The sun set, and we were still marooned on the roof. Nightfall arrived, and for the first time, we gazed upon that alien sky, it was simply breathtaking to behold. The planet’s large moon shone bright yellow, the smaller potato-shaped satellite appearing as a fast-moving violet speck. In the distance was a nebula and a bright blue star.

We spent two long days atop that dwelling, waiting impatiently for our engineers to fashion devices to rappel us down the face of the tower. A harrowing descent, and we were finally on the ground.

Neanderthal man had arrived in New Manhattan.

The urban landscape integrated tropical foliage and artificial waterways into its design. The humidity was heavy at ground level, the air cool. Close by was a stream, and I remember feeling pleased that our scientists were already busy testing its silvery-tinged waters.

To our dismay, the liquid contained microscopic traces of some exotic elements. Was the water toxic? We couldn’t be sure, but tests using our few surviving lab mice showed it as potable … at least in the short term.

Water is life. Our shuttles had two more months of food but only a few days’ supply of water. If this alien source was even semicompatible with our bodies, then what choice did we have but to drink it?

So now we had air and water, fertile soil to plant our crops, and a dome above our heads that shielded us from the deadly ultraviolet rays of the alien sun. But we still could not access any of the dwellings.

Wild rumors spread that an alien race was harbored inside, waiting to slaughter us as we slept. Others, like me, believed the city had been abandoned long ago and that we only lacked the necessary knowledge to access the habitat.

And so, at the foot of these mammoth, futuristic structures, we cut down trees and fashioned log cabins. Planted our crops and set up our science labs. Erected schools and hospitals, a courthouse and a house of worship. There was a peace and sense of well-being on our new home world that never existed on the old. We were one people—a tribe of survivors. There would be no haves and have-nots. Equality ruled the day.

At least, for the moment.

We voted, naming our growing community New Eden. In honor of our leader, Devlin Mabus, his mother was given the privilege of choosing a name for our planet. To our surprise, she selected an old Mayan name, a name derived from the Creation Myth recorded in the Popol Vuh.

Xibalba.

Then Xibalba is really a planet, not an Underworld? And how am I to get there? And this woman who named it, who was she? And why would she choose such an evil name for a planet?