“Anchovies. They were nearly wiped out many years ago.”
“How could you wipe out such a substantial natural resource in so short a period of time?” Shorty wanted to know.
“You would be surprised to what extent humans will go to service their own stupidity,” the guide replied.
Ashwood rose from the couch. “Igor and I’ll head on into town and fix y’all up. Jason, you stick around and keep our guests company.”
Carter looked down at her. “Who appointed you captain of this ship, Marjorie?”
She stood close to him, whispering. “Lemme go with Igor, cuddles. I don’t like admittin’ to it, but frankly, sometimes these elegant vegetables get on my nerves, know what I mean?”
He sighed. “Go ahead, then.”
Carter watched his companions depart, then relaxed as best he could while the trio of aliens resumed their inspection of the suite. Everything fascinated them, right down to the plumbing and wiring.
“There has definitely been material progress.” As Tree held up the room deodorizer Carter found himself wondering whether the Boojum had eyes in the back of his head or a head in back of his eyes. “Social progress is another matter entirely.”
“Quite,” Crease agreed. “You persist in engaging in petty conflicts, to the great detriment of your development. Not that that’s any of our business, but when our own technology threatens to become involved it is time for us to intervene. Irrational conflagrations have an uncomfortable way of spreading out of control, beyond even the worlds on which they begin.”
“There’s something I’ve been wondering.” Carter sipped at a glass of purified water. “When you guys abandoned Contisuyu, why’d you leave all that equipment behind? Surely not just because you get a kick out of ‘starting over’ elsewhere?”
Crease managed the difficult task of conveying embarrassment telepathically. “Actually, old boy, we kind of lost track of Contisuyu.”
Carter blinked. “You mean you forgot where it was?”
“Afraid so. As a species, we tend to be a trifle absent-minded at times. Things get overlooked, lost in the files. You know how it is.”
“A whole world?”
“If a transmitter isn’t used for a long time and the records of its location are misplaced, well, there are plenty of other things to keep one’s attention. The galaxy’s a big place. It’s not like we left any of our own people there.
“As a matter of fact, I believe we’ve lost track all told of some twenty or so worlds. Bit of a disappointment, what?”
“For supposed superbeings you guys are kind of a letdown,” Carter murmured.
“We don’t claim to be perfect, old chap. Possessing a high level of technology doesn’t make one a god. Our old human friend Mr. Dodgson had some interesting views on the subject.”
Someone was knocking at the door. Carter paused long enough for the aliens to retire to the courtyard, where they resumed their rigid, plant-like postures.
Igor followed Ashwood in. Both carried large, flattened boxes.
“Would you believe,” said Igor as he set his burden on the table in the center of the room, “that the Peruvian fisheries have been so devastated by overfishing that you can’t find canned anchovies even in a tourist town like Nazca? Now, if we were in Lima …”
“So what’s this?” Carter gestured at the boxes.
Ashwood wiped sweat from her forehead. “The only solution we could come up with. ‘Cui’ and anchovy pizza. We nibble on the pizza while our friends suck up the anchovies. I hope four larges’ll be enough.”
It was interesting to watch the Boojums carefully pluck the tiny fish fillets from the top of each pizza, delicately strip them of cheese and tomato, and then slip them underfoot, where they vanished silently into respective anterior mouths. Meanwhile the humans feasted on the pungent remnants that the aliens ignored. What anchovies the aliens did not consume the two cats gratefully scavenged.
Carter managed to consume the contents of two boxes all by himself. It wasn’t like an order from Spago, but despite their somewhat peculiar ingredients he still enjoyed them. After all, a pizza was a pizza.
“Not bad,” he commented, licking his fingers when he finished.
“Glad you liked it,” said Ashwood. She was eyeing him strangely.
“I didn’t recognize some of the toppings.”
“Some of it was tropical fruits,” she told him. “They’re real big on fruit here. Then there’s the meat, the cui.”
“Some kind of pork, right?”
Ashwood was grinning in a way he didn’t like. “Not exactly. Igor told me that cui’s a traditional Incan food that’s still popular in this part of the world. It’s guinea pig.”
Carter sat up straight. “Guinea pig? You mean, like the little furry …?”
“… critters you find in pet stores, right. Also called conejo de las Indias. Rabbit of the Indies. The people here serve ’em all sorts of ways. Ground, like on the pizza. Split and broiled. Fried and …”
What little Carter remembered of the remainder of the litany he heard from the vicinity of the bathroom, wholly absorbed in a violent physiological reaction to Ashwood’s disclosure which the Boojums found intriguing but distinctly counterproductive. Igor chided Ashwood, declaring that were he so inclined he could as easily nauseate her with descriptions of meals scrounged from the depths of the selva.
“Not me, cutes.” She was unimpressed. “I’m from Texas.”
They rented a pickup truck, the Boojums riding in back in the open bed. Looking as much like small trees as they did, their presence did not attract undue attention from the townsfolk.
Once out on the open plain, they withdrew their strange green bandoleers from a box and snugged them onto their conical frames.
It took quite a bit of driving around before they located what they thought was the hillside which concealed the cavern in which they’d been held prisoner by the Contisuyuns. At sunset they parked and locked the truck before proceeding on foot, taking a roundabout route to avoid discovery. The plan was to approach the entrance to the cave from above.
“Surely they have guards posted,” Ashwood declared as they fumbled their way through the brush.
