theories of evolution are simply layered upon an
existing paradigm of a mechanical universe that consists
of molecular machines operating in an objective reality
that is knowable with the right instruments. We tell you
a truth of the universe when we say that reality is
unknowable with any instrument save your own sense of
unity and wholeness. Your perception of wholeness is
unfolding because the culture of the multidimensional
universe is rooted in unity.
wholeness navigator reveals itself in the coming shift,
you will dismantle and restructure your perceptions of
who you are, and in this process humanity will emerge
like a river of light from what was once an impenetrable
An Excerpt from The Wholeness Navigator,
Decoded from Chamber 12
CRUCIBLE 826 A.D.
Traveler of the Sky entered the steep canyon in a dreamlike fog,
drawn by a towering rock structure that seemed to clutch the sky.
Never had anyone from her tribe ventured so far into the mountains.
She was from the Chakobsa tribe, whose genetic origins were Mayan
and whose progeny would later become known as the Anasazi Indians of
Northern New Mexico. Her lean, bronze-skinned body bore the ritual
tattoos signifying her as leader of the Self-Knowers.
Self-Knowers focused on the spiritual development of the Chakobsa
tribe. They created the various rituals, rites of passage,
meditation chambers or kivas, and were responsible for the tribe's
record keeping with regard to its origins, history, and belief
Traveler of the Sky was thirty-four years old, dressed in tanned
deer hide cut just below her knees, with turquoise beads adorning
her neckline and hemline. Over her heart was an ink print of her
right hand in blue-violet ink with tiny white beads attached,
signifying a starlit sky -- a reference to her name. Her straight,
black hair fell below her shoulders to the small of her back, held
in place by a headband made of rabbit fur. Her youthful face framed
the eyes of an elder of great wisdom.
She continued her deliberate descent into the canyon where, from the
deep shadows, a towering, needle-like rock structure twisted into
the pale blue sky like an impertinent finger dipped in red paint,
pointing to the unseen stars. It had drawn her attention the day
As she walked toward the red tower of sandstone, a flash of light
alarmed her. The sun had just crested the ridge of the canyon and it
had sparked a luring reflection from an object only twenty feet from
her side. She suddenly felt like a trespasser. Her body froze, eyes
glued to the shining object, no larger than a human head, half
buried in pine needles between two, gnarled pinion trees that stood
like steadfast guardians.
At first she thought it might be a stone of silver, but as she
neared the object, she noticed it was covered in unusual markings,
like thin snakes twisting over its surface, frozen, embedded into
its surface as if they were claw marks from a bear. As she squatted
to get closer she noticed its color was both gold and silver,
something she had never seen before. She edged nearer to its
lustrous surface. It was an unnatural object. She was certain of
that. It was not from nature, and it was not from her tribe.
Intrigued and entranced by its unusual color, she stared at it for
several minutes trying to decide how, or whether, to approach it. If
it was supernatural, it was her task to make it sensible to her
people. If it was a threat, it was her task to discharge it from
their land. As a
shaman in her ancestral homeland, it was her duty
to be inquisitive, even forceful.
Traveler of the Sky raised her hand over the object as if blessing
it. Her thin lips recited an ancient verse of her people, "You are
known to me in the great mystery. I am honored in your presence."
Her hand began to tremble, and then her body shuddered as a current
of electricity flowed through her like a tidal wave. Her hand was
drawn to the object and involuntarily clasped it as if it were a
powerful magnet. Her fingers, clenching in an irrepressible reflex,
grasped the object and pulled it to her chest, cradling it as though
it were a baby. Her entire body vibrated uncontrollably as she held
Everything she knew -- every experience she had to draw from -- was
purged. Her mind emptied like a sack of butterflies released to the
wind, and she felt completely free of her past and future. There was
only the fleeting vastness of the now. Minutes passed as she held
the object to her chest, completely unaware of her actions. She
gradually became aware of the weight she held. It was heavy, about
the weight of a young child, despite its small size.
With some effort, she placed it back on the ground. As she did, it
began to vibrate almost imperceptibly. The distinct lines on the
surface of the object began to blur. Traveler of the Sky rubbed her
eyes in distrust of what she saw. Her face bore a mixture of
confusion and foreboding fear, but she couldn't move. Everything
became dreamlike and she felt that she had been cast into a haze --
into the Great Mystery of her ancestors.
The canyon's light shimmered and pulsed in the unmistakable rhythm
of a hypnotic dancer. Before her were three, tall, odd-looking, but
handsome men. Their eyes, variegated in blue, green, and violet,
were serene yet radiant. Long beards of pure white hair touched
their chests. They were dressed in emerald-colored robes that were
strangely transparent, and they were standing in front of her like
majestic trees. She felt no fear because she knew she had only one
course of action: surrender.
"We are your future, not only your past as you now believe," one of
the beings in the middle spoke.
She nodded, trying to acknowledge
that she understood them, but her body was somewhere else -- in some
other world that she was rapidly forgetting.
She noticed that although she heard his words, his lips did not
move. He was speaking directly into her mind. And he spoke perfect
Chakobsan, something unknown for an outsider.
"You have been chosen. The time has come to lift your gaze from the
fire's brightness and cast shadows of your own. You are our
messenger into your world. As you are the Traveler of the Sky, we
are the Makers of Your Wings. Together we redefine what has been
taught. We recast what has become truth. We defend what has always
been, and will always be, ours."
She could only observe. Reverence towards these
Makers of Wings
filled her heart without effort. The beings before her drew it from
her by their mere presence. It poured from her as though an
infinite, secret reservoir had been tapped.
"There is no thing more divine than another," the being said. "There
is no pathway to First Source or the Great Mystery. All beings are
intimate with First Source at this very moment!"
Somewhere from far away she felt her will to speak return.
you?" the phrase formed in her mind.
"I am from the
Tribe of Light, as are you. Only our bodies are
different. All else remains in the clear light of permanence. You
have come to this planet forgetful of who you are and why you are
here. Now you will remember. Now you will assist us as you agreed.
Now you will awaken to the reason for your being."
A whirring sound above her head sounded like the beating of a
thousand pairs of shapeless wings, and a spiral of light descended
from the sky. Within the light, shapes similar to those she had seen
on the object twisted, merged and separated. Intelligent lines -- a
language of light. The light slowly entered her and she could feel
the surge of energy, tremorous yet deep, unsheathe her like a
sculptor's chisel. There was no struggle. No obstruction to
overcome. And then she saw it.
A cacophony of images released within her and revealed her future.
She was one of them-the makers of this object. She was not Chakobsan,
it was a mask she wore, but her true lineage was from the stars.
From a place so far away that its light would never truly touch
When she came to, her vision quickly began to evaporate, as if her
mind were a sieve and could not hold the images of her future. She
picked up the object, caressing it with her hand, knowing that she
was its keeper; aware that it would lead her to something that was
not yet ready to be discovered. But she knew her time would come. A
time when she would wear a different mask -- the mask of a woman
with red hair and curiously white skin. It was the final image that
In 1940, several recoveries of crashed UFOs justified a special
government budget to establish a new organization within its
top-secret, Government Services Special Projects Laboratory
responsible for securing, protecting, and analyzing technologies
recovered from extraterrestrial spacecraft. It had the dubious honor
of being the most secret of all the research labs within the U.S.
Based in the high desert near Palm Springs, California, this heavily
fortified and secretive compound housed top scientists from
government laboratories with pre-existing, security clearances.
The ET Imperative, as it was called in the 1950s, was considered to
be of vast importance to the national security of the United States
and, indeed, the entire planet. The Advanced Contact Intelligence
Organization (ACIO) was charged with analyzing recovered alien
technology -- in whatever form it was found -- and discovering ways
to apply it to missile technology, guidance systems, radar,
warplanes, surveillance, and communications in order to dominate the
arenas of war and espionage.
In the mid 1950s, several alien spacecraft were recovered with aliens inside, still alive. These incidents occurred not only in the
United States but also in the Soviet Union and South America. In one
such incident in Bolivia, a brilliant electronics expert, Paulo Neruda, removed some
navigational equipment from a crashed UFO and
bargained successfully to join the ACIO in exchange for its return
and the use of his services.
Paulo Neruda and his four-year old son, Jamisson, became United
States citizens in 1955. The elder Neruda became a high-level
director of the ACIO before he died in 1977. His son, Jamisson,
joined the ACIO shortly after his father's death and became its
primary expert in linguistics, encryption, and decoding
Young Neruda was a genius at languages -- computer, alien, human, it
didn't matter. His gift was considered essential to the ACIO in its
interaction with extraterrestrial intelligence.
The recoveries of live aliens in the 1950s had created a new agenda
for the ACIO. A Technology Transfer Program (TTP) grew out of the
recovery of extraterrestrials from two distinct alien races known as
the Zeta Reticuli and the Corteum. Selected technologies from these
races were provided to the ACIO in exchange for various services and
privileges extended by the U.S. and other governments.
The ACIO was the repository and clearinghouse for the technologies
that grew out of the TTP with the Zetas and Corteum. The ACIO's
agenda was broadened to develop these technologies into useful,
non-military technologies that were seeded into both the private and
public sector. Before-their-time technologies such as integrated
circuits and lasers were among the progeny of the ACIO's TTP with
the Zetas and Corteum.
DISCOVERY IN THE DESERT
There were times when Jamisson Neruda
marveled at his job. Beneath the cone of light from his desk lamp
lay a certified mystery. It had been found a week earlier in the
high desert near Chaco Canyon in northern New Mexico and now, after
three, exhaustive days of research, he was convinced the artifact
Neruda had already compiled notes about the unusual artifact. The
main characteristic, according to the students who found it, was
that it induced hallucinogenic images when held or touched. But, no
matter how hard he tried, he couldn't induce anything resembling a
hallucination. Maybe, he speculated, the two students had been under
the influence of drugs. That would explain the hallucinogenic
property. Nevertheless, no one could dispute that the artifact
projected an exotic, otherworldly presence.
It was two o'clock in the morning and Neruda's dark eyes were gritty
with sleep deprivation. After comparing the hieroglyphic markings on
the Chaco Canyon object to similar markings from ancient Sumerian
and Linear B script, nothing really matched. After three days of
comparative analysis, he could only conclude one thing: they were
not of this earth.
His report bore the same words on the title page.
Neruda rubbed his eyes and looked through his microscope again,
examining the metallic surface of the textured silver casing and
copper-colored markings. The artifact contained thousands of ridges,
tiny spinal cords that coalesced, like nerve ganglia, every 8 to 10
centimeters into one of the 23 distinct glyphs on the object.
Though it was the size of a toddler's shoebox, the artifact weighed
more than a blue-ribbon watermelon and had a density similar to
lead. But, unlike lead, the surface was completely impenetrable to
every probe Neruda or his colleagues employed.
Maybe it was the sculptured quality of the glyphs that fascinated
him. Or maybe it was the subtle variations in the lines. He had
never seen such sophisticated depictions of a cryptographic alphabet
before. Somehow it only compounded the irony that the artifact
"I think we found something."
Emily Dawson poked her head into
Neruda's office, cradling a cup of coffee as if to keep her hands
from freezing. Her long, brown hair, normally in a tidy bun, fell to
her shoulders, looking more tired than her sad, soulful eyes.
"Doesn't anybody ever sleep in this
place?" Neruda shot back with a boyish grin.
"Of course, if you're not interested in what we found..." Her
voice trailed off to a whisper.
Neruda smiled knowingly. He liked
Emily's quiet manner; it was almost irresistible. He loved the way
she was so unobtrusive.
"Okay, what exactly did you find?"
"You'll need to follow me. Andrews is still checking his
computations, but my instincts are certain that he'll confirm
our original findings."
"And they are?"
"Andrews told me not to tell you until you were in the lab -- "
"Andrews forgets I'm his supervisor. He also forgets it's two in
the morning and I'm unusually irritable when I'm tired and
"It'll only take a few minutes. Come on."
She casually took another sip of coffee.
"I'll get you a fresh cup of coffee
and a cinnamon bagel."
She let her irresistible offer dangle in
the quiet of his office.
Neruda could only push back from his cluttered desk and smile.
"Oh, and bring the artifact," she
added. "Andrews needs it."
Neruda's hair, tussled from his restless
hands, covered his right eye almost entirely as he bent down and
carefully tucked the object under his arm like a football. He
staggered just a bit while the weight of the object found a point of
Neruda was Bolivian and had the great fortune to own one of the most
distinguished-looking faces ever to grace the human body. Everything
about him was intense. His hair was as straight as it was black. His
eyes resembled mysterious wells in moonlight, dodging the question
of how deep or how full they were. Nose and lips were formed from
As he walked by her in the doorway, Emily swept his hair to the
"I'll bring the coffee to the lab."
"I'll take cream cheese on my bagel," Neruda said, walking
begrudgingly to the lab to confer with Andrews, one of his most
demanding but brilliant assistants.
The hallways of the ACIO were quiet and
antiseptically clean at this late hour. White stucco walls and white
marble floors gleamed beneath the overhead halogen lights. The odor
of various cleaning formulas sterilized the air. Neruda heard his
stomach growl in the deep silence of the hallway. It, too, was
sterile. He'd forgotten dinner. Again.
"Finally!" Andrews said as Neruda
entered. He had the unnerving habit of never leveling his eyes
with his human counterpart. Neruda sort of liked it; it made him
feel comfortable in a strange sort of way. "This shit is
"And what are you referring to, exactly?" Neruda asked.
Andrews kept his eyes on the charts in
front of him.
"I mean the way the surface
analytics show how precisely this thing's been designed. What
looks like chaos is actually a precisely executed pattern. You
see these subtle variations? They aren't arbitrary. We screwed
up; we didn't build our plot diagrams with enough granularity to
see the pattern before."
"And what pattern is that, exactly?"
Neruda's voice betrayed a growing degree
Andrews positioned a large chart on the table before him. It looked
like a topographical map of a mountain range.
Neruda instantly saw the pattern.
"Is this the complete surface of the
"Are you sure?"
"I've double-checked everything and my replication data is an
Neruda set the artifact on the table
beside Andrews' chart with a thud.
"There's no way this could be an
"And what's the plot granularity?"
"Is it visible at any other granularity?"
"I'm not sure. That's why I asked you to bring the little
monster here. I'll do some more tests and we'll see what else
"Any idea what it means?"
"Yeah, it's not from around here," Andrews laughed and struggled
with the artifact to move it onto a metal platform for testing.
The measurement device was called a
Surface Mapping Topographer (SMT) and it made an extremely detailed
topographical map of the surface of objects. Similar to that of
fingerprint analysis, the ACIO's version was three-dimensional and
could be utilized microscopically.
Neruda leaned closer to the poster-sized chart while Andrews
positioned the artifact exactly to his requirements.
"It's definitely not Zeta or Corteum."
"And it's definitely not human-past or present accounted for,"
"But this pattern... it's unmistakable. It's... it's got to be a
topographical map. It might even represent the discovery site."
"Okay, let's say it's ET, but not the friendly ETs we send
Christmas cards to," Andrews flashed a smile, "and these ETs
visited us in our distant past. They happened to be cartographer
freaks and decided to make a map of their settlement on Earth.
Then they got bored with New Mexico -- an easy thing to do, I
might add -- and had no need of the map anymore so they left it
"This artifact was found above ground," Neruda reminded him.
"Someone or something placed it there and did so recently, or
else our little monster would've been buried."
"Maybe it unburied itself."
Andrews' voice was nearly a whisper.
Neruda backed away, feeling a sudden wave of exhaustion for the
first time. He slumped into a nearby chair, ran his hands through
his hair, and then stretched his body with a long sigh. Rubbing his
neck, he laughed low in his throat.
"You know, maybe they just have a
sense of humor."
"Or they like to torture their victims with misdirects," Andrews
offered. "You do remember our experience with the Zetas?"
"This is entirely different. The language structure of this race
is so dimensional that it must lack telepathic abilities. Why
else would they construct such a complex language?"
"Maybe it's not a language or a map. Maybe it's just an artistic
expression of some kind."
"Not likely. It's more probable that they've created a
multi-dimensional language that integrates their mathematics
with their alphabet as a way of communicating a deeper meaning.
It's not misdirection. I can feel misdirection in my bones."
"Yeah, but we're too shit-faced stupid to figure it out."
"We've only had three days."
"Okay, but we're almost as clueless as we were on the first
The door of the lab swung open and Emily
walked in with a tray of coffee cups and bagels.
"Anything else you gentlemen need
before I retire?"
"A million thanks," Neruda replied.
"You're very welcome. So what do you think about our little
"Everything just got a lot more complicated."
"So you're happy," Emily quipped.
"Either they have a mathematical structure encoded within their
alphabet or this object portrays a very detailed topographical
Emily set the tray next to the artifact,
careful to avoid touching it.
"I prefer the map hypothesis. I was
never very good with math."
She flashed her most innocent smile. For
an instant Neruda saw her as a young girl, complete with braids,
braces, and training bra.
Emily was relatively new to the ACIO. She had come to the attention
of Neruda after he read her seminal book on the Sumerian culture,
which she had written as an Associate Professor at Cambridge
Forced to leave her post at Cambridge, due to an illness rumored as
some form of cancer, she had fallen into a deep depression during
her convalescence that had left her body and spirit ravaged. Two
years ago, the ACIO recruited her, at Neruda's urging, and he had
taken her under his wing as her mentor.
"You are happy about this aren't
you?" Emily asked, half-serious.
"Come on, boss," Andrews chimed, "burning the midnight oil,
drinking coffee and eating donuts every meal, never having to
wear sunglasses... what could be better?"
Andrews was the prototypical nerd
engineer. Appearances last, mental acuity first. Not that he was a
bad looking man. He just preferred to analyze complex problems and
solve them, instead of laboring with time-consuming tasks like
brushing his teeth or combing his hair.
Neruda sipped his coffee and stared at the chart without response.
Something bothered him about the pattern. It was too perfect. If
someone wanted to encode a language within a language, they would
make it less obvious. Otherwise, what's the purpose of encoding?
"I think we should take granularity
plots at .001 variance down to .0005 microns. Also, ask
Henderson if he'd get us a set of twenty topographical maps of
the discovery site up to a hundred kilometers radius at
increments of five kilometers. Okay with you, Andrews?"
"No problem, but at least tell me what you're hoping to find."
"I don't know," he replied, looking suspiciously at the chart.
"I don't know, but maybe it's not a language so much as a map."
"This can wait until the morning, can't it?"
"What, and waste a good cup of coffee?"
With that, Neruda smiled broadly and
told them to get a good night's rest. He was closing up shop, too.
On his way out,
Neruda noticed a thin blade of light beneath
Fifteen's office door. The Executive Director of the ACIO was known
as both a night owl and workaholic, but 3 A.M. was late, even by his
Neruda knocked softly and opened the door a crack. Fifteen was at
his computer terminal, lost in thought. Absentmindedly, his hand
motioned Neruda in, but in a halting gesture, motioned him to wait a
moment before speaking. A few more keystrokes and Fifteen turned
around to face Neruda.
In his early sixties, Fifteen had been the reclusive and revered
leader of the ACIO for more than 30 years. The scientists privileged
to work at the ACIO considered him the most brilliant mind on or off
Fifteen got his name by virtue of his security clearance. The ACIO
had 15 distinct levels of information distribution and he was at the
top of the information chain.
The ACIO had developed the most powerful knowledge management and
information systems on the planet. And because of its unique access
to the world's most powerful technologies, its information databases
were more carefully secured than the gold in Fort Knox.
the only person in the world who had a Level 15 security clearance,
which gave him unfettered access to all the sectors of the ACIO data
Neruda sat in a leather chair opposite Fifteen, waiting for some
sign to speak. Fifteen took a sip of tea, closed his eyes for a
moment as if to clear his mind, and brought his dark eyes squarely
on Neruda's face.
"You want to go to New Mexico, don't
"Yes, but I want to tell you why -- "
"Don't you think I already know?"
"Perhaps, but I want to tell you in my own words."
Fifteen shifted in his comfortable
chair, as if his back gave him problems. Spanish by descent, Fifteen
often reminded Neruda of Pablo Picasso, with long silver hair. He
had the same stout body style as Picasso but was probably a bit
"So tell me."
"This artifact is more sophisticated than either the Zeta or
Corteum. It can't be probed. It's entirely seamless. And tonight
we've confirmed that it has a multi-tiered alphabet that
migrates from a two-dimensional cryptographic code to a
three-dimensional fractal pattern that looks a lot like a
"Combine these factors with the report from the kids who
discovered it, that the artifact projects some form of a
hallucination when held, and I think there's probable evidence
that this thing isn't an isolated artifact."
Fifteen breathed a long, weary sigh.
"You're well aware that I've already
dispatched a team to the area where the artifact was found. We
used our best people in search and rescue and they found no
"But that's just it! It's not from a crash site. The artifact is
perfectly intact. Nothing but microscopic scratches -- "
"Then explain how this most sophisticated alien technology was
found by two kids above the ground. We both read the report from
Collin that estimated an object of that weight and size would
become at least partially buried in that environment within six
to eight months."
"It's possible it was left behind recently."
"You're suggesting an alien race left it behind as their calling
"Speculate. Why?" Fifteen asked.
"What if they had left behind something important in that area
and wanted to be sure they could return to the exact same
location years later."
"A homing beacon?"
"Are you aware that there's been absolutely no anomalous radar
activity in that area in the past twelve months?"
Fifteen swiveled in his chair, hit a few
keys on his keyboard, and began to read:
"ZONE NM1257 HAD THREE INCIDENTS OF
ZETA FLY-OVERS DURING THE REQUESTED ANALYSIS PERIOD. THEY WERE:
0311 HOURS, MAY 7; 0445 HOURS, MAY 10; AND 0332 HOURS, MAY 21.
FLIGHT PATHS WERE ESTIMATED AT SPEEDS IN EXCESS OF 1,800 KPH --
NO SIGNIFICANT SPEED VARIATIONS."
The implacable expression on Fifteen's
face softened slightly as he turned to face Neruda.
"You see? This object wasn't left
behind, it unburied itself."
Goose bumps stippled Neruda's neck at
the recognition that he'd heard this twice in the last hour.
"Or it was left behind by time
travelers," Neruda said.
Fifteen paused to reflect on the
conversation. He took a quick sip of tea and shifted in his chair,
this time with a grimace.
"You mentioned a three-dimensional
fractal pattern that looked like a map?"
"Yes," Neruda said, his voice gaining in intensity. "And the
precision is at least .0025 in the granularity plots. It could
be even higher. We'll find out tomorrow."
In a drawn out, somewhat irritable voice, Fifteen asked, "So
what do you propose?"
"I'd like to assemble a small team tomorrow afternoon and take
the artifact with us. The artifact may be a compass or a map of
some kind that's only operational in the local environment it
was found. It's worth a test before we put this thing into
"And you really think it's more sophisticated than Corteum?"
"There's no doubt in my mind."
"You have my approval, but if the artifact goes with you, so do
Evans and anyone else he thinks is pertinent. Understood?"
"Yes, but this is my mission and I presume I'll be leading all
operations." He hoped his words sounded more like a statement
than a question.
"And the plot charts from the object," Fifteen wondered aloud,
"did they have any markings as to a strategic position?"
"That's just it, when the twenty-three glyphs are laid out in
the SMT analogue, with a little imagination one can define at
least two or three strategic positions. I'm ordering
topographical maps of the entire region within a hundred
kilometers of the point of discovery. We'll see if there's any
correlation when we do an overlay analysis."
Fifteen stood up and glanced at his
"Before you leave tomorrow, I'd like
a mission briefing for the directors. I'll schedule it at
fourteen hundred hours in my office. I assume you'll come
prepared to show the SMT results, the topographical map
correlations -- assuming they exist -- and any other relevant
findings pertaining to the glyphs."
Neruda rose to his feet and nodded
affirmatively. Thanking Fifteen for his time, he left the sprawling,
Zen-like office with a peculiar sense of apprehension. Why would
Evans need to come along? Fifteen must sense something peculiar
James Evans, Director of Security for the ACIO, had been a Navy Seal
commander for six years before his training methods became a little
too extreme, even for the Navy Seal program. He was removed from his
post through a conspiratorial set of circumstances that ended in an
Afterwards, the NSA secretly recruited him. He worked there for
three years until he came to the attention of Fifteen through a
collaborative project between the NSA and the ACIO, code-named
AdamSon. To scientists within the ACIO, Evans and his security
department were a necessary evil, but evil nonetheless. Their
tactics introduced to the scientific core, a sense of paranoia which
Fifteen seemed oblivious to.
Evans was a likable person. His position was one of high prestige:
Director of ACIO Security and Admissions. In his role, he enjoyed a
Level 14 security clearance, along with six other Directors. These
seven people were the most elite team surrounding Fifteen, and were
consulted by Fifteen on every major initiative.
To Neruda, Evans was a well-trained thug. His intellect was superior
to the average person only because of mind-enhancement technology
that the ACIO had obtained from the Corteum. Without the aid of the
Minyaur Technology, as it was called, Neruda often thought Evans
would make a fine State Representative for Wyoming, or perhaps an
Since his arrival 12 years ago, and his rapid rise through the ranks
of the ACIO, Evans had implemented many new security technologies,
such as the subcutaneous tracking beacon all ACIO staff had
implanted in their neck. To Evans' credit, there had been no
security leaks or defections during his tenure, but Neruda hated the
very existence of internal security and Evans was an easy target for
Neruda entered the elevator, paying particular attention to the
Status and Forecast reports displayed on the embedded monitor just
above the doors. It was 0317 hours, 7(C, no wind, moon at 12%
luminosity, 120 kilometer visibility, barometric pressure steady at
29.98, and humidity 16.4%.
The elevator doors swung open before he could catch the forecast but
he knew he'd be underground all day tomorrow. Besides, the weather
wasn't exactly volatile in southern California.
ACIO "Topside" was 45 meters, or 12 stories above the executive
offices and laboratories of the ACIO. Topside was also a completely
different facade: long, one-story, stucco building with antenna-like
protrusions and satellite dishes on the roof. At its gated entrance,
a simple sign said, UNITED STATES GOVERNMENT EXPERIMENTAL WEATHER
CENTER. RESTRICTED ACCESS.
The ACIO was, to anyone who might wander by, a government weather
center responsible for developing sophisticated, weather instruments
to help the U.S. military and intelligence communities to better
predict, and even control, weather conditions across the globe. This
was part of the ACIO's mission. But only a fraction of its budget
and project plan went to these endeavors.
Of its 226 scientists, eleven were deployed in the development of
weather-related technologies. The majority were involved in the
development of complex technologies devoted to financial market
manipulation and encryption technologies that enabled the algorithms
to operate without detection.
The ACIO had a long history of working with the secretive powers
behind the throne. The highest powers within the intelligence
community and private industry revered the ACIO's brainpower and
innovations. It was widely rumored within the intelligence community
that such an organization existed to reverse-engineer
extraterrestrial technologies, but only a handful of the most elite
actually knew of the ACIO.
Neruda reached Topside with a queasy stomach stoked from too much
caffeine. He thought a warm glass of milk and a banana before bed
would soothe him. Sleep and little else drew him home. He had never
married and now, at 46, the prospects seemed remote. His entire
adult life was absorbed by the ACIO. Since the age of sixteen when
he began to work as an intern with his father, the ACIO was his
shelter and sanctuary, workplace, and social venue.
Starlight always caught him by surprise when he left the compound.
The velvet night air was indeed clear; 120 kilometers visibility
seemed understated. He drove the six kilometers to his home in a new
subdivision of mostly ACIO personnel.
His head hit the pillow before the warm milk found his stomach. The
unpeeled banana slept beside him on the night table. As tired as he
was, his mind's eye kept looking at the strange markings that
encircled the artifact's exterior casing. In thirty years of
studying ancient scripts he had never seen such intricately carved
Suddenly he noticed a soft, diffuse light penetrate his eyelids. His
eyes flew open as if hinged on high-tension springs. The room was
silent and dark. He closed his eyes again, figuring that he must
have slipped into a lucid dream of some kind. Turning on his side he
adjusted the covers tightly around his neck and let out a long,
In a moment the light returned. This time he kept his eyes closed,
watching in amazement as the light began to form into the same
glyphs he had seen on the artifact. They wavered over his head like
a mirage of shimmering gold light: serpentine, sculptural. He looked
at them with all his intensity, and to his surprise they began to
move, not the glyphs, but something inside the glyphs. Something was
circulating within them like blood coursing inside an artery.
Whatever it was, it began to speed up. Faster and faster, and then
Neruda noticed a whirring sound, similar to the hum of electricity
but infinitely smoother. It began as a low humming sound and then
started to rise in pitch to a near-inaudible state, and just when
Neruda thought he would lose it, it began to oscillate. At first,
the sound was a wavering of electrical rhythms pulsing like a
massive heartbeat a million miles away, but then something changed
and he could hear words forming. Nothing intelligible, he told
himself, but it was definitely a language pattern. His whole body
and mind leaned towards the sound, trying desperately to make out
Then it happened. English. Words he could understand.
"You are among friends. Feel no
fear. Relax and simply listen to our words."
The words were spoken with perfect
diction, articulated like a Shakespearean actor.
"What we will impart to you, will be
stored inside your mind for later recollection. Upon awakening
you will have no recall of our meeting. We regret this, but it
is necessary at this time."
Neruda could feel his mind forming a
protestation but it dissolved before it could be given voice.
"What you desire is to activate our
technology," the voice intoned. "But you do not yet understand
the context in which our technology is placed upon your planet.
This insight will come, but it will take time. Rest assured that
we are watching, waiting, and ever vigilant to protect your
interests and those of our mission."
Neruda could feel his body, but was unable to move his limbs or
even open his eyelids. He was completely entranced by the voice.
He swallowed hard and tried to speak -- whether with his mind or
vocal chords he wasn't sure. "Who are you?"
"We are what you will become. You are what we have been.
Together, we are what define the human soul. Our name,
translated to your language, is WingMakers. We are
interpenetrated in the light of First Source. You live in the
weaker light that has been stepped down to receive you. We bring
the Language of Unity into this weaker light so you may see how
you will become unified to a new cosmological structure the
architecture and grandeur of which you cannot even imagine."
Neruda's mind flashed to his father's voice: "...the new
spirituality will have as its foundation a cosmological
substrate so profound that the mind will not contain it."
He smiled inwardly at the recollection of his father's voice.
"Why? Why can't we imagine it?"
"You have not been able to understand the Language of Unity
because you do not understand wholeness. You do not understand
the grand universe in which you live and breathe.
"Your plants have root systems that penetrate Earth and drink of
her substance. In this way, all plants are linked. Now, imagine
that each plant had a secret root that was invisible but was
nonetheless connected to the very center of the planet. At this
point of convergence, every plant was indeed unified and aware
that its real identity was this core system of interconnected
roots and that this secret root was the lifeline through which
individual expression was brought to the surface of earth and
its unified consciousness released. In this same way, humanity
has a secret root that spirals into the uncharted realm of the
Central Universe of First Source. It is like an umbilical cord
that connects the human entity with the nurturing essence of its
creator. The secret root is the carrier of the Language of
Unity. And it is this language that we have come to teach.
"All life is embedded with what we will term a Wholeness
Navigator. This is your core wisdom. It draws you to perceive
fragmentary existence as a passageway into wholeness and unity.
It is eternal and knows that the secret root exists even though
it may seem intangible to your human senses. The Wholeness
Navigator is the tireless engine that drives fragmentary, life
experience into unified life expression. It is the immutable
bridge over which all life will surely pass.
"The Age of Enlightenment is the age of living in the
multidimensional universe and appreciating its wholeness,
structure, and perfection and then expressing this appreciation
through your mind and body into the world of time and space.
This is the seed vision of the Wholeness Navigator. The imprint
of its purpose. We are here to assist beings like yourself to
first conceptualize and then experience the multidimensional
universe as it truly is -- not only through the language of your
world, but through the Language of Unity; as you see it in these
glyphs. As this experience flows through you, you will
transform. The Wholeness Navigator will be able to deposit a new
perception of your Self that is aligned with the image of First
Source. It is this new image, emerging through your Wholeness
Navigator, that will change the course of this planetary system.
We are here to accelerate the formation of this image in the
mind of humanity."
Neruda continued to listen even as the
sound of the voice subsided back into the pulsing of the glyphs. A
part of him lurched forward, trying to explain what was happening as
a mental construction -- a dream and nothing more. But somewhere
deep inside himself, beneath all the layers of his education, a
faint remembrance was re-kindled. A sense that reality was upon him
with the intensity of a jaguar capturing its prey. A sense that
everything in his universe was focused on this event. All eyes were
He felt a question bubble to the surface.
"Why do you care if this experience
is achieved by humans -- myself, or anyone else? What's so
important that this new image, as you call it, is accelerated in
"If humanity understands that this secret root exists and that
it is the carrier of the Language of Unity, then humanity can
become responsible stewards of more than the earth, its solar
system, its galaxy and its universe. Humanity can be stewards of
the human soul and transform into what we are. We are all,
regardless of our position on the evolutionary timeline, encoded
to re-ascend the stairs of the universe. It is our migratory
path. Some start and end sooner than others, but all will make
"So, now what?" Neruda managed to ask.
"Follow what you have found. It will lead you to us."
The voice faded back into the pulsing
sound of the glyphs. The low humming returned and his mind relaxed
into a deep, forgetful sleep.
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