Chapter 4 (Equator 2): The Maya Notes

May 2029, Equator, Eastern Pacific Ocean

Greece is renowned for its thriving shipping industry, and there is more than one family bearing the title of “shipping magnate.” Mandy Petrokova’s second marriage was to the heir of one such family. As an avid collector of art and a passionate philanthropist—with a family fleet at her disposal—Mandy decided to host a Central American art exhibition and charity auction aboard the Silver Sands cruise ship.

The Silver Sands sailed along the equator toward the Galápagos Islands, 600 nautical miles west of Ecuador. Their destination was an uninhabited island within the archipelago, called Genovesa Island, also known as Tower Island.

The maritime auction had been underway for several hours, and the generosity of nearly a hundred guests had yielded a substantial sum for charity. The final item up for bid was a Mayan ceramic jar unearthed from the Yucatán Peninsula. It was a utilitarian vessel, of limited archaeological value, further diminished by a crack and a chipped rim. For these reasons, Mandy had saved it for last.

Surprisingly, bidding for the Mayan jar was fierce. After several rounds, the hammer fell at a staggering $100,000. The determined winner was Mandy’s distinguished guest, Michael Max. Seated beside Michael were Daphne and her father, Professor Braun.

Mandy was soon joined by Martha, an old acquaintance of both herself and Michael. Mandy addressed Michael:

“Thank you for your generosity. The ‘Living Fossil of Civilization’ project to save the homeland of the Mayan people has received yet another heartfelt contribution.”

Michael replied with a smile, “It’s my honor to support the Mayan people, and my good fortune to acquire such a beautiful artifact.”

“So diplomatic? Michael, if you keep answering questions like that, I’ll be out of a job as an investigative journalist!” Martha quipped, her tone teasing and light.

Introductions followed all around.

Martha was the chief investigative journalist at Skyhigh Media Group, the world’s largest media conglomerate, and the ex-wife of its owner, media tycoon Andek. With her sharp Asian features, arched brows, and easy wit, Martha thrived among socialites. Her writing was incisive, her journalistic instincts keen, and she was known for breaking explosive stories.

Martha’s approach to life was unorthodox. Five years earlier, she had introduced Mandy’s mother, Irene Petrokova, to her own ex-husband and boss. Thus, Dr. Irene Petrokova—a molecular biologist and leading diabetes expert—became Andek’s fifth wife.

But Irene was more than a scientist. Born in the former Soviet Union to a family of considerable stature, her first husband—Mandy’s father—was the grandnephew of Marshal Petrokov, a legendary World War II general.

At that moment, atop the cruise ship’s highest deck, Irene was demonstrating her antique violin to a renowned musician. As its pure, melodious notes floated through the air, the ship drew steadily closer to Genovesa Island.

“Ladies first.” Mandy and Martha took Daphne by the hand, waved to Michael and the professor, and boarded the first tender to shore.

The violin music continued uninterrupted. Daphne recognized the pieces as works by the twentieth-century violin virtuoso Fritz Kreisler—one, “Liebesfreud” (“Love’s Joy”), and the other, “Liebesleid” (“Love’s Sorrow”).

Michael and Professor Braun sat side by side in the second tender.

Professor Braun was a senior director at the Bright Nation Space Agency and the lead on the nation’s T Program in aerospace.

Six months prior, Mr. E, the head of the T Program, and Professor Braun had approached Michael, permitting his company to participate in the civilian application of Bright Nation’s top-secret Nikola Tesla superluminal wave theory.

The professor now inquired, “Is this island the site you’ve chosen for your space elevator?”

“Indeed, Professor,” Michael replied. “Although the ‘space elevator’ is our public story, the ladder I intend to build will reach not just ninety thousand kilometers, but a full one hundred eighty thousand.”

The professor was taken aback. “One hundred eighty thousand kilometers—to capture the full wavelength of the superluminal wave. You mean to build a superluminal wave power station here, on this equatorial island?”

Michael outlined his plan:

Michael Max was both an adventurer and a pragmatist, capable of transforming dreams into tangible reality. He sought to translate the ideal of “ultimate freedom,” cherished by many, into an achievable engineering project.

His proposal was twofold:

To realize physical freedom through interstellar migration;
To achieve freedom of consciousness through brain-machine integration.
The professor regarded his prospective son-in-law thoughtfully. “Both ideals will require immense energy.”

“Exactly,” Michael replied. “Space industry needs power, and artificial intelligence and brain-machine integration need it even more. Power shortages are now the greatest barrier to advancing computational capacity. Moore’s Law for chips has reached its end; exponential leaps in computing power are no longer feasible. Harnessing superluminal wave energy appears our best option.”

The professor cautioned that building a power station on the island would require a thorough risk assessment and a report to Mr. E.

The tenders landed in turn, and the party reconvened.

Beneath a vast temporary marquee, Michael once again became the center of attention. The conversation naturally gravitated toward the exhibition and its auction pieces. Michael asked Mandy:

“Mandy, what draws you so deeply to Mayan culture? Is there a special reason?”

She laughed. “Now you’re asking the right question—but I’ll let my dearest mother reveal the answer.” With a mischievous smile, Mandy drew Irene Petrokova into the spotlight.

Facing Michael, Irene began to recount a tale from long ago, one shrouded in legend.

Irene was born in 1957 and lived in the Soviet Union for over thirty years before emigrating to Bright Nation. Her father-in-law was the nephew of Marshal Petrokov, who had commanded a regiment under the marshal’s army during World War II.

In April 1945, Colonel Petrokov led his men in the Battle of Berlin, charged with capturing the German-fortified Imperial Library. Among his officers was Captain Milov, who, in the course of the operation, confiscated a rare nineteenth-century volume on Mayan culture.

The discovery of the Mayan civilization had astonished the world: its enigmatic pyramids and temples, exquisite carvings and paintings, precise astronomical records, and advanced mathematics. Yet Mayan script remained unbroken. Linguists were baffled, and some scholars even speculated that the glyphs etched in stone were mere ritual symbols, devoid of linguistic meaning.

Yet heroes emerge not only on the battlefield!

Captain Milov, a retired soldier ignorant of archaeology and linguistics, was nonetheless driven by intense curiosity and indomitable perseverance to immerse himself in the study of Mayan stone rubbings.

A decade later, in the 1950s, Milov published a paper proposing a novel approach to deciphering Mayan script. He asserted that it was a combination of pictographic and phonetic elements. His theory rocked the academic world.

Building on Milov’s work, linguists collaborated, and today, eighty percent of Mayan script has been successfully deciphered.

“In 1979, at my wedding, I met Uncle Milov for the first time,” Irene continued. “That was also when I learned that, in addition to script, Milov had delved deeply into Mayan calendrics and mathematics.”

Milov even persuaded the Soviet government to launch a project based on his findings. Spanning two decades, the initiative was ultimately abandoned in 1979 for lack of funding, a lifelong regret for him.

“It was in this context that I received a very special wedding gift from Uncle Milov.”

Irene opened a box and took out a large envelope.

“Milov said that the Soviet Union lacked the means to pursue his research, and perhaps the Mayan scientific vision was simply too far ahead of its time. Maybe it would take a full Mayan Short Count cycle—fifty-two years—before humanity developed the technologies and needs to match their ideas.”

Irene walked up to Michael and handed him the envelope. Michael looked puzzled, and Irene explained, “Uncle Milov asked me to give this letter to someone who both needs it and can make the best use of it. I believe you are that person.”

“Oh, but it’s only 2031 that marks fifty-two years? That’s still some time away,” Michael murmured, noticing the envelope sealed in red wax.

“My wedding date was August 22, 1979. On August 22, 2031, it will be exactly fifty-two years. I suggest you open it then,” Irene said solemnly to Michael.

Daphne curiously leaned in toward the envelope in Michael’s hands. She noticed the Russian inscription on its surface. Since Mayan is a universal script, she guessed the title meant: “Mayan Notes.”

Below were two lines in Russian she couldn’t decipher. She asked,

“What do those two lines mean?”

Irene and Mandy, mother and daughter, responded almost simultaneously, their voices proud and clear:

“For the Soviet Union, and for all humanity!”

&

A poem assembled from seals:

Facing the distant shadow of Mount Fang, I try to match its form. — Tang, Zhou Pu
From the Jade Hall, I build a crimson ladder. — Tang, Huang Tao
Climbing skyward, I venture into the clouds. — Song, Yuan Xie
Only atop the summit do I realize how low the world lies. — Tang, Zhi Liang