Echoes of Time: A Science-Fiction Thriller

Book 1: Epic of Atlantis

by Douglas E. Richards, Brandon Ellis

Genres: Time Travel; High-tech & Sci-fi Thrillers

Synopsis

Multimillion-copy bestselling authors Douglas E. Richards and Brandon Ellis team up to deliver a gripping science-fiction thriller—one that captures the stunning collision of ancient myth and futuristic technology.

The Hopi share tales of a devastating global flood like those found in cultures across the world. But some also speak of beings from the stars, massive flying objects, and a cataclysmic war between two hyper-advanced civilizations—Atlantis and Lemuria—that triggered this flood.

But what if these stories aren't just mythology? What if they're real?

Archeologist Robert Shaw believes they are. When his relentless pursuit of ancient truths leads him to a hidden starship capable of shattering the boundaries of time itself, he's plunged into a battle for the future of humanity. Because Shaw learns that finding the sentient starship was no accident. It chose him. For a mission that could well decide the fate of worlds.

Now, alongside two unlikely allies also chosen by the ship, Shaw must return to ancient times to stop a war and change history. But when the displaced trio, facing breathtaking technology and unimaginable dangers, can barely survive a single day, how can they alter the course of civilizations? How can they thwart the relentless momentum of fate itself?

Worse, if they fail, the consequences will echo through time, causing an even more devastating cataclysm in the modern era. A cataclysm that could well erase humanity forever . . .

Echoes of Time is a roller-coaster ride of a thriller, packed with fascinating mythology, mind-bending tech, and characters you'll love to root for. You'll never look at history the same way again.

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Release date: November 1, 2025

Print pages: 629

Sample

Chapter 1

Trees towered overhead. Their branches blotted out the sky. Vines twisted down,
brushing against Dr. Robert Shaw’s face and catching on his clothes. With every step, the
undergrowth snagged at his ankles. Sweat stung his eyes as the humid air sapped his
strength. His worn leather backpack chafed against his shoulders, heavy with supplies.
Robert was determined to uncover two ancient secrets concealed beneath the
canopies of Brazil’s Vale do Ribeira’s rainforest. Secrets eluding him for half his career.
He stopped. His breaths came hard. Grasping for his canteen, he took a swig of
water. He glanced behind him, hovering his hand over the compact, semi-automatic Colt
Defender pistol holstered at his hip. For the last hour, he could swear someone had been
following him.
Could it be robbers? Relic hunters looking to make a quick profit? The thought made
his stomach stir. He’d be damned if he let anyone get their hands on what he was after.
These extraordinary and unbelievable discoveries belonged in a museum, where they
could be studied and appreciated by all, instead of languishing as trophies in some
wealthy collector’s gallery. Or, heck, strapped down in a government’s warehouse.
He needed to pick up his pace.
Robert hurried past stone jaguars so beautifully carved, so symmetrically perfect,
they must have required the artistic skills of a master from a long-gone civilization. He
wanted to stop and examine them, but time wasn’t on his side.
He slowed. The entrance to a cave stood before him, a dark opening in the rocky
hillside. Robert halted at the entrance, listening. A rustle in the underbrush sounded
behind him. He spun around. Nothing. Just the wind through the leaves of a nearby kapok
tree.
Or was it?
Taking a deep breath, he stepped into the cave. The temperature dropped. Good. It
was damn hot outside. He used the sleeve of his shirt to wipe the perspiration dotting his
face. Robert switched on his flashlight and the beam of light sliced through the darkness
and revealed damp stone walls covered in lichen and moss.

He walked deeper into the cavern. The noises of the jungle faded away. The steady
drip of water and the sound of his footsteps took its place.
He froze. Was that movement behind him? Robert’s hand went to his holster.
“Eu tenho uma arma e não tenho medo de usá-la,” he said in Portuguese. “Mostre-
se.” He repeated the words in English: “I have a weapon and I’m not afraid to use it.
Show yourself.” 
Silence. Maybe he was hearing things. Robert turned, flashlight in one hand, pistol in
the other. The beam swept across the empty passageway. It showed only stone and
shadows. He let out a shaky breath, lowering his weapon but keeping it at the ready.
Adrenaline subsided only for doubt to creep in. Was this really worth it? Risking his
life, his career, for an inkling, a gut feeling catalyzed by extensive research that his
colleagues dismissed as fantasy?
Robert gritted his teeth. They didn’t understand. They were too set in their ways, too
afraid to challenge conventional wisdom. Someone had to push the boundaries, and as
fate would have it, in many cases it was Robert answering the call. He sought truth where
others were too blind, or worse yet, too scared to look for it. Still, it was lonely to be the
only man swimming in these rarified waters.
Robert moved forward for a few minutes and halted before three trails. One ascended
at a low grade into the cavern. Another extended straight before him. The third descended
into a sloping path. He thought about the last Hopi tablet he uncovered two years ago. It
was in the ruins of Awatovi on the Hopi Mesas of northeastern Arizona. There at the
Mesa was a stone slab with ancient words giving an obscure riddle.
The descending path toward realms where walked the deities most high, its truth
shall be unto thee uncloaked.
Robert picked the trail sloping at a downward grade leading into the depths. As he
continued onward, the passage narrowed and wound through several rocky outcroppings.
Another line from the tablet came to mind as he came to a staircase made from stones.
By earthen steps carved in descent thou must make journey onwards, let stony trail
be thy guide to the underworld.
Robert climbed down the jagged rocks, trusting the ancient wisdom. At the bottom, a
mess of thick, intertwined roots blocked the pathway. Robert tried to push them aside.

The roots were too sturdy, like trunks of small trees. He recalled the third phrase as he
gritted his teeth.
Entwined roots buried deep and anchored fast, their woven mass shrouds the
threshold purposefully veiled.
He reached into his backpack to grab his machete and hack away at the roots. While
he swung the blade, sweat dripped from his brow. As he broke through the wood-like
vines, something like an archway showed.
A smile grew on his face as he admired its architectural mastery. It was truly
amazing.
Robert strode into a narrow corridor only for it to open into a huge cavern. He moved
his flashlight around, the beam tracing over the rock walls until he stopped on something
unique. There before him stood a circle of statues. They surrounded a central stone figure
standing about six feet taller than the rest.
Robert’s breath caught in his throat. He’d found what he’d searched so long to find.
And it was right in front of him. He knew by the carvings on the main figure that he was
staring at a Kachina. A star being, or a spiritual celestial guide, from Hopi legend. This
cave was thousands of miles away from Hopi territory. And yet, here sculptured in front
of him was a Kachina from their myths. It was evidence the Hopi traditions held further
sacred truths. That Hopi and many indigenous tribes had migrated from South America to
North America long ago, not just across the Bering Strait.
Feathers decorated the statue’s elongated skull. On the human-looking face were
large, almond-shaped eyes. It bore ears, a nose, a chin, and more. The body was slender,
with overly long arms and hands, and too many fingers. Hopi symbols covered the
statue’s chest and legs.
His colleagues called it a deity, a relic of ancient South American religious beliefs.
To Robert, it was something else entirely. A lifetime studying ancient civilizations
convinced him this figure was a profound link between the earliest cultures of North and
South America. More than that, it confirmed what certain Hopi traditionalists, including
some from the Bear Clan, believed: the Kachinas were not just spiritual guides but
physical extraterrestrial beings who visited Earth, as told in their ancient oral traditions.
Examining the symbols, it took him a few minutes to decipher their meaning.

Our kinfolk were driven to traverse northward. Many have already taken foot aboard
the feathered boat crafted by Kachina starborn and Hopi hands, while others must wind
the serpentine paths to rejoin our tribal embrace.
Robert wrinkled his brow. He paced. No, no. You’ve got to be kidding me.  
Of all things, this was the wrong place. From what he’d just read, he’d gone to the
wrong country altogether. He’d come this far, and for what? Where was this mythical
starship, this feathered boat? Was it back up north, under Hopi land?
No, it couldn’t be. He’d have found it by now.
For several moments, he hung his head. So much work, so many years, and again, it
led him to another trail leading somewhere else.
According to Robert’s studies and discreet interviews with Hopi elders, a sacred flute
could activate an ancient starship. This instrument, tied to Kokopelli, the Hopi flute-
playing kachina of fertility and cosmic harmony, was carved from bone with intricate
spiral patterns, its melodies said to resonate with otherworldly energies. Some Hopi
claimed it was crafted over ten thousand years ago, predating the earliest cuneiform. Lost
for centuries, its location was unknown even to the Hopi themselves. Yet Robert believed
the sacred flute and its starship lay hidden in Brazil’s northeastern interior, deep within
this cavern.
At least he had believed this to be the case. Until the symbols on the chest of the
statue he was now facing suggested otherwise.
He continued translating the ancient glyphs.
Seek the hollow bone that awakens the sleeping vessel. But know that it must be
aboard the flying boat for this to happen. In the land of stone rivers, carved by invisible
waters, find the cleft where three serpents intertwine. There, the key to revive the
dormant sky ship awaits. Beyond the serpents’ frozen jaws, an obsidian surface will yield
to your touch. Press where their joined tails point to the sky, and the void will reveal the
resting place of the sacred song-giver.
This had to be a reference to the flute. It was the very means to summon a prehistoric
yet hyper-advanced technology. The feathered boat, or “flying shields” as many Hopi
called them. An ancient space vessel. In a way, the flute was the key to activating a
starship.

He glanced around and spotted several carved serpents on the wall behind the
statues. He touched the stone etchings. Pressing the spot where the tails converged,
nothing occurred. A second attempt came with the same result. After he applied more
force, a hiss sounded. He backed away as a seam appeared in the wall. It groaned open to
reveal a small alcove.
He gasped. On a pedestal rested a carved flute made from bone. It was coated in
dust.
Incredible! He may have been wrong about the starship’s location, but the flute was
here, after all. And it was the find of his life. It was the most dramatic evidence yet that
certain aspects of Hopi mythology might just reflect a reality that most would consider
preposterous.
Robert carefully brushed away the debris and gingerly lifted the artifact to examine it
under his flashlight.
He blew gently, clearing untold centuries of accumulated dust from the flute. To his
surprise, the instrument vibrated for a moment. He repeated his action and the same
vibrations occurred.
He raised his eyebrows. After all these centuries, could it really be . . . operational?
He adjusted his grip, and this time, rather than blowing dust from the instrument, he
blew directly into its mouthpiece. His gently delivered breath resulted in a distinct chirp,
which resonated with a subtle, otherworldly power. The cavern walls shook slightly, but
just for an instant. He stared at the ancient artifact, his mouth agape.
“Whoa,” he whispered.
But if this was the flute of legend, the key to unlocking a lost ship, why was it here?
You didn’t keep your car in Arizona and your keys in Brazil.
He considered this further. The flute’s location couldn’t just be a random mistake.
Not when words on ancient glyphs had so unerringly guided him here. His eyes widened
as an intriguing thought entered his mind.
What if convenience was the opposite of what the ancients had been aiming for?
What if the separation of the key and lock was a failsafe? If so, it was ingenious. Because
there was a danger of leaving your keys in your car. Anyone who stumbled upon it could
immediately drive it away. But separating the flute from the ship by thousands of miles

ensured that only someone who was actively, mindfully, searching for them both,
someone with deep knowledge of these particular traditions, could unlock the ship’s
power. And the glyphs suggested the musical instrument had to be inside the ship.
Nothing less would suffice, although this remained to be seen.
But there was only one way to find out. He had to find the starship.
Robert reached for his camera to capture the statues, etchings, and symbols around
him. As he did, the crunch of gravel resounded far away through the cavern, and Robert
reflexively killed his flashlight and darted behind one of the massive statues.
He wasn’t alone.
Seconds later distinct footsteps could be heard quickly approaching, and soon
thereafter, the entire area was illuminated by multiple handheld spotlights flooding the
cavern with high-intensity light.
An accented voice called out from a distance. “Hand over the artifact. Now!”
Robert pressed even closer to the statue. After he unholstered his semi-automatic, he
peeked around the stone figure. Three men stood at the chamber’s entrance. Their faces
were obscured by bandanas, and each gripped a pistol of their own.
Robert remained silent, his mind racing. He needed a plan. He was an expert
marksman, but three against one was three against one. Still, handing the flute over to
them wasn’t an option. He had unearthed numerous relics over the years, but this was the
find of a lifetime. Priceless.
While these men saw the flute as priceless in the monetary sense, he saw it as
priceless in the scientific and archeological sense. It was a groundbreaking discovery.
Monumental. Not to mention proof that he had been right all along. If he had focused on
Christian relics rather than Hopi relics, this would be the equivalent of the Holy Grail.
The tallest of the trio, standing in the middle, shook his head. “Do you think you can
fool us by not replying? We know you’re there. So give us what we want, or we’ll take it
off your bloodied corpse. Makes no difference to us.”
After this was said, all three men gently placed their spotlights on the floor to free up
their hands.
“What’s amusing about this is that you think you have the upper hand,” shouted
Robert in contempt, knowing the echoes and reverberations of his voice in the cave

would make his position difficult to pinpoint precisely, even while speaking. “Ever watch
an Indiana Jones movie?” he continued. “The ground between me and you is booby-
trapped in a dozen ways. Approach me and you’re crossing the equivalent of a minefield,
which I survived only because I knew exactly where to step.”
“Impressive bluff,” said the trio’s leader. “Might have even worked. But the thing is,
we’ve been here before. We didn’t find the artifact like you did, true, but we didn’t
trigger any booby-traps either. You have five seconds to surrender.”
Robert took another glimpse. Two of the men were fanning out, coming from
different angles. He ducked back around just as one of the men crept faster around the
side. Robert fired. The shot reverberated throughout the cavern. The criminal cried out
and clutched his leg as he fell. The man’s weapon dropped to the ground. As he reached
for it, Robert fired a second shot. The bullet ricocheted off the dirt. The robber pulled his
hand away, weaponless. He crawled back toward where he’d come from, leaving a trail
of blood.
Gunfire erupted as the other two opened fire. Chunks of stone flew from the statue as
bullets impacted around Robert. He winced from the desecration of the statue as if he had
been shot himself. He blindly returned fire, his shots pinging off the far wall.
“Don’t come any closer!” said Robert. “I’m a marksman. Consider these warning
shots across the bow. The next ones won’t miss!”
The third member of the gang of thieves tried to flank from the other side. Robert
squeezed the trigger. The man scrambled back.
“I thought you said you wouldn’t miss?” said the leader of the trio. “I’m still willing
to offer you your life if you give us what we want. But my generous offer won’t last
long.”
Robert pressed his body closer to the statue. “I’ve got enough ammo to last all
night,” he lied. “And I’ve got nowhere to be just now. What about you? If you don’t get
your comrade to the hospital, he’ll bleed out.”
“I have reinforcements coming,” the man replied, unimpressed. “They’ll be here in
minutes. I can spare at least one of them to take care of my friend. If you think I’m
bluffing about additional manpower, stick around. You’re about to find out.”

Their leader paused. “So you’re out of options,” he continued. “You’ll soon be even
more outnumbered, and one of my men is posted at the only way in or out. So even if you
get by us, which you won’t, there’s no cover near the exit. At least for someone trying to
leave. My man on the outside waiting for you, on the other hand, will have plenty of
cover. So hand over the item. Last time I’ll ask nicely.”
Robert peered around the statue. The immediate area was clear. He scanned the
vicinity for an escape route. A faint indentation high up on the wall caught his eye in the
eerie lighting thrown off by the three high-powered spotlights. It was a small tunnel. It
would be a tight squeeze, but it was his only chance. He quickly and carefully packed the
flute away in his backpack and took a deep breath.
Here goes nothing, he thought to himself.
Robert raced over to the wall and scrambled up it without breaking stride, leaning
into the limited parkour training he had picked up over the years. Loose rocks clattered to
the floor and he lost his grip, falling to the hard ground with a loud thud. He ignored the
pain and tried again, this time climbing higher.
When he reached the indentation, he shined his flashlight ahead. A long passageway
stretched onward, and he heard numerous additional footsteps behind him in the chamber.
Apparently, the reinforcements were real. Fortunately, his pursuers hadn’t yet realized he
had found a possible escape route and were proceeding with utmost caution, mindful that
their cornered rat was well-armed.
But their caution didn’t last long. Suddenly, the staccato thunder of gunfire sounded
as Robert hauled himself into the opening. Bullets whizzed past his feet and sank into the
rocks as he crawled deeper into the small tunnel.
Robert hurried through the narrow passage as his heart pounded against his ribcage.
Sharp rocks jutted out from the walls. They scraped against his sides as he kept going.
Adrenaline coursed through his veins as he dug his fingers a bit too much into the dirt,
bending back a nail and leaving his palms scuffed, raw.
Shouts and curses echoed as a few of the men tried to climb the wall to pursue him.
Robert pushed himself to move faster.
Go, go, go!

His lungs burned. He bit down hard, doing his best to ignore the stinging pain in his
hands, to focus primarily on putting as much distance between himself and those after
him.
The ground beneath Robert crumbled, its stability dissolving in a split second. His
stomach lurched as the world dropped away and plunged him into darkness. The air
rushed past him. Dislodged stones clattered and broken rocks tumbled alongside his
falling body. Time stretched, each heartbeat an eternity until . . . impact.
When he hit the ground, all air was driven from his lungs. Pain exploded through his
body, radiating from his back and limbs in white-hot waves. For a few seconds, he lay
stunned, struggling to breathe.
Where am I? he asked himself as he tried to figure out the sudden change.
As his vision cleared, Robert squinted. Sunlight poured down on him, and humid,
suffocating jungle heat hit him like a blast furnace. Groaning, he forced himself to move
and staggered to his feet. Where exactly was he? Back outside? How?
Looking up, he realized the tunnel section he’d been crawling through—the part that
had crumbled beneath him—was actually extended beyond the cave’s main structure.
Instead of plummeting deeper into the cave’s interior as he’d expected, he’d fallen
through a portion jutting out over the rainforest floor. The broken tunnel gaped above
him from the rocky overhang.
Robert’s initial surprise was quickly pushed aside by fear and anxiety. He still wasn’t
safe. Not by a long shot.
Angry shouts grew close and Robert darted through the underbrush, ignoring the
branches whipping at his face. The curses became louder. Robert spun around, his pistol
somehow still in his grasp, and fired into the foliage.
He rushed deeper into the brush and did his best to put as much distance as he could
between himself and his attackers. When Robert felt he’d gained enough ground, about
fifteen arduous minutes later, he slowed, although his heart continued to race.
He pulled the flute from his backpack to check its condition. If it wasn’t fully intact,
he’d never forgive himself. He forced himself to examine it, somehow more terrified of
finding it damaged than he had been while facing death itself.

It was intact! Robert finally allowed himself to take a long, relieved breath. He blew
into the flute again and was rewarded by the same vibrations, which he heard and felt as
much with his soul as with his ears.
Thank all that’s holy, he thought. The flute still worked.
Shoving the precious artifact back into his pack, Robert picked up speed. The dense
foliage swallowed him up as he disappeared into the heart of the woodlands.
He had dodged a bullet this time. Literally and figuratively. But he needed to be far
more careful going forward.
And he needed to, somehow, locate a fabled starship, lost to the ages, that he truly
believed his newfound key could awaken.

 

 

Chapter 2

Forty-two faces peered down at Dr. Robert Shaw, who stood at the podium in the
Emil W. Haury Lecture Hall at the University of Arizona. It’d been two weeks since the
incident in Brazil, and he was glad to put it behind him.
“This Hopi symbol here,” said Robert, gesturing toward the projector’s image on the
big screen beside him, “sits in the Tutuveni petroglyph site near Tuba City, Arizona. It’s
well hidden among the rocks, but what does it show? What is its meaning?”
With his laser pointer, he circled the motif. A triangular shape drawing with flares
coming off the design.
“Anyone know?”
He scanned the audience. No one answered. He glanced at a student he’d never seen
before. A young man wearing a blue hoodie with the hood covering his head, keeping his
eyes shaded.
“What about you?” said Robert.
The student winced and shook his head.
“Alright,” said Robert in resignation. “What you see here is what some Hopi
traditions describe as Star Beings, or at least human interactions with them. Though
interpretations of these petroglyphs can vary. Now, look closely at the glyph next to this
one.”
He placed his pointer’s red beam on a dome-shaped object. “To many, this is
meaningless. But according to some Hopi accounts I’ve studied, this could represent
what’s called a paatuwvota, or flying shield. In these traditions, these were described as,
ah . . . vessels, or starships, used by the Kachinas to travel between worlds. Some Hopi
have described these Kachinas as spiritual guides and teachers to their people.”
Robert paused. “Let me drill down on what I just said a little more. If you tell
someone that a civilization over ten thousand years ago believed starships existed and
beings lived on other worlds, they’ll immediately assume these beliefs were pure
fantasy.”
He raised his eyebrows. “But what about this statement might suggest otherwise?”

He waited for an answer, but only for a few seconds. Long experience had shown
him that no student would guess correctly. “Let me tell you,” he continued. “When we
gaze up at a clear night sky, we see thousands of tiny, twinkling lights. And, since you
and I are so sophisticated, we know immediately what these really are. We’re taught from
birth that a pinprick of light in the sky can be an entire Earth-sized world. Or, more
likely, a star—millions of times larger.
“But if you were born even six hundred years ago, you wouldn’t think that at all. For
most of human history, no one knew what these tiny lights truly represented. Hard to
believe, since it seems so obvious to us now, but the ancients still thought these lights
were spirits, gods, ancestors, or mystical entities. The idea that these were entire worlds
would seem beyond preposterous to them. Earth was the only world, located in the center
of the Universe, and everything else moved around us.”
He paused. “That’s not to say they didn’t use the terms star and planet, which
misleads many into thinking the ancients knew what they were dealing with. They didn’t.
These terms meant something very different to them than they mean to us. Star comes
from the Greek word for radiance or brilliance. Basically speaking to their shine and
sparkle. When they said star they weren’t thinking massive nuclear furnace. They were
thinking brilliant, twinkling light.
“Planet came from the Greek phrase planetes asters, which means wandering star.
Wandering star is a perfect name, actually, reflecting that the planets are the odd lights
that move about, as opposed to all others, which are stubbornly immobile.
“What’s remarkable is that many ancient cosmologies were still extremely
sophisticated,” continued Robert with great enthusiasm. “Made even more remarkable
given the telescope wasn’t invented until the early seventeenth century, so much of this
discovery was done with naked-eye observations and math. The Babylonians, Greeks,
Chinese, and Mayans, for example, could predict planetary movements with startling
accuracy, including eclipses, and created sophisticated calendars based on this
knowledge.”
He shook his head. “But, even so, they had no idea stars and planets were “worlds”
in the modern sense—physical places like Earth with mass, landscapes, or potential
inhabitants.”

Robert smiled with a gleam in his eye. “So how could someone from ten thousand
years ago possibly know enough to claim other worlds existed? Let alone worlds that
aliens could live on and travel between? This would never occur to them, even in their
wildest imaginations.”
He paused for effect. “Kind of makes you think, doesn’t it? Not as startling as if
archeologists found a ten-thousand-year-old carving of E=MC 2 on a cave wall, but still
quite . . . intriguing.”
Robert smiled at the sight of eyes widening across the room as his point hit home. He
let the students marinate in this new line of thought for several long seconds but finally
pushed ahead.
“In this next slide,” he said, “you’ll see a design from Inscription Canyon, near
Prescott, Arizona. As you can see, it features an etched equilateral cross. According to
Hopi elder Oswald “White Bear” Fredericks, this petroglyph is one of many examples of
the Hopi’s epic migration story and cosmology from a land called Kasskara.”
Robert raised his eyebrows, knowing that most of his students would find this
material fascinating, but would rail against the need to commit the numerous strange,
hard-to-pronounce words he threw at them to memory, along with their definitions.
“Kasskara is what some Hopi oral traditions describe as their ancestral homeland during
the third world, before migrating to the Americas at the beginning of the fourth world.
According to White Bear, Kasskara would be what some people today call Lemuria.”
He paused. “Now, let me direct your attention to this glyph,” he continued,
highlighting a dome-shaped symbol. “This refers to the flying shield. Some clans believe
it depicts a literal starship piloted by Kachinas, and—”
He stopped in mid-sentence, distracted by a petite female hand that had shot up in
the auditorium, eager to get his attention. “Yes,” he said to the young student to whom
the hand belonged.
“Sorry, Professor, but before you move on . . . what is Lemuria?” She glanced at her
notes. “You said that according to White Bear, Kasskara was what some people today
call Lemuria. But are we supposed to know what that is?”
Robert smiled. He was so steeped in ancient lore from around the world that he often
assumed certain things were common knowledge that weren’t. “Right,” he said

sheepishly. “Thanks. Lemuria is a mysterious lost continent in the Pacific, much like
Atlantis is a lost continent in the Atlantic. And like Atlantis, mainstream scientists largely
don’t believe it ever existed. They especially don’t believe that both lost continents were
once populated by human civilizations. And, at the same time. Some Hopi lore, on the
other hand, suggests otherwise. And, some Hopi believe that the lore maintains that
Kasskara and Atlantis were not only civilized, but highly advanced, and that their fates
were intertwined.”
As he spoke, Robert’s eyes were drawn to the bald head of Professor Alan Donovan.
Despite the lecture having started thirty minutes earlier, Alan had only recently arrived.
He had appeared to be highly agitated just before the young woman had asked her
question, and Robert could tell the man had been struggling mightily to hold his tongue
while Robert delivered his answer.
Finally, the dam burst, and the rival professor who had crashed Robert’s lecture
could no longer remain silent. He jumped to his feet. “Dr. Shaw, I must take exception to
your lecture. Are you really trying to tell your students that the Hopi Indians emerged
from the third world?”
Alan Donovan turned to address the students. “For those unaware, the ‘third world’
in Hopi mythology refers to the world during the last Ice Age. The ‘fourth world’ is our
current world now, the Interglacial Age, the world after the Ice Age, according to the
Hopi.”
“Yes, I covered that earlier,” said Robert, more than a little irritated by a blowhard
trying to insert himself where he didn’t belong.
Alan turned to face Robert once again. “Are you also going to tell these students how
you believe the Hopi came to the Americas? How they got here from their fabled
continent in the third world, which was in the middle of the Pacific Ocean? I know you
believe they used one of these starships you so love to speak about to make the journey.
So will this also be part of your lecture?”
“Of course,” said Robert evenly. “But not all the Hopi, just some. And some Hopi
Elders called the starship a flying shield. Plus, Alan, I’ve never stated these are historical
facts. I’m teaching a certain perspective of Hopi mythology, and this is a critical part of
it. I’m not saying it’s true. I’m not saying it’s not true. I’m just saying that some of the

Hopi Elders throughout the ages believed this to be the case. If you had let me finish, I
would have made all this clear. And since you’ve raised the subject, let me finish now.”
He turned to the class to continue his lesson as if Alan had never interrupted.
“According to White Bear, the Hopi were helped by the Kachinas, a star people with
advanced technology who worked hand in hand with them during their expansion on
Kasskara, i.e., Lemuria. When Lemuria sank into the Pacific Ocean, many Hopi migrated
off the sinking continent via a starship or starships—”
“Be honest with us, Professor,” interrupted a man who should have been a colleague,
but had become a hostile public critic, unwilling to be denied his full ration of contempt.
“You give yourself an out by saying this is mythology. But you—personally—believe
it’s all true, don’t you? You believe more than one starship was built and flown by
ancient Hopi.”
“Professor Donovan, I have tried to be patient with you, in the spirit of scholarship,
but my patience isn’t limitless. I have a lecture to give. We can discuss this another
time.”
Alan’s eyes narrowed, something all too common when he glimpsed Robert from
down the hall between lectures or in the faculty lounge during breaks. But now he’d
crossed a line, airing his ill-disguised contempt in a public forum. “I’ll leave as you
request,” said Alan finally. “If I were you, I wouldn’t want my outrageous beliefs to be
publicly debated, either. But answer one last question for me. How did this Kasskara, this
Lemuria, sink into the Pacific Ocean? Please tell all these young students how that
occurred, in your view?” He widened his arms to the crowd. “Please listen carefully. This
will be quite . . . eye-opening.”
“Look, Alan, as you know . . . or at least as you should know . . . myth is more real
than we think. For instance, as we’ve come to understand, just about every culture has a
flood story. Scientifically, we know a flood took place. That shortly before and during the
Younger Dryas, during specific times between 14,000 and 11,600 years ago, sea levels
rose three hundred to four hundred feet, flooding massive areas worldwide. There’s truth
in myth.”
“You’re avoiding the question. What do you claim is the reason that this hypothetical
continent of Lemuria sank into the ocean?”

“Well, if you’d have let me finish, I’d have—”
“How did it sink?” demanded the hostile professor.
A hush came over the auditorium. Some students leaned in toward Robert. A few
eyes fixed on Alan as Robert cleared his throat. Some individuals nodded at Alan,
perhaps in agreement with the man. Never did Robert suspect a tenured professor, one
with an office just down the hall from his own, would challenge him so publicly.
“It sank in the aftermath of a war with Atlantis,” he replied calmly. “As I said, their
fates were said to have been intertwined. The Hopi believe history moves in cycles. That
every age ends because people fail to learn from the mistakes of those before them. If the
lessons aren’t heeded, the cycle starts over, often with greater destruction. Imagine what
that means for us if they’re right. We’d be—”
Alan threw his hands up. “There you go. The legendary Atlantis, the incredible
Lemuria, sunk by a major war.” He turned back to the crowd. “And positing ancient
starships? That’s the very definition of absurd? A war? I’m guessing this was a nuclear
war, something so bad it—”
“You said you’d leave after I answered your final question,” said Robert with such a
fierce yet controlled tone that Alan looked terrified for a moment. “That time has come.”
Alan swallowed hard but didn’t argue. He made a show of slowly walking to the
back of the auditorium, pausing at the door. “You’re teaching utter nonsense, Robert, and
it won’t be tolerated any longer,” he said, taking a final, parting shot before rushing
through the door.
Fifteen minutes later, as the lecture concluded and students filed out of the room,
Alan Donovan returned to the auditorium and approached Robert at the podium. “I need
you to know that I’ve filed a complaint with Dean Laikind,” he said, referring to the Dean
of the department they were both in. “I’m demanding that you be dismissed for
promoting mythology as true history. It’s harmful to students and the university.
Especially here in Arizona, the epicenter of the Hopi nation, where students are likely to
be more susceptible to your unscientific beliefs.”
Robert snorted. “You went off your meds, today, Alan, didn’t you? If you’re looking
to find someone who’s delusional, look in the mirror. Let’s see what the Dean thinks of
you interrupting my lecture the way you did. Talk about unprofessional.”

Alan delivered a cold, grim smile. “Here’s the thing, Robert. If you don’t cease
speaking on this topic, on these untruths, I’ll send this to the Academic Affairs Office.”
He set his phone down on the podium, and on it, a video recording played of Robert and a
young woman eating at a restaurant. Alan turned up the volume.
On the video, Robert sat across from the woman, his gestures animated. “. . . because
some of the Hopi Elders believed you can change the future by altering the past,” said
Robert’s voice through the phone’s speakers. “The starship isn’t just a ship, in my
opinion. It’s a time portal, urging us to change the ancient war between Lemuria and
Atlantis that created such havoc for humanity over the last thirteen millennia. We’ve
forgotten our origins, Kira. That’s one reason the Hopi say the starship is here. Now.”
“Is that their official position on the subject?”
“Not really. Only a few of them say this. It’s an idea, really. That a flying shield, a
vessel, still awaits in present times. They believed in other dimensions and portals
leading to other worlds. Some think there’s even a portal back to the time of Lemuria and
Atlantis.”
Kira Shelton folded her hands on the dinner table. “A portal?”
“That part is probably fantasy, of course. Only a few Elders ever alluded to such
things—fragments, really. Not myth. Not history. Perhaps just attempting to put the
pieces together in their own way, while others questioned it. None of them discussed it
publicly. It’s all hearsay.”
“And when you find this starship? What will you do?”
“Share it with the world. It would be the most epic discovery in modern history. It
would forever change how we look at our world, and at history. And the knowledge we
could glean from it, the technological marvels, could allow us to create a virtual Utopia
and spread to the stars.”
Kira shook her head sadly. “I admire your idealism, Robert, I really do. But that’s
not at all what would happen. The government would seize it immediately, and you’d
never get near the ship again. They’d threaten your life if you weren’t quiet about it, or
just kill you from the jump . . . just to be sure.”
She paused, lowering her voice. “I’ve seen it happen before in my own industry.
Powerful people burying the truth because it doesn’t fit their narrative. That’s part of why

I’m here. My father was a geologist. Brilliant, but stubborn. He spent his life chasing
discoveries that others thought were too inconvenient to acknowledge, or simply myths.
When he vanished during one of his last research expeditions in the Scablands, hoping to
explain what really happened there, his disappearance was written off as an accident. But
I never believed that.”
Kira’s eyes darkened. “I need to prove that this world holds truths we can’t just
sweep under the rug. For my own sanity.”
Robert smiled. “Which explains why you’re so firmly in my corner on this.”
Alan paused the recording. “Good quality, isn’t it? Now, unless you want me
sending this to the Academic Affairs office as proof that you’re indoctrinating students
with fringe pseudo-history along with wining and dining beautiful pupils, I suggest
rethinking your lecture content and the way you conduct yourself. You’ve even
convinced this poor woman that she’s on your side. And I see she calls you Robert rather
than Professor Shaw. What should I make of that? Talk about inappropriate.”
“I’m inappropriate?” said Robert in disbelief. “How would you define spying on a
colleague in a restaurant?”
“So, you get caught trying to indoctrinate a student with fantasies, and you blame me
for catching you? Let’s stick to the point, which is that this woman appears to be fully
indoctrinated. How many other co-eds have you wined and dined like this? How many
have you dazzled with your theories?” He raised his eyebrows. “How many have you
slept with?”
“Wow,” said Robert. “I always thought you were a contemptible jackass and
blowhard, Alan, but I had no idea. First, Kira is not a student. She looks young, but she’s
in her thirties. And unlike you, I don’t need people to use my title to stroke my ego. Now
leave this auditorium now!” he added in a guttural growl. “Before I do something I won’t
regret.”
Alan opened his mouth to reply, but there was something in Robert’s steely,
penetrating gaze that made him change his mind. He stormed off without saying another
word. When he reached the exit door, he opened it and turned once again to face Robert.
“I’ll add that you made a veiled threat on my person to my list of complaints,” he
said, and then hurriedly rushed off into the hallway.

“Have at it, then,” mumbled Robert in contempt as Alan’s figure disappeared from
the room.