Steve Alten - Domain

This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this novel are either fictitious or are used fictitiously.

DOMAIN Copyright 2001 by Steve Alten

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof, in any form.

The author is grateful for permission to reprint copyrighted material. These permissions and other acknowledgments appear on page 380, which constitutes a continuation of this copyright page.

This book is printed on acid-free paper.

A Forge Book Published by Tom Doherty Associates, LLC

175 Fifth Avenue New York, NY 10010

www.tor.com

Forge is a registered trademark of Tom Doherty Associates, LLC.

Book design by Ellen Cipriano Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Alten, Steve. Domain I Steve Alten.-1st ed.

p. cm.

A Tom Doherty Associates book. ISBN 0-312-87476-6 (acid-free paper)

1. Life on other planets-Fiction. 2. Mayas-Antiquities-Fiction 3. End of the world-Fiction. 4. Archaeologists-Fiction I. Title.

PS3551.L764 D66 2001 813'.54-dc21 00-048454

First Edition: February 2001

Printed in the United States of America

0987654321

For Ken Atchity, Manager, Mentor, Friend.

It is with great pride and appreciation that I acknowledge those who contributed to the completion of Domain.

First and foremost, to my literary manager, Ken Atchity, and his team at Atchity Editorial/Entertainment International for their hard work and perseverance. Kudos to editors Michael Wichman (AEI) for his vision and to Ed Stackler of Stackler Editorial for his excellent commentary.

Many thanks to Tom Doherty and the great people at TOR Books, editor Bob Gleason, and Brian Callaghan, as well as Matthew Snyder at Creative Arts Agency in Los Angeles, and Danny Baror of Baror International. Kudos to Bob and Sara Schwager for their great copy-editing.

Thanks also to the following individuals whose own personal expertise contributed in some way to Domain: Gary Thompson, Dr. Robert Chitwood, and the terrific staff at the South Florida Evaluation and Treatment Center, Rabbi Richard Agler, Barbara Esmedina, Jeffrey Moe, Lou McKellan, Jim Kimball, Shawn Coyne, and Dr. Bruce Wishnov. And to authors Graham Hancock, John Major Jenkins, and Erich Von Daniken, whose work certainly influenced the story. Very special thanks to Bill and Lori McDonald of Argonaut-Grey Wolf Productions/Web site: www.AlienUFOart.com, who contributed to the editing and are responsible for the incredible artwork found in this novel, and to Matt Herrmann of VILLAINDESIGN for his graphic input and photographic contributions. I am also deeply indebted to Donna and Justin Lahey, whose dedication, creativity, and know-how have helped launch my novels via the Internet. Lastto my readers: Thank you for your correspondence. Your comments are always a welcome treat, your input means so much.

For more information about Steve Alten's novels or to contact the author personally, click on www.STEVEALTEN.com.

and in these ancient lands encased and lettered as a tomb

and scored with prints of perished hands, and chronicled with dates of doom

I trace the lives such scenes enshrine and their experience count as mine.

The most beautiful experience we can have is the mysterious. It is the fundamental emotion that stands at the cradle of true art and true science.

Fear and religion. Religion and fear. The two are historically entwined. The catalysts for most of the atrocities committed by man. Fear of evil fuels religion, religion fuels hatred, hatred fuels evil, and evil fuels fear among the masses. It is a diabolical cycle, and we have played into the Devils hand.

I stand before the vast canvas, sharing the feeling of loneliness its creator must have surely felt thousands of years ago. Before me lie the answers to riddlesriddles that may ultimately determine whether our species is to live or die. The future of the human raceis there anything more important? Yet I stand here alone, my quest condemning me to this purgatory of rock and sand as I seek communion with the past in order to comprehend the peril that lies ahead.

The years have taken their toll. What a wretched creature Ive become. Once a renowned archaeologist, now a laughingstock to my peers. A husband, a loverthese are but distant memories. A father? Scarcely. More a tortured mentor, a miserable beast of burden left to my son to lead about. Each step across the stone-laden desert causes my bones to ache, while thoughts forever shackled in my mind repeat the maddening mantra of doom over and over in my brain. What higher power has chosen my family among all others to torture? Why have we been blessed with eyes that can see the signposts of death while others stumble along as if blind?

Am I mad? The thought never leaves my mind. With each new dawn, I must force myself to reread the highlights of my chronicles, if only to remind myself that I am, first and foremost, a scientist, nay, not just a scientist, but an archaeologista seeker of mans past, a seeker of truth.

But what good is truth if it cannot be accepted? To my peers, I no doubt resemble the village idiot, screaming warning cries of icebergs to passengers boarding the Titanic as the unsinkable vessel leaves port.

Is it my destiny to save humanity, or simply to die the fool? Is it possible that I have spent a lifetime misinterpreting the signs?

The scraping of footsteps on silica and stone gives pause to this fools entry.

It is my son. Named for an archangel fifteen years ago by my beloved wife, Michael nods at me, momentarily warming his fathers shriveled pit of a heart. Michael is the reason I persevere, the reason I do not end my miserable existence. The madness of my quest has robbed him of his childhood, but far worse was my own heinous deed, committed years earlier. It is to his future that I recommit myself it is his destiny that I wish to change.

God, let this feeble heart last long enough to allow me to succeed.

Michael points ahead, reminding me the next piece of the puzzle beckons us. Stepping carefully so as not to disturb the pampa, we stand at what I believe is the beginning of the 3,000-year-old message. Centered upon the Nazca plateau, laid sacred from the mysterious lines and colossal zoomorphs is thisa perfect circle, carved deeply between the black-patina-coated stones. Extending out from this mysterious centerpiece like sunbeams from a childs painting are 23 equidistant lines, all but one running some 600 feet. One line is aligned with the solstice, another with the equinox, variables consistent with the other ancient sites Ive spent a lifetime exploring.

It is the 2nd line that is most intriguinga bold carving within the pampa, extending over rock and hill for some 23 miles!

Michael shouts, his metal detector erupting as we approach the center of the figure. Something has been buried beneath the topsoil! With renewed vigor, we dig through the gypsum and stone, exposing the yellow dirt below. It is a heinous act, especially for an archaeologist, but I convince myself that the end shall ultimately justify the means.

And there it is, glistening beneath the broiling Sun. Smooth and white, a hollow cylinder of metal, a half meter long, that has no more right being on the Nazca desert than I have. A three-pronged candelabra-like design adorns one end of the object. My feeble heart flutters, for I know the symbol as I know the back of my weathered hand. The Trident of Paracasthe signature icon of our cosmic teacher. A similar glyph, 600 feet long, 200 feet across, adorns an entire mountainside not far from here.