“We can furnish many details,” Pucahuaman assured him.
“Details, yeah. Those are always nice.”
“And all the time we can be broadcasting our message.”
Trang Ho sucked in her breath and Fewick twitched slightly. Danny was staring at the general, and even his monosyllabic companion had turned to look.
“Hey, nothing personal, sir, but Sid and I, we’re like artists, you know? We have kind of a problem with this message thing.” For the first time since the meeting had begun an uncomfortable silence filled the room.
Apu Tupa put a hand on the general’s shoulder. Pucahuaman met his gaze, then smiled somberly at the writer.
“I understand. I did not mean to suggest that we would in any way interfere with your work.”
“Okay.” Danny’s enthusiasm returned immediately. “Don’t worry. Leave it to us and we’ll deliver the audience you want.” Avarice glistened on his face like an Italian cosmetic as he glanced at Trang Ho. “Did I understand you to say that the show’s already fully underwritten for a whole season?” She nodded. “Yes, just leave it to Sid and me and we’ll take you where you want to go.”
“There’s something else,” she said. “We don’t want to break in the U.S. We want to open in the European market, build a rep there, then sell through here.”
“Interesting marketing strategy. Isn’t it, Sid?”
“Yo.” Fingers hovered above keys.
“Better suited to films, but if that’s the way you want to do it …”
“It is,” she insisted.
He shrugged. “It’s your sponsor’s money. Got a production team in mind?”
“We plan on setting up our own.”
“Good, good. Keep complete control, hold on to all the ancillary rights. We can go through Granada or one of the other British independents for English distribution, RAI Italy, maybe Monde in France. Sid and I’ll handle it.”
Trang Ho shook her head. “We’re going out live so we want the show receivable live. That means Sky Channel.”
“More money,” the blond warned her.
“Let us worry about that. You tend to the writing.”
“Deal. This is gonna be a groundbreaker. We’ll call it”—he paused for emphasis—“Day Becomes Tomorrow!” Fewick winced. “It’s all coming together now. We’ll have a scientific advisor …”
“We will be your advisors,” said Apu Tupa.
“Yeah, sure. I didn’t mean one who’d actually do anything. But it’s always nice to have a big name tacked on the credits at the end of the show. Sagan, maybe, or Asimov, or Nancy Reagan’s astrologer … what the hell was that broad’s name? Squiggly? Oh well, no matter. You get the idea. Strictly for snob appeal.”
“Yo,” said Sid enlighteningly.
“The shows must be broadcast exactly as written,” said Pucahuaman portentously, “or else the subliminal messages they will carry will not be effective.”
“Subliminal messages?” Danny frowned. “Like, from the invaders? Hey, super gimmick! The PR people will eat it up.” His voice was full of wonder. “You people have so many great ideas I hardly know which ones to incorporate into the story line first. But don’t worry. You just keep throwing concepts at Sid and me and we’ll see that all the good stuff gets worked in.”
Which is precisely what they all spent the rest of that afternoon doing.
U’chak could not keep from smiling. This world was almost as amusing as the Monitor’s futile attempts to prevent him from implementing his design.
True, he had not foreseen the extent to which the Monitors would risk breaking their own rules to contain him, but it did not matter. Not since a succession of unexpected developments had actually worked to his advantage. No, he was moving much too fast for them, delightedly riding the disruption he had initiated while they struggled comically to catch up. All that was needed now was to keep it channeled and events would progress of their own accord until social critical mass was reached. Then he would happily reap the resulting whirlwind.
He could imagine the Monitors’ frustration. They had taken a considerable risk, only to find themselves once more outmaneuvered. They did not have his foresight, his incisive talent for planning far a head for multiple eventualities. They would always be several jumps behind.
So pleased was he with himself that he let down his guard enough to execute an ecstatic spring through a slippery gap in reality, returning to land perfectly on his feet, as always. As expected, his gesture of delight went unremarked upon. Though fun to manipulate, these creatures were woefully deficient in the higher perceptions.
He would miss them when they destroyed themselves.
XVI
They had no trouble when it finally came time to leave Manú. Igor knew every ranger by name. They did not question where he had obtained his peculiar botanical specimens nor whether he had official authorization to remove them from the park.
In Cuzco the sale of a small golden amulet from Paititi brought in more than enough money to charter a plane to take them to Nazca, where for the first time the Boojums began to complain of weakness due to the lack of the vital trace elements they had alluded to earlier.
“Tell us what y’all need and we’ll go into town and buy the stuff,” Ashwood told them.
The aliens had assembled in the sunny private courtyard that backed onto their hotel suite. Completely enclosed, it offered them a place where they could move about freely without being seen from the dusty main street. The hotel staff had been apprised on arrival of the gringos’ “specimens,” so not even the maid lingered over her cleaning duties to study the three strange plants.
Wandering through the courtyard and rooms, the Boojums picked and prodded at various artifacts of human civilization, commenting on the progress that had been made since their last visit more than a hundred years earlier. Macha and Grinsaw played hide-and-seek among the potted plants and wrought-iron patio furniture.
“What kind of vitamins should we buy?” Carter asked.
“Not vitamins, old chap.” With multiple roottentacles Shorty poked at the black and white TV. “According to the old records, everything we require is present in the proper proportions in a small fish which is found in abundance off this coast. I shall describe the fish to you.”
It meant nothing to Carter or Ashwood, but Igor knew instantly what the Boojum was talking about, as would have any Peruvian schoolchild.
