THE MOUTH OF THE JAGUAR

When the bomb hit Hamburg in 2071, there were virtually no survivors. They had to build the city up from scratch—all the while eliminating any of my kind that managed to squeak through. Still wonder why we hate the regular humans?

Some say that mutants don't really exist, that we're just an urban legend. I know. I was there. I was ten years old.

I chuckle when I see the wanted poster the Xolotls have put up. That's the official name of the cyborg police force. These days everything gets patterned after something of the Nahuatl Aztec culture. Xolotl was the dog-headed God of the Underworld. I just call them sons of bitches.

WANTED

MUTANT TERRORIST

AMALEK

THIRTY-SEVEN

TERROR-ACTIONS AGAINST

TEZCATLIPOCA/ITZPAPALOTL

INCLUDING

DEMOLITION OF

HEROES OF GERMAN FEDERAL REPUBLIC

MEMORIAL

Dragon Girl shook her head disapprovingly. “Not a very good likeness of you, is it? I like the harsh, angular features—and you can't beat those murderously piercing eyes. They've made you the Mutant Terrorist poster child. You'd almost think they're trying to do a recruitment drive for you.”

"It's actually a perfect likeness, Marjorie. Cameras don't lie. Whenever anyone sees me—regular people, I mean—their brains get scrambled. They can't process what their eyes are telling them. You're one of the few mutants who are an exception to that rule.”

She was still plagued by her old insecurities. “Marjorie—not all mutants mature at the same rate. You've proven yourself time and time again. If you hadn't, do you think I'd be following you into the very Mouth of the Jaguar?”

She brightened up. “Amalek—why have we been waiting so long to act? I worked in the Temple. I can get us in the very Obsidian Mirror nerve center. They won't even know we're there. We were ready months ago, and I've been champing at the bit. I want to take them down as much as you do. What's so special about today?

“November 8^th, 2091. Five hundred seventy-two years ago, Cortes entered the city of Tenochtitlan. That was the start of the fall of the Aztec Empire. Aztec calendar used a fifty-two year cycle. 1519 was the year called One Reed. So is 2091. Tonight you and I enter the Temple of Texcatlipoca/Itzpapalotl. Aztecs tore out hearts. These Neo-Aztecs tear out souls. It's high time someone returns the favor and offers their hearts and souls on Huitzilopochtli's altar.

“One thing I do have to caution you about. This close to the Temple, don't call me Amalek.” Her hand went involuntarily to her mouth. Her voice came out in a hushed whisper.

“Shit! You're right. I don't know how far their surveillance goes. Just because we're three miles away here doesn't mean they can't hear us.

“Thomas Carnaki and Marjorie Cantrell aren't on their radar.”

“An honorable mention on that poster would have been nice, though.” she quipped.

“Been after me for nearly ten years—you? Just three months.”

Even from three miles away the Temple of the Obsidian Mirror is breathtaking. Like an opalescent mother of pearl shell glistering in the moonlight. Not even Dale Chihuly could have created such an overwhelming symphony of shining glass and crystal.

The Temple is named after two of the Aztec Gods—Tezcatlipoca, the Smoking Mirror, God of Night, Sorcery, and Human Sacrifice. His nagual totem animal was the Jaguar.

Itzpapalotl, his girlfriend, was called the Obsidan Butterfly, Goddess of Death and Fire. Her wings were tipped with deadly obsidian tecpatl knives.

The Temple houses the Obsidian Mirror—the most sophisticated computer system in the world. It's pretty much ruined what's left of the human race, and though it may have given birth to the mutant race, I have no objection to comitting the perfect act of parricide/matricide.

Dragon Girl knew what I was planning (had even advocated for it.) but she had no idea how I intended to do it. The less she knew the safer she'd be. Her psionic skills of self defense were low on the spectrum, and she had little to no training. A skilled interrogator, such as a commander in the Xolotl's, would have no trouble skimming the facts from the surface of her mind. Cyborg enhancement makes up for what humans lack in natural skills.

The truth is, the pouches and pockets in my jacket, are loaded with thirty three packets of well-cushioned Mercury Fulminate. Heavy duty explosive. Very heat, friction and shock sensitive. I've a surprise prepared for the Temple of the Obsidian Mirror.

Five years ago, an exhausted Marjorie Cantrell had found her way to us. She'd worked at the Temple for two years. Like all other employees, she had had her computer surgically installed in her right hand. It was now organically part of her body. The keeping of her job depended on taking the implant.

But an even more advanced computer system was being installed and tested. The Obsidian Mirror. We knew almost nothing about it, but Marjorie had witnessed tests. And she told us how it was as if the subjects, had lost their souls—and something alien and inhuman had taken their place. The only overt, physical sign was that one's iris took on a brilliant silver color.

That she was a plant was a forgone conclusion. That her eyes weren't silver meant little. Didn't she realize that by coming to us like she did, that the Temple would know our location? She still had the implant. That's when she unwrapped the bandages on her right hand.

She had smashed and broken every bone in her hand. The hand was bruised nearly black. She'd taken a rock and hammered at her hand mercilessly until she was sure the implant was totally deactivated. It had taken her weeks to recover. She wanted to join us. There was little doubt she was mutant, though she scored extremely low on the psychic spectrum, her only request was that we amputate her hand. She didn't want to take the slightest chance of betraying us—she felt there was still a possibility the implant might regain functionality.

Impressed with her dedication, we welcomed her into our cell. We were able to fit her with a mechanical prosthetic. You do gain some skills living on the edge as we did.

We called her Dragon Girl because of the unfinished tattoo of a dragon she'd had done on her right shoulder, this was in honor of the main character in her favorite book.

The Tezcatlipoca/Itzpapalotl Temple of the Obsidian Mirror resembles the Pyramid of the Sun in Mexico. It covers an entire square kilometer and is three hundred meters high. Xolotl guards flank the entrance—seven meters high. Suits of mecha armor, each containing three operators. It took me until I'd gotten close enough to realize these were cyborgs in mecha armor and not just robots. But their minds were almost on the Delta level of deep sleep. I suspected their eyes were silver.

Dragon Girl and I were entering by the Southern Gate. Doors fifteen meters high and carved of genuine sapphire and darkly seasoned bronze. Though I admired the undeniable majesty of the artwork, I remembered what Jesus said about marble tombs—they do indeed appear beautiful outward but inside they're filled with dead men's bones and all uncleanness.

We join the throng entering into the Temple. I can rely on my abilities to keep us unnoticed. The Xolotl dog soldiers pay us no mind. We step into the entry passage. It extends one hundred meters and then we are inside the Temple proper.

We look upon the magnificently carven walls of a hollow pyramid. They are carven with the most exquisite mosaics and bas reliefs. The full expanse of the Temple is an eight hundred meter square. Gaudy paving stones depict the multitudinous Gods of the Aztec pantheon. Tlaloc, Quetzalcoatl, Xipe Totec, Xochiquetzal, and others.

I have seen Saint Peter's Basilica in Rome. That entire Cathedral complex could fit inside this Temple! A quarter million Adherents could come here and not feel crowded. The stairs, balconies and galleries all converge toward the apex of the inner pyramid, two hundred-forty meters above the one hundred meter Sun Stone of Huitzilopochtli—greatest of the paving stone mosaics.

My psychic gorge rises. Everywhere I see vacuous eyes—and every single one of them are silver. It's like looking at a crowd of junkies waiting for their fix.

No, not all. A small handful of eyes are colored normally. This could be a problem. The addicted Adherents are corrupted. I care nothing about them. But others might be innocent. Do I want their blood on my hands? I steel myself—how many of them would have shied away from hunting my new-made mutant brethren in the first days of the Desolation?

I'm relying here on Dragon Girl's memory. Those walls are all one hundred meters thick. Despite what most folks want to believe, mutants are not mind readers. My instincts can point me in the right direction, but not much more than that.

The contented cows pay no attention as Dragon Girl and I vanish into a passage. All of the passages are ten meters high and half as wide, to accommodate the Xolotl dog soldiers, who stand seven meters each.

WE keep on going higher and higher. I've suspected the Nerve Ganglion of the Obsidian Mirror would be in the Capstone. Finally, Dragon Girl turns back to me and grins.

“This is it. On the other side is the nerve center of the Obsidian Mirror. We blow that and the game's over.”

“How do you know if I'm planning to blow anything up?” She seemed uncertain for a moment, as if I'd caught her off guard—which I think I have. I grab her by the arm and strike the wall. It acts like an hexagonal camera lens aperture. I drag Dragon Girl through it and face the man on the other side.

“Adrian Connaught. Had a feeling I'd see you here.” The man is a bit stooped and his hair is whitish gray. He looks like he's fifty but he's no older than thirty—my age. Ironically, he's still dressed in the brown monk's habit he wore the last time I saw him. That's when we both wore the religious cassock. His eyes used to be a sparkling blue. Now they're silver.

“Good evening, Amalek."

"Let me guess—you're the genius who created the Obsidian Mirror.”

“How did you expect to destroy the Temple?”

“Pretty hot in here for November. Mind if I take my jacket off?”

“Actually, yes. That's where you've hidden it, isn't it?”

I grinned and shrugged my shoulders helplessly. “I seriously have no idea what you're talking about.” Adrian tipped his head in a subtle gesture. Something moved behind me and I felt a pressure on my shoulders. The Xolotl's hands were immense.

“No sudden movements. Let the Xolotl take your coat.” The walls used some kind of optical obfuscation. The cyborg had hidden in a concealed space in the wall. Surprisingly, I barely felt the thing's touch and it was able to navigate the buttons on my jacket with ease. I let it pull it off my shoulders.

“What does he have there?”

“The jacket conceals ten kilograms of what appear to be Mercury Fulminate.” There was no emotion in the cyborg's toneless voice.

There was a sudden look of startled panic on Dragon Girl's face. “You were carrying that? It could have killed the both of us! You might not have even gotten here. This is your great plan?”

“You were willing to bash the fuck out of your hand. That showed you could make sacrifices—even up to, and including your life. The less you knew, the less chance somebody would figure out what I was up to.”

“The chemicals are inert,” the cyborg said.

“What are they, then, if not Fulminate of Mercury?”

“Padding for my coat. Baby, it's cold outside. Don't you know it's November?” I said laughing sarcastically. The cyborg broke in.

“Initial chemical analysis confirms 100% Mercury Fulminate.”

“Then we need a more in-depth analysis than you can provide. Convey it to the laboratory. I want to know why this Mercury Fulminate is not behaving like Mercury Fulminate. I want to know what you're up to, Thomas.”

This time I saw the Xolotl vanish into the wall. It had all the fulminate. I don't know where the lab facilities were but the further they were taken, the harder it would be to maintain its stability.

Dragon Girl spoke up. “Adrian—can I have the Mirror? I think I've more than earned it.”

“In honor of your sacrifice. Come. Drink.”

He handed her a crystal goblet. It was the same kind I'd seen Adherents drinking from in the Temple. She put it to her lips and drank. Immediately a change began to come over her. It was like all the tension flowed out of her, replaced by the silver liquid in the cup. When she turned to look at me there was such an indescribable look of peace on her face. But not a natural peace—she looked like she was drugged. The look of joy on her face was an alien joy. Whatever was looking out of Marjorie Cantrell's silver eyes, was no longer human.

“The peace that passeth understanding.”

“That's an abomination, Adrian, and you know it.”

“Thomas—the human race has gone through tens of thousands of years of evolution. But it's time we take control of our own evolution. It's fitting we give Mother Nature a chance to rest.

“Come—not to drink, but to look. Look upon my work, ye mighty, and despair.”

“Shelly would be proud of you.” Nonetheless, I looked.

What I saw in the goblet defied description. It was as if I looked at the waves of an ocean, in miniature. There was something almost hypnotic in its shimmering beauty.

“What am I looking at?”

“Life—but life based on the silicon atom. Life which I've created. A single drink and thirty-seven trillion sub-microscopic nano-particles enter into every one of the thirty-seven trillion cells in the human body.

“You really think you and your kind are mutants, Thomas? Humans have always had some level of psychic ability, but it's very low yield. They often show up during a crisis—like in '71. Just Mother Nature's way of helping the human race survive. But those abilities will no longer be necessary. You'd trust your abilities to save you, rather than on my Obsidian Mirror. And that I cannot have.

“Why do you think you've been hunted all these years? Because I've gotten people to fear you. I've magnified your imagined abilities until people think you're monsters. They can't afford to take a chance.” He turned to Marjorie.

“Why don't you tell him? Tell him how you fooled him. How you fooled them all.”

She looked at me with those now insanely smiling eyes.

“You really thought I was making this big sacrifice for the cause? Turning my right hand into hamburger like that? Didn't feel a thing. It was so strange to smash myself with that rock. Like I was watching someone else do it. That's what the implant did for me. The mechanical hand was nice. I had to do it that way. Had to get you to trust me, so that one day I could lead you here. I just wish it didn't take so long. I have so wanted to get back to my shows!

“But now it's over—the Mirror's going to grow my hand back—better than ever. Did you know I can't die now? It's so wonderful! How did you put it, Adrian?”

“And God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes. O grave—where is thy victory? O death—where is thy sting?”

I clapped my hands. “Bravo, Adrian. You've outfoxed me almost perfectly. But you've made two blunders—and the second of these is critical.”

“I have you where I want you. I see no blunders there.”

“Rather—I have you where I want you. You think we could have assaulted this magnificent fortress, a single ragtag bunch of mutants? No—not when we could expect you to invite us in. You counted on her gaining my sympathy. Once she thought she had it, she waited for just the right time to suggest I pay you a little visit. Marjorie never demonstrated any but the slightest psychic gifts—nothing more than the basic that most human are born with.”

Even with that inane, empty minded look in her eyes, Marjorie's face was beginning to take on an aghast expression.

“But your biggest mistake was in thinking mutants don't really exist. That blasphemy you call silicon based life? All it is is an artificial virus you've created to infect the human race. But guess what—mutants are the antibodies.

“You already know about my stealth capability. But I've also got a high level of control over probability. Why does my Mercury Fulminate not act like Mercury Fulminate, when it is, in fact Mercury Fulminate? Fact is I've lowered the probability of it exploding. You could take a hammer to that jacket of mine and it wouldn't do a thing.

“But..if I were to relax that control a little bit...”

Suddenly the floor jumped and shook like a drunkard. There was a dull roar from somewhere below us. Adrian's silver eyes were wide, a mixture of horror and astonishment. He grasped on the edge of his desk for balance. Marjorie appeared panic stricken.

“Ten kilograms couldn't do that much damage!”

“Normally, yeah. But when I lower the probability to practically nothing, there's counter force pushes against it. And with probability that increases at an exponential rate. The potential force in those ten kilograms of fulminate has increased until it's little short of Hiroshima level."