defeating?”
“I gave up hope of rescue a long time ago. My father would have made sure search parties scoured the forest. He must have become convinced that I was dead, which is just as well. Three men died in the plane crash, and the tribal chief was killed be cause of me. I wouldn’t want to be responsible for additional deaths.”
“It’s ironic,” Gamay mused. “The more you do for these people, the less likely they are to release you.”
“True, but they would have kept me captive even if I just sat around making goddess sounds and getting fat. As long as I had to be here, it would have been sinful not to use my talents to improve their lot. When white men finally come, I hope the Chulo will use their knowledge rather than their arms to deal with civilization’s impact. Unfortunately in the meantime I have little control of the tribe’s more murderous instincts. Once Arnaud and his friends showed hostile intent they were doomed. There was no way I could save them. In your case it was easier. You were so helpless in the forest, they never saw you as a threat until now.”
Gamay’s ears perked up. “A threat?”
“Try not to look alarmed,” Francesca said. A smile played on her lips, but her eyes were deadly serious. “They don’t under stand what we’re saying, but they sense things.” She stopped to demonstrate a water pipe that served as a fire hydrant, then resumed her casual walk. “They’re worried. They think you are flawed gods.”
“If we’re so insignificant, why are they concerned?” Gamay
“They’re afraid you’re here to take me back into the sky where I came from.”
“They told you that?”
“They don’t have to. I know these people intimately. In addition, Tessa’s been picking up whisperings. They’re talking about burning you. The smoke from your bodies will take you back into the sky. Problem solved.”
Paul ventured a sidelong glance at the guards, but he failed to detect any change in their stony expressions.
“I can’t argue with their logic, but that solves the problem for them, not for us,” he said.
“I agree. It makes it all the more urgent that we escape as soon as possible. Come with me. We’ll be able to talk about a plan without the palace guard peering over our shoulders.”
They had arrived at the white stone walkway that led through the forest to the shrine. With the Trouts following, Francesca walked to the circular clearing with the plane at its center and sat down on a polished wooden bench facing the nose of the Learjet. The Trouts sat cross-legged on the tiled ground.
“I come here to be alone. Only the priests are allowed at the shrine otherwise. The warriors will be in the forest watching our every move, but we’ll be able to talk about our escape plans.”
Gamay glanced toward the jungle where the warriors had melted out of sight.
“I hope you’ve got something up your sleeve, because we don’t,” she said.
“Your original instincts were on the mark. Our only way out is by water. Up the tributary and canal t0 the lake, then follow the main river. We would never make it through the forest. They would catch us in an instant, or we’d become lost.”
“I’ve seen your boys handle a canoe,” Paul said. “We’d need a substantial jump on them.”
“We would have a few hours. But they are skilled and strong paddlers. They would be getting their strength just as we were tiring.”
“What would they do if they caught us?” Paul asked. “Theoretically speaking.”
“No theory about it,” Francesca said. “They would kill us.”
“Even you, their goddess?”
She nodded. “Leaving them would constitute a demotion in my status, I’m afraid. My head would be up there on the stockade fence along with yours.”
Paul involuntarily rubbed his neck.
All at once they were no longer alone. An Indian had stepped
into the clearing followed by eight armed warriors. He was taller than the other Chulo by a few inches, and unlike the flat facial features typical in the tribe, his profile was almost Roman. His muscular body was painted red rather than blue and white. He stepped over to Francesca and spoke, gesturing from time to time at the Trouts. Francesca stood like a rearing cobra and cut him short with a dagger-sharp reply. He glared at her, then bowed his head slightly. His companions followed suit. They backed up several steps, turned, and quickly strode away from the shrine. Francesca watched them go, her eyes blazing with heat. “This is not good,” she said. “Who were those people?” Gamay said.
“The tall man is the son of the chief I killed in the plane crash. I have named him Alaric after the Visigoth king. He’s quite intelligent and a natural leader, but he tends to be a bully. He would like to depose me and has gathered a group of young Turks around him. The fact that he set foot on the forbidden shrine shows that he has become bolder. He is obviously exploiting the questions raised by your arrival. We must get back to the palace.”
As they left the shrine the guards materialized from the forest and took their places alongside. Francesca walked briskly, and they were back at the compound within minutes. Something was different inside the stockade fence. Knots of Indian men stood around. They averted their eyes when the procession passed. There were no friendly smiles as on the way out.
About twenty armed warriors were gathered in front of the palace with Alaric at their center. They parted with sullen looks at a wave of Francesca’s hand, but Gamay noticed that they took their time doing it. Tessa greeted them inside the door. Her eyes were wide with fright. She and Francesca talked in their language for a minute, then the white goddess translated for the Trouts.
“The priests have made a decision. You’re to be killed in the morning. They’ll spend the night getting their courage up and building the pyres to burn you.”
Gamay’s mouth hardened. “Sorry we can’t stay for the barbecue,” she said. “If you would point us to the nearest canoe, we’ll be saying good-bye.”
“Impossible! You wouldn’t get ten feet now.”
“Then what do we do?”
Francesca mounted her dais and sat on her throne, her eyes glued to the chamber door. “We wait,” she said.
Chapter 20
The ancient ship hung in space as if suspended from invisible cables, its multi-decked hull outlined by shimmering spiderweb lines of gossamer blue. The great square sails were bowed full, and ghostly pennants fluttered at the masthead as if tossed by a freshened breeze.
Hiram Yaeger leaned back in his chair and studied the spectral image hovering over a platform in front of his horseshoe shaped console. “It’s beautiful, Max,” he said, “but the detail needs sharpening.”
A soft and disembodied feminine voice filled the room from a dozen speakers set in the walls. “You only asked for a blue print, Hiram.” There was the hint of petulance in the tone.
“That’s right, Max,” Yaeger said, “and you’ve gone far be yond that. But now I’d like to see how close we can get to the finished product.”
“Done,” said the voice.
The ship’s hull solidified like a specter materializing from ectoplasm. Its hull blazed with gold that highlighted the elaborate carvings covering the sides from stem to stern. Yaeger’s eyes lingered on the beak head, crowned by a wooden image of King Edgar, the hoofs of his charger trampling the seven fallen monarchs whose shorn beards bordered his mantle. Then he studied the astronomical panels that represented the glories of the
Olympic gods, going back to the high stern, embellished with biblical figures. Every detail was perfect.
“Wow!” Yaeger said. “You didn’t tell me you had programmed the full picture. All it needs now is a couple of dolphins.”
Instantly, simulated seas appeared under the ship, and at her bow a pair of dolphins leaped and splashed. The three-dimensional image spun slowly as the whistles and twitters of the dolphins filled the air
Yaeger clapped his hands and laughed like a child with de light.
“Max, you’re brilliant!”
“I should be,” the voice replied. “You created me.”
Not only had Yaeger created the vast artificial intelligence system, but he had programmed his own voice into the original program. He didn’t like talking to himself, so he modified it into Max’s female tones. The computer
