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  "Who is Kushirimay, anyway, Jules? Pizarro seems to think you give him some leverage with the emperor."

  She stands, arms crossed, so vulnerable. "Yes. Kushirimay is Atawallpa's cousin. Now she’s his wife."

  "But you're ten years old."

  "Yeah. I guess child brides are a thing with royalty. I came here to find you, which is why your pals think I'm spying on them. You're late."

  "The note said October 18th."

  "October 8th."

  "No, the 18th."

  "I wrote it, Addy. The date was the 8th."

  "Yeah, well, the date got a little smudged in your mouth. You're a bit of a drooler."

  If looks could kill, I'd be dead. "Drooler? I was dead, you—"

  "Just a joke. You know, to lighten the mood?"

  "Well, it does explain why you weren't here. I tried to contact you, but Pizarro, well," she chokes back words I don't want to hear, "he was Pizarro, not you. I honestly thought you, Pizarro, I mean, was coming over here to…I hoped he'd just kill me this time. Let me die back."

  I hear the voices of Pizarro's men. They're curious about my relaciones with our captive, wondering if they'll get a turn.

  "We don't have much time, Jules. Tell me what you know."

  "The Inca have some kind of tech, Addy."

  "Is it active? Have you seen anything?"

  "No. Whatever it is, I don't think they've done anything with it yet. At least I haven't seen anything and I was with the emperor most of the time. The tech is hidden away. An oracle of Emperor Pachakutiq Inca Yupanqui's panaqua safeguards the technology."

  My brain, as if dropped on a fire ant mound, prickles a thousand times over fighting against Pizzaro's will. "Who's Pachakutiq and what's a panaqua?"

  "Pachakutiq's a dead emperor. Atahualpa's grandfather to be exact. Even though the body is dead and mummified, since he, like all Inca emperors, is considered a god, they think his mummy, his panaqua, is still alive."

  "You're kidding." I have to keep moving, tapping my leg, anything to distract my mind from Pizarro's consciousness.

  "No. His panaqua has wives and land, as if he's walking around alive. His descendants care for all of his needs and an oracle speaks for him."

  "Creepy."

  "Yeah. It's a real telanovela. Lots of intrigue with these dead guys, through their oracles, fighting and positioning for power and control."

  "But they're dead."

  Jules paces in our small clearing. "Yes, they're dead. However, one of these dead guys controls the tech. Atawallpa is fighting with his half-brother Waskar for control. Pachakutiq's panaqua has Atawallpa dependent on him. Somehow, we need to get to Pachakutiq's temple in Q'inti Marka and find out what the oracle guards."

  "You realize I don't have a tourist guide to Inca temples on me, right?"

  A smile crosses her lips. "It's okay. You're familiar with the village, or at least the name."

  "Why do you say that?"

  "Present-side it's known as Macchu Pichu."

  "So how do we get there?"

  "I'm not sure."

  Now it's my turn to pace, Pizzaro's consciousness raging in my mind. "I came to this place, La Ramada, on the confession of a tortured native. Two nights ago, a messenger arrived at our camp, bringing some provisions and word that his lord awaits me. He's an overconfident pagan savage. I shall make known to him that Inca superstitions are no match for the one true God."

  "Addy?"

  "Que?"

  "Addison, English."

  "What?"

  "Can you hear yourself? Pagan savages?"

  I rub my eyes, as if I can keep Pizarro in the background simply by refocusing my vision. I can't let him get the upper hand. "Sorry. He's a passionate guy. I'm struggling to keep him quiet. Sometimes his thoughts slip through. Pizarro plans on setting a trap for Atawallpa."

  "Where?"

  "Cajamarca. My men will lie in ambush for the emperor. By my blood, these pagans will cry in vain to their false gods and shit themselves at the thunder of cannon and murderous charge of Spanish horsemen." I'm laughing, the image of annihilating Atawallpa's warriors quite humorous. My prisoner looks confused. "As governor, I shall take Atawallpa captive until he acknowledges my king and pays ransom in gold."

  "Addy." Jules' voice breaks into my thoughts. "You've got to get a grip."

  "¿Que? Uh, right. Yes. I do." Not really. Pizarro battles me at every corner. I suppose a guy who travels from South America to Spain, talks his king into sponsoring ships and crew when the governor of Panama refused him, and goes to Peru, a small force against thousands, I should expect some push back. I've got to find a way to keep control.

  "Addy, what are you going to do?"

  "In our time continuum Pizarro wipes the Inca people off the map. I've got to find a way to do this without committing genocide."

  She grabs my arm. "The past has happened. It's not your job to change it."

  "So you want me to kill thousands in battle and millions with small pox?"

  "Not you. Pizarro and the Spanish conquistadors."

  I pull back from her. "I've been working on a way, Jules. I think I can get Pizarro and Spain what they want without destroying a civilization. Think of it. The Inca civilization thriving into the twenty-first century."

  "Addy, we don't change the continuum. Remember?"

  "I'll send a messenger to the emperor informing him of your survival and my desire for peace. He will meet me on my ship to reclaim his bride and to have an audience with me as a subject of the rightful governor of this land." Pizarro does not like my plan, fighting back. "In turn, I will promise to protect your virtue and life as long as he keeps his word. So you better hope he comes, niña." I grab the girl by her shoulders, her face a strange mixture of questioning and fear. "If Atawallpa wants Kushirimay, he'll need to come aboard. Once I have him, I'll destroy his army with cannon fire. Instilled with the fear of our one true God, Atawallpa will guide us to Cusco. His warriors will become our laborers, carrying gold to our holds."

  Jules raises her voice, angry. "You're an Inker, not Pizarro."

  Hernando pushes through the heavy foliage toward us, a number of men following and murmuring amongst themselves.

  "Is our little pagan whore giving you trouble, Francisco?"

  I release the girl…Jules, and face Hernando. "No, no problem."

  "So what does she say to you for so long in a tongue you do not know?" He glares at me, suspicion in his voice. He thinks I'm conspiring to keep the wealth, or at least the girl, for myself.

  "As you said, sweet brother, she babbles." I glance over to her. "But she is more intelligent than the natives on the coast. Whilst you dawdle, I have taught her a little Spanish. By the time we have Atawallpa in our grasp, she will be our interpreter."

  "Really." Hernando crosses his arms in disbelief.

  I need to dial him back or Pizarro will have to establish his authority. I motion him over, hoping Jules will play her role well. "Cuál es su nombre?"

  Jules looks to me and back to Hernando, and replies in halting Spanish. "Mi nombre es Kushirimay."

  Hernando steps toward her. "Que es su emperador?"

  Jules looks to me, a quizzical expression across her face. "Imp-ear-a-dor. Ah, emperador de los incas! Atawallpa."

  I turn to Hernando, slapping him on his shoulder. "See, my brother? She learns quickly. I think she will be a great asset to us."

  Hernando frowns. His intuition must be telling him something is not quite right. I turn back to Jules. "Kushirimay. Es mi hermano el culo de un caballo?"

  Jules shrugs, shaking her head to let us know she doesn't understand what I'm saying. I lean my head back, laughing. At first Hernando's lips tighten, his face flushed. He mumbles the insult between gritted teeth. "I am no horse's ass."

  I slap him on the back. "Hernando, a joke, my brother. None of us think you're a horse's ass." I turn to our men gathered around us. "Am I right?" Someone in the crowd neighs. We all laugh. Hernando feigns
anger, but soon he joins us.

  In late evening the men bed down for the night. Kushirimay lies beside me, her ankles hobbled with rope at Hernando's insistence. At least she's no longer tied to a tree and fearing for her life. I watch her chest rise and fall with each breath, knowing Jules lives within this little girl.

  Rolling on my back a blanket of dazzling stars washes across the dark night sky. I don't know what to do. If I carry out Pizarro's plan, we kill hundreds of Atawallpa's men, capture thousands and hold him hostage for his gold. But worse, the small pox we carry will kill hundreds of thousands, eventually driving the indigenous population to near extinction. But if I don't carry out the plan, Atawallpa could overwhelm us. Even with our superior weapons, he has tens of thousands of warriors against my meager force. And I can't stop the tech or help Jules if I die back too soon.

  However, with Jules' help, Kushirimay will serve as a hostage. If I can get Atawallpa on the ship without bloodshed, we can sail down the coast, away from his army. Without the protection of his warriors he will take me to whatever technology has been passed to him from the future.

  At this point I can't bring Jules home—her present side body is dead. But I can be sure she finds safety and a good life here. I will find a way to bring her home, but first she has to survive.

  The next morning I share my strategy with Hernando. As my brother, he adamantly disagrees, but as my lieutenant, he obediently falls in line. I gather the men, inform them of my plan and we begin our twelve-league march, horse and foot, to the sea. My actions may shift the continuum, but I can't imagine the shift would be any worse than the genocide of small pox awaiting them. No, letting Pizarro kill within limits is the only way to have a fighting chance at destroying the tech and finding a way to bring Jules back to the present.

  Dying to Live

  Three days later, after an arduous journey to the coast, I look across our ship's deck to Hernando loitering near the bow. The man clearly has a hidden agenda. No wonder my host Pizarro has kept him close. Keep your friends close and your scheming brothers closer, right?

  Hernando strides toward me. He says something to me I don't take in. I turn to my brother. Well, a brother as long as I don't turn my back to him. "What did you say?"

  "Lost in thought again? This is becoming a habit, brother. As I said, the preparations are complete."

  He sounds too earnest, or maybe I'm just being paranoid. "The weight of the king’s expectations fall heavily on my shoulders. Methinks I deserve some room for thought."

  "Yes, maybe so." He slaps me lightly on the shoulder. "Come, inspect the men's work. They remain steadfast, Captain General. However, a word of encouragement from you would be welcomed, instead of all this pining for the pagan girl's maidenhead."

  "Be careful with your tongue."

  He laughs. "I can only speak to what I see. You spend time alone with her, but don't allow your men, even your own blood, to enjoy her fruits. I'm beginning to think you want to take her as your own," he makes a thrusting motion with his hips, "maybe make some little ones, eh?"

  "She is a child." I spit the words out with disgust.

  He glares at me in defiance. "You will not survive long, keeping her from the men."

  "Mind your words, Hernando."

  We stare at each other, neither speaking. Hernando breaks the moment first, smiling. "I will always have your back Capitán General. Always."

  I walk the main deck with him. Men stand ready at the railing with sword and musket-like harquebus. If any of Atawallpa's force try to board, my men will beat them back. Once at the bow, I scan the four other ships anchored beside us, and nod to Hernando.

  "All preparations have been made in the rest of our fleet?"

  Hernando grins. "Of course. We stand ready to give Atawallpa the welcome to hell he deserves."

  "And our land force?" I wanted to keep all of Pizzaro’s men at sea, but my host, along with Hernando and the commander of his horsemen, Pedro, argued vehemently for men on shore. I decided to give in, rather than raise suspicions with Pizzaro’s lieutenants.

  "Good strategy, anchoring by a beach with hills behind them. Pedro has positioned a small force with several cannon hidden in high brush to starboard." Hernando gives me a grim look. "We should have more, but he will take advantage of the Inca’s confusion and terror once the cannonballs begin flying."

  We make our way below to the gun deck. Men stand ready by cannon, coming to attention as I pass. I have Jules in Pizarro’s cabin at the ship's stern, safe from any errant spears or stones the Inca may hurl at us. She is Kushirimay, Atawallpa's child bride, but I'm not sure if he longs for her life more than the deaths of his Spanish intruders.

  Hernando is right. The men do look nervous, with so few of them against so many Inca warriors, even in the familiar surroundings of our ships. I tell them God is on our side and great wealth awaits those willing to trust in the Lord. A few believe, but most look prepared to die. I am confident. We will win this battle decisively, and with scant bloodshed. Atawallpa will be my prisoner in just a few hours. He will open the path to Machu Pichu and the stolen aviation tech, whether he wants to or not.

  ***

  Curiosity gets the better of the Sun God, Atawallpa. Farmers report seeing pale ghosts, their faces covered in dark hair, and sitting astride giant llamas. Some say the hairy ghosts are crazy, talking to white pieces of cloth. Others speak of thunder they carry in their hands. However, the report concerning him the most is the name Wiraqucha being spoken about these invaders. The peasants say these ghosts come on the wind, but only Wiraqucha, the One who created all things, can be a wind-rider. At first, he fears the omen of their ghostly presence in his empire. But the Oracle of Pachakutiq tells him these apparitions are merely men, foreigners from another land, far away. She assures him they have never seen the power of a Sun God and will cower in fear when they do. With her encouragement, he decides it will be in his best interest to find these ghosts now, command them to leave, and be done with it. Besides, he wants to see their giant llamas.

  He doesn’t see the need to bring several thousand warriors to the sea for a few weak invaders. He chuckles at the absurdity of a small band of hairy men threatening him, the Sun God. His usual escort of one hundred courtiers plus a few hundred more armed warriors will be more than sufficient to keep this curiosity in check. And if the invaders cause more mischief than he expects, greater forces await just behind the ridge.

  With the golden sun high in a blue sky, the emperor's warriors approach the shore, followed by courtiers throwing flower petals in advance of his golden litter carried aloft by eight servants. Sitting resplendent, Atawallpa wears a red, gold, and green braided band around his head with a red, tasseled fringe adorning his forehead.

  Looking out to sea, Atawallpa understands the excited reports from the peasants. Five huge canoes sit off-shore. Among the foreign canoes and the surf, he makes out a small canoe, with several of the ghosts paddling toward shore. From his perch on the royal litter, held aloft the sands, he awaits their approach. One man steps out of the small canoe, pulling it ashore, then four others disembark. What odd clothing they wear. Metal covers their chests, legs, and heads. Why would someone adorn their bodies so, but not use gold and silver?

  His warriors stand at the ready, the Oracle at his side. One of the five approaches, a stack of white cloth held by leather in his hands. The Oracle speaks their language, part of her gift from the dead Emperor Pachakutiq. After listening to his words, she turns to Atawallpa, translating their tongue.

  "The one they call "priest" says they come from a land far away in the name of the one true god."

  "Priest?"

  "I believe he is some kind of sorcerer for their god. A villac umu."

  "I am the One True God. They come in my name?"

  "They worship some lesser god."

  Lesser god? Pale, hairy animals. "Why do they soil my shores with their presence?"

  She turns again to the one called Priest, spea
king to him in the ghosts' foreign tongue, before turning to Atawallpa.

  "His high priest has given them our lands because we do not walk with their lesser god. They wish to journey across what they consider their empire, seeking a city of gold."

  "What, am I a river to them, a passageway to what they seek?" Atawallpa's anger rises in his voice.

  The oracle turns once again back to Priest, speaking briefly. He hands her his pile of cloth, which she presents to the Emperor. "This stack of white cloth is called a Bible. They believe their false god speaks to them through it. The man, who calls himself Priest and goes by the name Valverde, wants to give you this as an expression of good-will and friendship."

  He takes the strange object from her. It has heft and smells of animal skin. He lets the object spread open in his hands, but the white ghosts' god fails to speak. I expected a giant llama, grain and gourds, maybe one of their odd metal tunics. If these hairy ones didn't disgust me, I'd be laughing. They come into my empire, Tawantinsuyu, the Four Corners of the World, thinking they can gain my permission to enter by denying my Divinity and handing me a pile of cloth belonging to a false god? Fools. He tosses the object to the sand in disgust. Priest raises his voice, advancing toward Atawallpa, which of course cannot be tolerated. One of his guards steps forward with a spear, impaling Priest in one swift motion. The man gasps in shock, grabbing the spear shaft as he falls to his knees, and collapses on the sand. The hairy ghost dies like any man, moaning and twitching, blood oozing from his wound. Before Priest gasps his last dying breath, Atawallpa's warriors whirl their bolas at the other four hairy ghosts, taking them to the ground. A single warrior steps to each man struggling to free himself. With a nod of Atawallpa's head, he slices the men's throats with his stone blade. The Sun God watches ghost blood seep into Inca sands, disappointed with his encounter. He had hoped to see one of their giant llamas up close, but no matter. They will certainly cower before his Radiance.

  ***

  Pedro, commanding my troops, stands on a hill above the beach, with cannon, horse, and foot at the ready with orders to fire only on my command. On the beach, our Priest brings the gift of God's Holy Word. Hernando stands at my side.