“What do we do when we reach the entrance?” Igor wanted to know.

“Leave these problems to us, old boy.” Shorty gripped several devices in his tentacles. “The chaps and I will handle things, hopefully without bloodshed. Even if these Contisuyuns have made preparations for dealing with intruders, they will not be prepared for us. While they may have studied and mastered some of our technology, they have no idea what we look like because we do not leave reproductions of our physical selves scattered about. We consider that an archaic vanity.”

“Also,” Tree added, “we’re rather shy, what?”

“You really think y’all can take control without hurtin’ anybody?” Ashwood stepped over a dead log.

“If we cannot, then we do not deserve to regard ourselves as the highest known form of intelligence,” Crease declaimed portentously. “Much less as the guardians of true civilization.”

Carter lengthened his stride until he and Igor were out in front of the others. “You think they can bring this off?” he asked the guide.

“I have no idea. We still know very little about them, except that they are polite, forgetful, and very intelligent. We do not even know what their real motives may be.”

Carter frowned. “You think they’re lying to us?”

The guide looked up at him, his face unreadable in the moonlight. “We have no way of knowing. When you live and work all your life in the selva, where the people as well as the animals are masters of camouflage and deception, you learn to question everything. However, we must trust them because we do know what the Contisuyuns intend.” He held a branch aside to let Carter pass unscathed.

“As to whether they can do what they claim, quién sabe? But I think it is better to try this than come storming in with a truckload of soldiers and police, which was my original idea.”

Having spent months sequestered in the dreary, dry underground base, the guard was tiring of his companions as rapidly as he was of his surroundings. Like the rest of the team he looked forward to night duty because it offered the only real break in the otherwise screamingly dull daily routine. At least while posted on guard outside one could enjoy the fresh air and occasional strange nocturnal sights of one’s ancestral home.

Along with everyone else he wondered what kind of progress the great general, Master Apu, and the others were making. Much time had passed without any contact. Had they been discovered and imprisoned or worse, or were their plans proceeding smoothly? He took heart in the knowledge that no viracochas had come looking for the base.

Frustrated technicians continued to pore over the transmitter, unable to determine what had caused it to fail. Should their efforts continue to be thwarted, the soldier knew he and his companions would have to live out their lives without ever seeing Contisuyu again. He banished the unpleasant thought. Did not the histories declare that the hated conquistadores had sailed for the old empire awash in similar fears? As a descendant of the great Incas, could he do no less?

What had happened to the hundreds who had transmitted from the homeworld aboard the twelve transports? That was another thought never far from his mind or those of his friends. He had known many of those vanished fighters personally. The technicians said they might not be dead. Simply elsewhere. He hoped it was so.

During the day small local aircraft sometimes flew directly overhead. They took no notice of the carefully concealed entrance. Nor did those who came on foot to gaze at the ancient lines of Nazca come near the steep, unspectacular hillside. At night the barren plain was deserted, but the officers insisted on maintaining a watch. The soldier and his companions were glad of the chance to get outside for a few hours.

Hands clasped behind his back, stun tube bolstered at his side, he walked over to a shrub half again as tall as himself and snapped off one of the thin green branches, inhaling of the sharp fragrance his action released. Though Contisuyu boasted an intriguing and varied ecology of its own, this world was full of smells at once ancient and new.

Intending to repeat the procedure with the next bush in line, he grasped its nearest branch and was more than a little startled when it jerked free of his fingers. While he gaped at it the shrub immediately behind him pressed a small device against a certain place on his neck. Stiffening, he collapsed against it, his eyes rolling back in his head.

Gently Crease lowered the unconscious guard to the ground. Pivoting on his cilia, he ambled toward the entrance, his colleagues following immediately behind.

Carter was half asleep by the time Tree returned to the waiting humans.

“It’s over,” the Boojum informed them. “A bit of all right, it was.”

“I didn’t hear any shots.” Ashwood strained to see down the slope.

“There was no need for fighting. Nearly everyone inside was asleep. By taking our time we were able to eventually incapacitate the lot without anyone being alerted to our presence. Your nervous systems are easily manipulated and located conveniently near the outside of your bodies. Until we choose to awaken them, they will continue to sleep the soundest sleeps of their lives.” Tree paused thoughtfully. “It would be more accurate to say they have been placed in a state of enforced estivation.

“There is a possible problem, however. Utilizing your descriptions we searched carefully for those of your own kind whom you say are aiding the intruders. We did not find any of them. Furthermore, there are fewer Contisuyuns than you told us to expect.”

“Damn,” Ashwood muttered, as surprised by the revelation as the Boojum. “I suppose we shouldn’t have expected ’em to sit still. You can bet they’re off makin’ mischief somewheres.”

“I will bring the truck up.” Igor started back down the slope while Carter and Ashwood followed Tree toward the entrance.

It was strange to be back inside the upper cave, stranger still to see the bodies of Contisuyun soldiers and technicians lying motionless on pallets on the floor. Farther down, the twelve huge transports sat as before, the nearest two with their ports gaping wide and still stinking powerfully of dead fish.

There was no sign of the Fernández brothers, Francesca da Rimini, Bruton Fewick, or Trang Ho. Nor were General Pucahuaman or Apu Tupa present. Tree was correct: the invaders were significantly diminished in number.

Where had they gone?

Not back through the transmitter: the Boojums confirmed that.

“They spoke of using alternate technologies against Europe,” Carter said. “There aren’t many of them. How much trouble can they cause?”

“That depends on their resourcefulness.” Shorty waved a pair of root-tentacles for emphasis. “We will know when we find them.”

The other Boojurns looked on while Shorty revived one of the estivating officers. That brave and dedicated warrior took one look at the creatures bending over him and promptly fainted. The second man they brought around was possessed of greater intestinal fortitude.

At first he refused absolutely to talk, but when informed that he was in the actual presence of Those-Who-Came-Before he grew positively voluble.

“New York.” Carter sounded dubious. “Why would they go to New York?”

“I do not know.” The officer was understandably unable to take his eyes off the Boojums. “There was talk of utilizing learning machine technology to influence the minds of the viracochas, but how this was to be implemented I do not know.”

“If they have gone to New York,” said Crease, “then we must follow and find them.”

“Do y’all have any idea how big New York is?” Ashwood kicked at the ground and the revived officer flinched. “We don’t know where to start looking. They can disappear among millions of people and if that Trang Ho’s still working with them you can bet she’s got Apu Tupa and the rest lookin’ halfway normal. Not that it would matter in New York.”

Carter addressed the officer. “You must have some idea of what they planned to do.”

The officer hesitated. Tree leaned close and the man drew back, a mixture of awe and terror on his face. “I remember that the viracochas spoke of broadcasting messages by means of their television network.”

The Boojum straightened. “There is your answer. Such a simple delivery system would not work on us, but a primitive people like yourselves might easily fall under its sway.”

“We’re already under its sway,” Ashwood replied.

“Given limited resources it would be the most effective way to control large numbers of individuals.”

Carter was thinking aloud. “There are only so many ways to get a broadcast on the air. I know a few people in the business.” He looked up hopefully. “I can make inquiries. If they’ve gone through the usual channels we can trace them.”

“Then we waste time here,” said Crease.

Shorty gently but firmly returned the helpful officer to the arms of Morpheus. By the time Igor had brought the truck as far up the slope as he could manage, they were waiting to join him.

A large portion of the treasure they had discovered earlier had vanished. Ashwood correctly surmised that it had been converted into cash, but more than enough had been left behind to facilitate their own departure. A chartered executive jet conveyed them all to New York.

An unexpected problem arose at Kennedy International when a cantankerous customs official insisted they produce official documentation allowing the export from Peru of exotic “tropical plants.” When a carved lapis idol with emerald eyes turned up in place of the requested paperwork they were permitted to pass without having to answer any additional awkward questions.

Carter ensconced them in a small hotel that was so eclectic and so exclusive that the management didn’t bat an eye at guests who insisted on traveling with their own decor. For the rate they were paying they could have housed a herd of armadillos in the bathroom.

Even in New York the three Boojums would have attracted attention if they’d gone ambling down the avenues, so Igor and Ashwood were left to attend to their needs: answering questions, discussing television, and ordering out for the occasional anchovy pizza, while Carter busied himself with inquiries and visits to agencies and production companies.

Weeks passed before he returned to their suite with a photo supplied by a small public relations firm.