caused their cancerous mutations and killed off many of our weaker contingent. No amount of manna, or even surgery, could reverse the damage. We lost nearly 4,000 in the early days. When offspring thus became encouraged, that same destruction, even when it didn’t render our males sterile, resulted in mutants. You were safe because you were cocooned in the protected royal quarters,’ he explained.

‘But then luckily for us all, you came up with your fantastic discovery! What led you to it?’ She fawned in juvenile adoration. His achievement never failed to excite her.

‘Yes, well, I realised that cosmic radiation accelerated deterioration in the cell—which is anyway part of the normal aging process—only more instantly and violently. So as a cure was not possible, I knew that we had to effectively shield the subatomic quanta within the cellular atoms from any kind of bombardment.’ Ea paused as he focused on his present experiment.

She knew much of the rest from undergoing the treatment resulting from that discovery. That process involved bathing the patient in a ‘fountain’ of energy not only shielding the cell from cosmic rays but also from other damaging energies and molecular reactions, freeing the normal cell to replicate almost indefinitely, without deterioration. Maintaining this state simply required periodical treatment, and so even those not greatly afflicted by cosmic radiation took ‘baths’ for their anti-aging effect, and soon after, the refugees had sensed their imminent immortality.

Ea, lifting his head from the microscope and refocusing on her, returned to the subject. ‘The added benefit was it halted telomere deterioration. But that may also have psychological effects. As life extends, futility encroaches and could smother us all.’

‘I don’t understand?’

‘Yes, you have no other frame of reference. But this seemingly endless and monotonous voyage has sobered many of us. Time drags as if merging into the space we’re cocooned within. As the ship feels immobile against the backdrop of space, attitudes and mental activities also stagnate. Life without purpose is simply existence,’ he replied gravely.

Nin later learnt that the bath required considerable equipment and energy, which could only be developed on such a station as the immense Nibiru. That energy came from a transmutation of white powder gold into Vril energy, a process which Marduk scientists had not so long ago discovered with the highly electromagnetically conductible metal; as much of the sophisticated technology aboard utilised this remarkable metal, they had stockpiled gold prior to departure. However, although they needed very little additional fuel for propulsion through deep space, Ea’s radiation bath drew heavily on their reserves, forcing them to melt down much of the golden equipment and furnishings aboard.

She also learnt that kingship on Marduk was by appointment. Having experi- mented with numerous political ideologies, the entire race of Marduk—now uni- fied into one planetary community—had settled on a dictatorial monarchy.

‘What led to that outcome?’ she asked the King’s Counsel, Uriel.

‘Well, over time and after much tumultuous experiment, our ancestors seemed to have concluded that party or committee rule was extremely inefficient and ineffective towards our goal of technological excellence. Party decisions were generally based on the lowest common denominator—conglomerations of vested interests that ultimately followed the path of least resistance. But self-appointed dictators are also dangerous. So after Marduk became a singular global community, a council was formed to represent all at a Supreme Round Table. Backed up by psychological tests and character profiles to negate abuse of position, the council chooses a king.

‘Secure in that selection process, the appointed king has absolute, almost god- like power. Ceremonially and spiritually, he or she plays role model and archetype of our species.

‘In fact, our Jova has recreated that council from amongst the refugees.’ The sage explained, finishing with the hint of a sniff at the comparative triviality of the recent Nibiru Council compared to its once mighty Marduk forerunner. ‘As we are nearing our target solar system, he has called for a last meeting with an extended list of attendees. Perhaps you can be invited.’

‘Oh, I hope so!’

Nin’s stepbrothers Ea and Enlil, attended as members of that council of twelve. The younger Enlil, now similarly pre-adult, who had trained diligently and had achieved high guardian rank, was an immediately recent appointee—replacing a councillor who had earlier succumbed to the cosmic radiation. As a guardian officer, he was entitled to the ‘El’ epithet. But as his very name intendedly resembled, it was generally dropped.

Uriel and Ea were original members from Marduk. Ea’s inscrutable mother and first queen, Hera, was a Jova appointee as was Nin’s mother Shtar and Enlil’s mother Irania, the latest queen. The rest were made up of senior arch guardians—some originals and others elected by that vested quorum. As a relative of many of the members, Nin was in fact encouraged to attend and listen in on the somewhat informal and free-seated discussion.

‘If there is intelligent life, it would be interesting to determine how to integrate,’ Shtar mentioned early in the proceedings. She sat opposite the king, as did Ea, while Irania and official queen, Hera, sat on either side of him in that circular gathering. Nin was intrigued by the social dynamics.

Jova retorted, ‘There will be no such thing as integration. We must establish absolute supremacy and maintain our species’ integrity. It is the law of the universe. The stronger must dominate the weaker or else they too will be weakened. We owe it to those who perished on Marduk.’

‘And do you expect these few thousand survivors can overcome an entire planet?’ Shtar challenged back. Despite her demotion in marital status, she had no inhibition in challenging the king and father of their only daughter.

‘No problem, my dear,’ Raphael, Head of the Healing Institute, replied on behalf of Jova. The pompous senior council member projected his hook nose upwards in condescension, feeling no obligation to be deferential to the ex-queen. ‘I hear from our good Captain Gabriel that there is an absence of any spacecraft or indeed any electronic communication. So any species could be easily overcome by our obviously superior technology. Why, if they existed at all, they would look upon us as gods!’

Nin noticed the young Enlil prick up his head at that suggestion.

‘That’s assuming that electronic communication is the only kind and that technology and space travel is a primary objective,’ Ea quipped almost, in spite annoyed at the guardian Head Physician’s arrogant presumption. Raphael was in charge of Marduk’s Healing Institute and was thus technically his superior. But as a geneticist, Ea worked independently, and with his momentous discovery of the radiation treatment, it was clear to all who was the more distinguished.

‘And what other objective could they possibly have?’ Jova asked.

‘Some higher calling.’ Ea’s inane retort was intended to be offhand, allowing the matter to rest.

His younger brother Enlil, a Jova devotee, was eager to establish his stripes. ‘Please elaborate. What higher objective or calling could there be except progress? And what better way than through technology?’ Enlil’s voice reflected his precociously bombastic and self-righteous personality. In council, it took on an air of the theatrical and served to reinforce Ea’s annoyance.

‘Spirituality? Consciousness? The soul?’ Ea thus ventured into taboo. It was not exactly anathema to discuss such matters. But in modern Marduk society and more so, the Nibiru’s regimented environment, it was looked upon as idle, counterproductive rambling—discomforting and socially obtuse amongst the mainly military members

Nin examined the various expressions. Jova was clearly annoyed and Enlil and Raphael were unified in outrage. Most of the other councillors, except for Uriel and Shtar, had no real interest but were uncomfortable with the topic, shifting uneasily in their seats. Ea’s inscrutable mother Hera sat in typically silent and rigid aplomb. Nin was amazed by the first queen’s equanimity, trampled without a second thought by her husband when he married Nin’s mother and then again with Irania. She betrayed nary a blink. Hera acted as if programmed, an adjunct to the king, and any feelings or thoughts she may have once had were deleted. To the recently adult Nin, neither her birth mother nor either of her stepmothers offered any sense of role model.

Her reflections were interrupted as Jova cut short the discussion. ‘It seems that the idle speculation of the council during this