Vines and creepers made the last twenty feet difficult. That surmounted, they found themselves with a view of an endless sea of green, an undulating roll of jungle in all directions. To the east, a few specks of blue ocean were visible through gaps in the verdure.

“Your ancestors apparently moved the Veqq transmitter here, where they could worship it,” Jed commented. “As an object of occasional veneration myself, I quite understand. I can perceive

“Just hang on to your perceiving for a minute.” After first checking to ensure it was free of ants, Ross Ed slumped down on a creeper as big around as his thigh. “I’m bushed.”

“Me, too.” For a seat Caroline chose the exquisitely carved and stylized head of a jaguar, just missing the scorpion that scuttled quickly out of the path of her descending derriere.

Only after catching their breath and luxuriating in the spectacular panorama did they rise and enter the supreme temple. There was nothing inside but crumbling rock, rotting wood, the omnipresent vines and lianas, and a deteriorating tree stump.

“I don’t see anything,” Ross Ed announced.

“You’re practically standing on it. Are you sure you can see?”

“Only rocks and jungle.”

“Move to your left.” The Texan complied, but the view didn’t change.

It was Caroline who noted that the tree stump looked a little too unsoiled. It also was devoid of secondary growth, decomposing fungi, and insects.

“See if it moves,” she suggested.

Ross nodded and set the backpack aside. Then he put his considerable shoulder to the wood. Unfortunately, the stump was firmly rooted to the floor. Its upper tenth, however, was not. As soon as he applied pressure, it whirred and slid aside.

Over the eons a few bits of plant matter had managed to squeeze inside. There were also the shells of unlucky insects. They lay atop what looked like a wastebasket full of crumpled gold foil. A mass of red filaments bound this together, as if a spider with the Midas touch had been at its nest.

Cautiously, Ross Ed peered inside. No sound emerged from the interior.

“Doesn’t look like much.” Caroline eyed the ancient mess dubiously.

“The Veqq were wonderful engineers,” Jed reminded them. “It’s probably powered by stray neutrinos. Don’t ask me how. I’m no scientist.”

Ross’s hands hovered over the gold foil. “What do I do? It looks pretty fragile. I don’t want to break anything.”

“You won’t.” The little alien proceeded to furnish instructions.

Ross felt he was doing little more than moving filaments and crumpling foil, but after thirty minutes Jed pronounced himself satisfied. As far as the two humans could tell, nothing had changed. Although when Jed directed him to put an ear close to the opening, Ross thought he could hear something buried deep within hiccuping softly.

“Do I close it back up?”

“You bet. Just apply pressure to the lid.”

Ross did so and was rewarded with the sight of the cover sliding silently back into place. Once again the transmitter looked exactly like an isolated tree stump.

“How come the Maya, or whoever hauled this up here, didn’t accidentally open it and rip out the insides?” Caroline wanted to know.

“There is an activation sequence which must first be keyed in,” the Shakaleeshva explained. “Otherwise the unit is impossible to open. My suit broadcast the necessary sequence. Your ancestors would have heard only an occasional humming. No doubt they believed some sort of spirit to be trapped inside.

“Now I suggest we depart.”

“Wait a minute.” Ross Ed frowned as he picked up the pack and swung it onto his back. “If your people are going to intercept the signal and come looking for you, shouldn’t we be here waiting for them?”

“We need to remain in the general vicinity, certainly,” Jed admitted, “but the Shakaleeshva may not arrive first. Others can pick up the modified signal as well. Not only the Culakhan, but the Tuniack, the Moespre, and half a dozen others may be drawn to it. I would rather not meet up with any of them. We need to remain in the region in order to monitor visitors, but far enough away so that we can be selective in who we greet.”

“How do we manage that?” Caroline asked uncertainly.

“My suit will handle any necessary contacts. Meanwhile we should move away from here.”

“Let’s go back to the beach,” Ross suggested. “Maybe we can find a fishing village or something.”

“Sounds good to me.” Caroline stretched tiredly.

“This is where í have to rely on your aboriginal expertise, Ross.”

“I’d feel more at home in Austin,” the Texan confessed as they started down the steep stairway, “but we’ll do the best we can.”

Breaking out of the rain forest and back onto the sand, he and Caroline debated whether to head north or south. Without knowing their position relative to the tourist towns of Cancún and Cozumel, they had little to go on. So when Caroline voted for the south, Ross had no reason to object. They walked for miles before he used a sharp rock to crack a couple of coconuts. The water within was deliciously refreshing, the meat cool and savory. Having no need of sustenance either liquid or solid, Jed perceived their actions with indifference. Sometimes being dead had its advantages.

Caroline sipped from her indigenous wooden chalice. “I always thought a real jungle would be very romantic.” Her left hand brushed continuously back and forth in front of her face. “It’s not. It’s hot, sweaty, buggy, and dangerous.”

“They usually are,” Jed observed. “A mana Five is entirely covered in jungle and the ‘bugs’ there are so big and vicious that—”

She cut him off. “Never mind. What I’d really like to find is a shower.”

“Wouldn’t matter if we did,” Ross Ed pointed out. “We don’t have any money.”

“Says you.” From her omnipresent fanny pack she removed the credit card she’d alluded to back in Los Angeles, when they’d first discussed fleeing Tealeaf’s hospitality for San Diego.

Her companion eyed it speculatively. “That’s swell, provided anyone around here takes plastic.”

“Where’ve you been, Ross Ed? Everybody takes plastic these days.”

“In the jungle? I wouldn’t count on it.”

•   •   •

“Visa, MasterCard, Diner’s Card, American Express. Sumitomo. Barclay’s, and Banco Vera Cruz, señor. Any of those are acceptable. I was offered a Harrod’s card once but could not figure out how to process it.”

They’d met a couple of kids fishing from a point of rocks. The boys had shown them a trail which led through the rain forest, past newly cleared cornfields, to a dirt road, and thence to the village of Santa Luisa del Mar. There they had found the cantina, with its outdoor tables, Dos Equis umbrellas, and freshly painted stucco.

Santa Luisa was a boomtown, barely a few years old, which explained why its inhabitants had not yet found the temple complex hidden in the jungle to the north. Or perhaps they had, Ross Ed reflected, and were keeping its location a secret while they pillaged its passageways and tombs. In their covert search for gold and jade artifacts, acquisitive locals wouldn’t pay much attention to a tree stump.

After inhaling a couple of cold Coronas apiece, the weary travelers consented to order food. High up on a wall a radio was blasting out a melange of Argentinian rock, Mexican pop, and American country-western. Ross Ed put his feet up on an empty chair and felt almost at home. With the backpack scooted beneath the heavy table, Jed remained comfortably out of sight.

The proprietor wore a bright, flowery shin, jeans, and a white apron. His wide forehead, bulging cheeks, and enormous mustache framed a pleasant disposition.

“I’ll bet you don’t get many tourists here.” Caroline swigged her Corona directly from the bottle.

“That is changing rapidly, señora. Ever since the start of something called eco-tourism, crazy people from all over the world are coming to the Yucatán. They bash their way through the jungle, frightening away the animals and birds, getting bitten by bugs and stung by scorpions and wasps, and then leave saying what a fine time it was they had. Some even bring their own drinks, which they sip all day long.” His brown forehead creased. “What are lomotil and imodium, anyway? Some kind of milk drink?”