“Well, if it is a kind of gemstone we will find out when we come back to this place,” Da Rimini declared.
Manco Fernández was reluctant to leave. “You are sure you cannot make sense of this, gringo?” He was running his fingers over the deep engravings that covered the upper third of the object.
“I note a few similarities to other Peruvian petroglyphs, but that is all. The majority of designs are unknown to me.”
“That is all right.” He spoke proudly. “It is a good conversation piece. We will put it in front of the log ride at the park.”
“What’s that?” His brother suddenly whirled and lowered the muzzle of his AK-47. Then he relaxed and smiled. “Crazy gringos and their pets.”
Fewick knelt and welcomed his cat into his arms. “You finally got lonely out there, did you, Moe?” He glanced up at Blanco. “Getting nervous, are we?” The brother grunted.
A worried Carter looked back toward the entrance to the cave. There was no sign of Macha.
Da Rimini was watching Fewick, a disgusted look on her face. “How touching.” She kicked out at the tom, who easily avoided her foot and landed atop the ovoid. It paced there, watching her.
“You know,” said Ashwood conversationally, “you really are a first-class bitch.”
The Amazon ignored her, tapped the enigmatic egg. “I agree that this is interesting, but no matter how valuable it may be, it is too big for us to carry.”
“If we only knew what these meant.” Manco used a finger to trace one of the indentations cut into the side of the artifact. “They might tell us much about our ancestors.” Moe leaned over, sniffing at him.
The egg began to hum.
It was a steady susurration, unvarying in pitch, that rose rapidly in volume until it was as loud as a human voice. Manco Fernández let out a startled oath and jerked his hand away from the vitreous surface he’d been caressing as if he’d been burned. Da Rimini’s gaze narrowed.
Moe continued to pace unconcernedly atop the object. Only when it began to glow with an intense white light did the cat leap lithely to the ground. It rubbed against Fewick’s ankles, purring softly.
Ashwood was the only one with enough sense to make a dash for the exit. She didn’t get very far, as the light simultaneously intensified and expanded to soundlessly engulf them all.
Carter blinked, having lost both footing and vision for an instant. Now he steadied himself, trying to focus on his surroundings.
The light had faded as quickly as a burst from Trang Ho’s flash. The egg was still there, resting immovably on its four peculiar blue supports. Everyone had kept their feet and several were rubbing at their outraged eyes.
“Madre de Dios,” Da Rimini mumbled. “What happened?”
Fewick was shaking his head, blinking at the floor. “That is not a gemstone. It is a device of some kind.”
“That is crazy,” said Da Rimini. Holding the fluorescent lantern high while keeping a wary eye on the now quiescent ovoid, she started backing out of the room. “We have enough treasure. Let’s finish our business here an’ leave this place.”
Outside the circular stone chamber, Manco Fernández stepped around the intihuatana before halting uncertainly. He played the flashlight he was carrying over the walls of the cave.
“This does not look right.”
“What are you babbling about?” Da Rimini looked back at him. “Hurry up.”
“No.” He stepped up alongside her. “It is different somehow. See there?”
With his light he illuminated one of the bins which lined the right-hand side of the cave. Carter stared. The stonework was the same, but he did not remember the intricate inscriptions which covered much of the rock nor the complex bas-reliefs.
Ignoring the guns, Fewick let out an excited cry and rushed forward to run trembling fingers over the inscriptions. “Writing! Do you realize what this means? It has always been believed that the Incas never developed writing.” His voice rose triumphantly. “This means the Baxter Prize for certain, perhaps even a Nobel!”
Ashwood was frowning. “I don’ recall seein’ any writing when we come in.” She sniffed at the air. “Don’ it seem drier in here than before?”
Manco Fernández’s fears vanished in light of the discovery his brother made next. While Fewick wept over the unprecedented inscriptions, Blanco tried the handle of the wooden door which barred the way into the modest structure. When it refused to open he hammered on the catch with the butt of his rifle.
On the third try the ancient, desiccated latch gave way. So did the entire door, which buckled in the middle. The contents of the structure buried Blanco before he could get clear, flooding outward and carrying him partway across the floor.
When the avalanche finally ceased, Blanco lay flailing wildly in a sea of gold.
Gold plates and cups, gold strips and bars, necklaces and rings and earrings of gold and silver. The glistening bounty multiplied the light of the lantern and sent it careening joyfully across the dark stone walls and ceiling.
Like everyone else Carter was stunned speechless. The small high-walled bin probably held several tons of gold. And there were other bins, similarly shaped and secured, lining the right-hand side of the cave for a distance of at least fifty yards.
He peered past the last. No entrance, no small circle of sunlight, greeted his gaze. He checked his watch. It was still late afternoon. The sun should still be up. For that matter, he did not remember that any of the small bins they had passed on their way in had been secured with wooden doors.
Trang Ho was of similar mind. “We have come out somewhere else from where we started. This is wonderful!” She began taking pictures like mad. “This is marvelous, this is fantastic!”
“This sucks,” muttered Ashwood.
Da Rimini looked from where the Fernández brothers were cavorting like children in the golden talus back to the circular temple room which held the egg.
“I don’ understand. What’s going on?”
“Trang Ho is correct.” Fewick turned reluctantly from his beloved inscriptions while Moe regarded the whooping Fernández brothers thoughtfully. “That flash of light moved us from the cave we had been inside to this one.” He nodded in the direction of the now quiescent ovoid. “It is a transportation device of some kind. A transmitter of matter. A means of travel.” He glanced down at the floor. “Somehow Moe activated it when he was walking around on top.”
“You are talking of magical things,” she said nervously.
“Not magic. Science. The Incas had advanced to the point of performing brain surgery, trepanning. Although I can scarce credit it, this is something they must have discovered at the last minute, probably after Pizarro defeated Atahualpa. Evidently they utilized it to save the last of their treasure from the conquistadores.”
