“No,” Igor told him. “They are more puzzled by us than anything else. Especially you.”
“Me?”
“Yes. Also Trang Ho and Mr. Fewick. The rest of us, including Ms. Ashwood, they do not find as intriguing. It has to do with your physical differences. Trang Ho is Vietnamese, while you and Mr. Fewick are blond and blue-eyed. Their confusion over this suggests that their knowledge of the world is very limited and that they have long been isolated from the rest of mankind.”
“Are you telling me that these people are Incas, real Incas?” Carter murmured.
“Their descendants, certainly.”
“I would venture to guess that these people learned of firearms and writing, Spanish, and perhaps much else from the conquistadores.” Fewick studied the high curved ceiling thoughtfully. “I wonder where we really are.”
“I’m more concerned with what they’re gonna do with us,” said Ashwood.
Moe meowed softly. Fewick promptly lifted the cat from the top of the ovoid and placed him on his right shoulder. “Have you ever noticed how cats make much more sensible companions than human beings?”
It made Carter think of Macha, but he did not wish for her presence. She was probably better off back at Paititi.
Four more well-dressed Incas arrived in a small pale yellow cart that traveled silently across the floor on plastic wheels. Carter’s imagination was beginning to work overtime.
The new arrivals extracted packages from the rear of the vehicle and approached the platform. After a momentary pause they entered and set their burdens down on the floor. As each container was opened, a new aroma filled the air. Steam vented from two of the smooth-sided cartons. Another contained recognizable utensils.
As the delivery team retreated, the prisoners cautiously inspected what they had brought.
“At least they don’t mean to starve us.” Ashwood helped herself to a knife and fork while contemplating a potbellied tumbler of amber liquid.
A tall Inca joined them. Carter guessed him to be close to Ashwood’s age. His tunic was yellow with bold red stripes and there was a red sun symbol on the tube he carried.
“Of course we are not going to starve you. Think you that we are uncivilized?” Carter’s eyes widened.
“You speak English?”
“We can speak many languages. We secretly took the knowledge of it, as we did of other things, from the viracochas. My name, to you, is Apu Tupa.”
“Viracocha is what the ancient Incas called the first Spaniards they encountered,” Igor whispered to Carter. “Apu Tupa means ‘Master Tupa’ in Quechua. This is an important personage.”
“Where are we?” Fewick inquired politely. “What is this place? Who are you people?”
“And how soon can we leave?” Manco Fernández added.
The man turned to him. “You look much like us. These others do not. Some resemble viracochas. Others are clearly the English or something else the viracocha books speak of.” A hand indicated Trang Ho. “That woman resembles no people we know.” He looked back at Manco. “You carried weapons.” Perhaps wisely, Fernández said nothing.
Apu Tupa continued to study them. “As to your questions: perhaps you know of Vilcabamba?”
Fewick spoke up. “The Inca state that survived in the jungle long after Pizarro and his men crushed the empire.”
Apu Tupa nodded. “It was not the only such place. Eventually the viracochas conquered it as well, but they never found our city.”
“Paititi!” said Igor suddenly.
“Yes. We lived there in safety, stealing up into our conquered lands to learn from the viracochas, killing those who rarely ventured down into our territory. Such killings were always blamed on the jungle peoples and so our existence remained a secret.
“Much time passed. Then we found the true intihuatana, which allows us to travel along the intiran. The road of the sun.”
“The transmitter at what we called Paititi,” Igor said.
Tupa nodded. “It carried our people and many who came down from the mountains to join us to this place, where we have lived and learned undisturbed since that time. More than two hundred years ago the intiran suddenly ceased to function, and not all our acquired skills were able to make it work again. So we moved it to this place, where we view and venerate the works of our ancestors. But it is clear that it is now working again, because it has brought you to us.”
“Then you didn’t build the transmitters?” Fewick asked.
“No. Like much that we have since discovered here, they were constructed by Those-Who-Came-Before.”
“Aliens,” Trang Ho murmured, eyes shining.
“Who or what are Those-Who-Came-Before?” Fewick wondered.
“We do not know. We do not even know what they looked like. They left behind no record of their physical appearance. But they did leave much.” He straightened. “What they left has made us great. Greater than ever was the empire of our ancestors. Greater than the viracochas.
“I have been appointed to deal with you because I am a student of the ancient world and its languages. In addition to Quechua, Spanish, and English I am also fluent in French, Dutch, and the Teutonic dialects.” He looked at the ovoid.
“At first we thought the intiran let people travel along beams of sunlight. Now we know it is a matter of physics, not magic.”
In spite of what they’d already seen, Fewick was startled. “You know physics?”
“We know a great deal. Among the devices Those-Who-Came-Before left here is a machine which teaches. Not by voice, but by sending knowledge directly into a person’s mind. It frightened us at first, but the machine understood our fright and was patient with us. It studied us and explained the world in terms we could understand. Soon we became comfortable with it. Then we began to learn.
“It was Those-Who-Came-Before who placed the transmitters on Earth. They were observing humanity long before Pachacuti founded the empire in 1438. Then, insofar as we know, they simply departed, leaving behind their devices both here and on Earth.”
“Are we prisoners?” Ashwood wanted to know.
