“Well, there’s no more viceroyalty of Peru. Your empire’s been broken up into parts of half a dozen different independent countries. Spain’s no longer a great power, nor is England. The great powers in the world today are America and Russia.”

Apu Tupa nodded. “Spanish texts mention the Russia of the czars.”

“That’s changed, too.”

“I see. I have much to discuss with the council. Meanwhile I am afraid you must remain here. Your personal needs will be attended to. You will also discover that the pirca which restrains you has been extended to separate you from the transmitter. We cannot risk you using it again.”

“You don’t have to worry about that,” Carter informed him easily. “It doesn’t work anymore.”

“You cannot make it function.” Apu Tupa pursed his lips thoughtfully. “That does not mean it no longer works. I am causing to have made small devices for each of you which will enable you to speak with any of us in our own language, and you to understand us. The learning machines make this possible. It will greatly simplify communication between us.

“Meanwhile you will be made as comfortable as possible. You must realize that your appearance here has been a great shock to us.”

“Ain’t done us much good neither,” Ashwood told him.

Apu Tupa blinked as Trang Ho’s flash went off in his face. “You who keep making lights: you are not English, not Spanish. You look somewhat like us, but are different.”

“I’m Viet-American. My parents are from a land I guess your people never knew.” She sidled up close to Tupa and he drew back reflexively. “Listen, if you guys play your cards right I can get you more buzz than you ever dreamed of.”

“Buzz?”

“Sure. Publicity, press, PR. Don’t you realize that when you show up in L.A. you people are going to be celebrities? Lost civilizations don’t turn up every day. You’re going to need guidance, introductions to the right people, contacts, someone to put the proper spin on your arrival. That transmitter system of yours is worth big bucks … if it’s relatively pollution-free, of course. And your outfits … I can set up a lunch for you with a major designer. A few color changes here, the right accessories, and, I mean, you’d be the rage.

“All I want in return is an exclusive on your story.” She waited expectantly, beaming.

Apu Tupa stared distastefully at the woman who was standing too close to him. “Of what does this person babble?”

“She is something of a free-lance quipu maker,” Fewick told him. “One who is not overly concerned with the accuracy of the knots she ties.”

“We have not used the knotted rope of the quipu for information-recording for hundreds of years,” Tupa replied. “Not since we stole the secret of writing from the Spaniards.” With great dignity he turned and stepped off the platform. “I go now.”

“Hey, at least give me an interview! Just a couple of questions.” Trang Ho tried to pursue, only to be halted by the pirca barrier.

“Don’t you realize what’s going on here?” There was pity in Carter’s voice. “What’s happened to us? We may never get home. You may never see the inside of a newsroom again.”

“Nonsense,” Ho said brightly. “These are people just like you and me, not bug-eyed aliens. I don’t know anything about the Incas, but I bet they had and still have loves and hates, jealousies and desires. Inevitably there are stories here to be told, and somebody will have to tell them. That’s my job.”

Ashwood was shaking her head. “Wish I had your optimism, sister.”

O’lal had been a Monitor for a long time, but now she did not know what to do or how to proceed. Things had gotten out of hand.

She had successfully tracked and confronted the Renegade, only to have him escape at the last possible instant. When she attempted to pursue he made use of a totally unanticipated method of escape. Only then did it occur to her that it was all part and parcel of his disruptive plans and that once more she had been duped.

Now the means by which he had fled was closed to her. She did not even know whence he had gone. As near as she could tell, the pattern of normal societal evolution on the world whose well-being she had been charged with protecting was still intact.

It might be that the Renegade, having nearly been trapped by her, had simply abandoned his ablative intentions and bolted to safety. In debate with herself she was ultimately unable to convince herself that this was so. His escape was too pat, too smooth, to have been an act of desperate accident. Though she had many other developments to supervise, none were so vital as ensuring that the Renegade was rendered harmless.

Therefore she remained, contemplating his means of flight and wondering if it might be possible, or even wise, to follow. She did not waste time chiding herself for failing to finish him when she’d had the chance. The Renegade was powerful and dangerous. Putting herself at grave physical risk would have done neither herself nor her charges any good.

She could not halt the flow of events the Renegade had set in motion. All she could do was try to channel them into acceptable evolutionary parameters. In order to do this she had to outanticipate, outthink, the Renegade. This she had thus far failed to do, opting instead to exercise damage control until the right opportunity again presented itself.

She suspected his ultimate goal, if not his methodology, and had no intention of allowing him to do any further damage to her charges. She had grown quite fond of humanity, not to mention the primitive Shihararaneth with whom they shared this world. For a non-Shihar species the frail humans showed great promise. It was her task to see that both intelligent races which occupied this world were given the opportunity to develop normally, and this she would continue to do at the risk of her own safety.

Prior to the appearance of the Renegade both humans and primitive Shihar had done well, though humankind required constant supervision. A little nudge here, a push there, was required to keep them from disintegration. Under her supervision they continued to advance. She had no intention of allowing the Renegade to put that progress at risk.

She desperately desired the advice of her peers, but the distances involved were too great, the mature Shihararaneth spread too thin. She had managed to get off a couple of fleeting communications when the elements had momentarily spun into perfect alignment and a nice long string had presented itself, but she could not chance that help would be forthcoming. On herself alone she would have to continue to rely.

Naturally she could not go to the humans for assistance. Revealing her true nature to them would do more permanent damage to their society than anything the Renegade could concoct except revealing his own nature. That she doubted he would do, because it could result in an appropriate and probably lethal response from her. No, he would bide his time and play out his game, knowing that as long as he did so she would not risk exposing herself with a direct attack.

But it was hard to remain circumspect when the natural development of the species which had been entrusted to her care was threatened by a lunatic like the Renegade. Not to mention the health of the several blissfully ignorant humans presently functioning under his direct manipulation.

The brethren she had managed to contact briefly had counseled patience. Renegades usually overestimated their abilities and made fatal mistakes, the inimical edifices of their plans invariably imploding from the weight of their own complexity. The difficulty lay in containing the damage they did before this took place.

She drew strength from the knowledge that in order to interfere in human affairs, the Renegade was compelled to rely upon human agencies to carry out his intentions. Given their inherent unpredictability, which they had already demonstrated, this allowed for the possibility that the Renegade might lose control of his carefully crafted disruption without the Monitor even having to act.

So she did not panic, but rather remained where last she had confronted him, waiting to see what would happen next.

XI

They did not see Apu Tupa for several days, during which time they were presented with telephone-style headset translators which transformed Contisuyun Spanish-Quechua into modern Spanish or passable English, as the wearer preferred.

When the Inca finally did reappear it was to gesture imperiously at the Fernándezes. “You two will come with me.”

The brothers exchanged a glance, then gingerly stepped off the platform. When Ashwood and Da Rimini tried to follow, they found that the pirca had been restored.

“Wait a minute.” Ashwood leaned both hands against the barrier. “Why just the two of them?”

Apu Tupa looked back at her. “They are our kind.

We wish their input.”

“You want input? I can give y’all plenty of input.”

“Yeah,” Da Rimini added. “What about us?”

“You have the look of the conquistadores, the conquerors,” Tupa told them.

Carter objected. “I’m no conqueror. I’m an American. My country was hardly started when you had your last contact with your homeland.”

“You are European. More important, you are not Inca. We know that the Spaniards had many allies, and we determined long ago not to repeat the mistakes of our ancestors. So we exercise caution.” He turned and walked away with the Fernández brothers in tow.

“Wait!” Da Rimini shouted. “What this all about? Damn!”

Igor sat munching on a piece of something like green potato. The Incas had been very big on potatoes. “I do not know, but I don’t like the idea of them breaking up the group.”

“It may be of no great significance.” Fewick was feeding Moe. “As the Fernández brothers are largely of Inca stock, our hosts may simply wish to question them about their lives.”

“Well, I don’ like it.” Da Rimini edgily paced their enclosure. “If we could jus’ get to the transmitter and make it work we’d get out of this place.”