“Why should you care?” Ashwood asked.
Tree inclined toward her. “Primitive locally developed technology does not impact upon our existence. Transmitters fall into another category entirely.”
“Unfortunately,” said Shorty, “some of the navigational aids we left here have been altered over the past millennia. As we never expected to have to return to this place, they were not maintained. In addition, our ship’s tolerance for error was greatly reduced by our desire to utilize a high-speed approach in order to avoid detection. I am afraid our landing was rather less than perfect, the result of which is that our vessel has sustained some damage.”
“It was all your fault,” said Tree.
“Whose fault? Who was at navigation control during final approach?”
“Don’t try to put the blame on me.” Tree’s roottentacles were waving around. “Who mismanaged a simple visual interpretation of the final coordination sequence as we came in over the major ocean?”
Carter hesitated. “You’re not talking about the lines in the ground at Nazca, are you? Those don’t really designate landing patterns.”
All three aliens inclined toward him. “Well, of course they do, old chap. What on Booj did you think they were for? Don’t you trust the evidence of your own eyes?”
“The drawings on the plains.” Igor was confused. “What about the big drawings that can only be viewed properly from high overhead? The eagle, the puma, and the rest? Surely those aren’t navigational aids as well?”
“Blimey, of course not.” Crease sounded amused. “Those were executed by the humans who lived in the area at the time the patterns were installed, for the amusement of their visitors. Us. The designs are quite pleasant in a primitive sort of way, don’t you think?”
“Obviously we’re communicatin’ by some kind of telepathy or mental projection,” Ashwood noted. “But if you don’t mind my pointin’ it out, your English sounds kind of funny to us.”
“As does yours to us,” Shorty replied. “Doubtless this is due to our having learned it during our last visit to your world, which was somewhat over a hundred of your years ago. As I am sure you are quite aware, your verbalizations vary considerably with time as well as geography.”
“During such occasional revisits to worlds where we have once dwelled,” Crease went on, “we enjoy engaging isolated and exceptional representatives of the local species in conversation. The last human we had the opportunity to converse with was a most fascinating individual, a mathematician of extraordinary gifts and vision. The four of us spent many enjoyable hours together debating both the nature of your species and reality.”
“Einstein!” Ashwood blurted excitedly.
Crease flexed upper tentacles. “Sorry. Don’t know the fellow. Our gentleman was a chap named Charles Dodgson. A teacher and a bit of all right. Turned to your primitive photography for a hobby after we convinced him there was more of a future to it than the simple line drawing he’d been doing at the time. More than once he spoke of utilizing snippets of our conversations in stories which could be related in human terms. It would have been a supreme accomplishment on his part if he had been able to do so. I fear much of our terminology was quite beyond him, as was our math.”
“Lewis Carroll,” Igor exclaimed. Ashwood gaped at him. He ignored her. “You said your homeworld was called Booj? You would not by any chance refer to yourselves as Boojums?”
“That transliterates rather well, old chap.”
Igor was smiling, reminiscing from childhood. “You might be interested to know that your human acquaintance Mr. Dodgson eventually did make a pretty good attempt at humanizing some of your terminology.”
“Look,” Carter interrupted, “this is lots of fun, but we’ve got a real problem here. The Contisuyuns have been harboring a five-hundred-year-old grudge against the people who drove their ancestors off this world and now they’ve returned seeking revenge.”
“You humans.” Crease sounded disgusted. “I for one don’t think you’ll ever develop a real civilization. That’s not for us to decide, of course. All that concerns us is the possible misuse of any technology which could conceivably affect the worlds on which we presently dwell.”
“What exactly is going on here?” Shorty inquired.
Carter and Igor, punctuated by Ashwood’s occasional pithy interruptions, proceeded to detail what they knew of the Contisuyuns’ intentions.
“Dear me.” Tree was distressed. “The transmitter system was designed to facilitate commuting, not foment aboriginal conflict.”
“That’s the problem with mass transit,” Shorty added sagely. “If one isn’t careful, any sort of riffraff can make use of it. We cannot allow the transmitter system to be used for aggressive purposes.”
“Quite,” Crease agreed. “It would set a bad precedent.”
“Then you’ll help us put a stop to whatever the Contisuyuns have in mind?” Ashwood asked them.
“From what you have told us it does not sound like they have a great deal to work with.” Tree hummed thoughtfully. “Like their technicians, I do wonder what caused the old cargo transmitter to malfunction so.”
“Are you sure you weren’t the one who programmed it?” Shorty suggested archly.
“You couldn’t program a route to a defecatory,” the taller alien replied.
“Actually,” Crease said apologetically, “the transmitter complex, like our navigational system, has never quite been perfected.” As Carter recalled the number of times he’d already traveled by transmitter he discovered that he was sweating. “Occasionally we lose something, or someone. They usually turn up somewhere else, safe and sound but more than a little cross with the engineering. I fear we are often as impatient in execution as we are brilliant in theory and design.
“For example, immediately prior to our arrival it was noted that the local transmitter had once again become inoperative.”
“I’m afraid that’s our fault,” an embarrassed Carter informed the alien. “My pet must’ve interfered with the field or whatever it is at a critical moment and the damn thing just blew.”
“Actually, old chap, this part of the network was supposed to have been cut out of the system centuries ago, when your people began to develop midlevel technology. That it became operative again was doubtless due to some bureaucratic mix-up at Central Control which we’re still trying to trace.
“Since you have conveniently removed this transmitter from service, however, we have only the two remaining at Nazca to concern ourselves with, and your destructive interaction may well have rendered them equally inactive.”
“Then the Contisuyuns might be trapped there, unable to get back to their homeworld. They might be desperate. If that’s the case, will you help us take care of them?” Ashwood asked. “If you think they can still do any damage with most of their invasion force disappeared, that is.”
“Oh, there are other methods they can employ,” Crease observed thoughtfully. “Being considerably reduced in number, I should think their next step would be to try to make use of learning machine technology.”
Carter frowned. “I guess I don’t understand. What harm can they do with something like that?”
“The learning machines are designed to implant information directly into a subject’s mind. Very useful for educating the reluctant student.” Crease paused for impact. “Such implants need not be benign.”
“You mean they could influence politicians’ minds or something?”
“You don’t need high technology for that,” Ashwood noted dryly. “Can you keep them from doing that?”
