‘We are here today because of a miracle. Long ago, my son, Devlin, was given a vision. In this vision, he saw the incubator Earth cast out humankind. Like a modern-day Noah, he was instructed to build a fleet of spaceships—cosmic arks—in which he would lead the chosen few to salvation. Look around you and tell me this is not so. It was Devlin’s vision that led to our rebirth. It was because our true creator touched him that we are here today.

‘And now another miracle has occurred. In your prayers for salvation, the one true creator has sent us his archangel. Behold my son, Devlin, the Seraph!’

Jude and I held hands, our breath taken away as Devlin stepped out of the shadows of the president’s box and into the light. A hush grew over the crowd as we ogled the creator’s handiwork.

He was completely nude, standing before us like some fifteenth-century sculpture of David come alive. Protruding from his genetically altered muscular back and spinal column were massive flesh-toned wings, the appendages spanning no less than twenty feet from wingtip to wingtip.

Devlin had used his Hunaphu awareness and transhuman powers to tap into the master gene cluster responsible for the development and evolution of mammalian flight. He had become Chimera—a genetically altered creature of incongruous parts.

He was Seraph.

As we watched, his wings animated, catching a column of air rising from a hidden ventilation shaft. Like a condor’s, Devlin’s wings spread as he rose, awkwardly at first, then more majestically, like a great bird of prey.

What a spectacle it was to behold. Colonists fell to their knees, tears streaming from their eyes, while God’s ‘appointed angel’ flew above our heads and ‘blessed’ us with his urine stream.

And how could we not have fallen in worship? Like the ancient Hebrews before us, we had considered ourselves the ‘Chosen Ones,’ selected by God to survive. Each day for us on Xibalba was a miracle. On the brink of extinction, our Savior had blessed us with the gift of transhumanism. We had overcome the ravages of age and disease, we had transcended the human condition. We were believers, as impassioned as the Children of Israel must have been after Moses had parted the Red Sea.

The scientists among us, myself included, were not so easily convinced.

Jude, a devout Christian, argued endlessly with me about this, swearing that it was divine intervention that rescued us from oblivion.

But Devlin Mabus … an angel? The Devil incarnate, more like it.

Flexing his newfound political muscle, Devlin ‘ordained’ that personal time each day would henceforth be dedicated solely to worship. One religious order—the ‘Church of Mabus’ was proclaimed, and it was mandated that all colonists attend services.

Those of us who doubted the self-appointed deity sensed democracy and freedom fading fast—replaced by a new theocracy, with its own brand of Inquisition soon to follow.