Steampunk World

The Emperor Everlasting Nayad A. Monroe

September, 1914

With one day left until the Sapa Inca’s meeting with emissaries from the Unified States of Ameriga, Ilyapa had no idea how to salvage the situation. The Emperor was still broken, and to the minds of anyone whose opinions mattered, it was her fault.

The Sapa Inca Ninan Cuyochi, Son of Sun, Emperor of Viracocha’s Land, rested in a musty bundle in the corner of Ilyapa’s temporary workshop, his four-hundred-year-old mummified body wrapped in a gold-embroidered cloak trimmed with hummingbird feathers and turquoise, and his glorious face hidden from the gazes of ordinary people by a translucent cloth.

“How will you demonstrate your superiority to the Amerigans now that you are broken, Powerful Lord? Was it worth the trouble to acquire one thousand wives?” Ilyapa asked him, staring at the metal mechanisms that usually made the Sapa Inca function. Even she, the First Deviser of his court, was now a wife of the Emperor, despite not being noble by birth. Newly and unwillingly wed as an old woman, aged forty-three. She might now have the right to see his face, but she felt no urge to do so.

For the dozenth time that morning, she lifted her gaze from the stone work surface to look out at the distracting view: the modern city of Cuyochitampu, with its driven professionals scurrying along the river-side streets in this wealthy section near the ocean, more colorfully dressed than the workers one might see on the other side of the city, closer to the overpowering Wall of Inti which separated Viracocha’s Land from the strange little country called Panama. Cuyochitampu’s hard edges were so different from the rustic, weathered stone of Ilyapa’s normal surroundings in the University District of ancient Machu Picchu. She wondered if she would be allowed to return to her own small house, or be forced to move into some sort of wives' dormitory in one of the palaces. The oligarchy would at least permit her to continue running the royal workshops; they had promised.

All promises would be forgotten if she failed to restore the Sapa Inca. She couldn’t see why the upgrade had ruined his answering system, his Voice. The old system had worked for centuries: on the rare occasions when the Sapa Inca was consulted in public, for the good of all, the designated supplicant would ask him a question. His machinery would randomly knot a cord into the numerical code for one of a series of programmed answers: yes, not at this time, I will consider it further, I forbid it, I appreciate your good citizenship, you will become an honored sacrifice to the gods, and so on, expressing the will of the gods through the Emperor. The wide range of these answers was not permittable for the mass wedding. Answers other than “yes" would have contradicted the Powerful Lord’s previously-stated wish to have one thousand wives. It would have wasted a great deal of time, and would likely have aroused the suspicions of anyone who heard the same phrases repeated nonsensically. So, following the oligarchy’s instructions, Ilyapa had finally upgraded the Sapa Inca’s system to the new answering method of punching patterns into thin metal plates instead of tying knots into cords, which she had wanted to do long before. With the new system, certain preset response patterns—such as “always yes"—could be set with a dial on the mechanism. The conservatives in the secret ruling group wouldn’t hear of the upgrade until it was too late to test the system properly, at which point they demanded it.

At least the upgrade held out until after all the brides were accepted, but that was her only consolation. Ilyapa had to fix the malfunctioning device immediately, or become known as the person responsible for destroying an entire continent’s leadership. The Amerigan contingent, waiting on the other side of the Wall of Inti in nearby Panamatampu, would see their advantage and glide over the Wall with their strange, rounded flying devices, not afraid of either the gods or the technology of Viracocha’s Land.

She turned from the window to glare at the disassembled gears and parts another time, and one of them glinted strangely at its edge, highlighted by the afternoon light’s angle. Picking it up, Ilyapa examined a subtle crimp in the metal, just enough to intermittently throw the device’s works out of alignment if it were jarred at all. “How could this happen, Sapa Inca?” she wondered aloud. “Your new gears were molded perfectly—I checked them. I checked all of them before I put them together. And they were only used a few times….”

The Emperor declined to comment.

The obvious first choice would be to replace the gear, but it was a non-standard size—a bothersome choice that Ilyapa would not have made herself. It had been chosen by her predecessor before his death. She checked her case of spare gears, but the space where she would keep that size was empty.

Luckily, Ilyapa had the perfect tool to fix the existing gear. Her anxiety lifted. The damage was certainly a concern, and she would have to analyze the new system’s workings later to discern the cause, but for the short term, a small repair would solve everything.

The chest containing her own private tool set, a gift from her university mentor at graduation, sat in its place of honor in a protected corner. She rarely used the finely-made tools, preferring to protect their stone-inlaid handles, but she brought them out for special jobs. The tray of miniature tools held a set of pliers that would do exactly what she wanted without the risk of damaging the gear further.

She knelt and opened the llama-skin upholstered trunk, lifted the top tray of full-size tools from its support ledges, and started to reach into the small compartment beneath, but then pulled her hand back and stared. The lower tray was missing.

It had been there at the start of her journey to Cuyochitampu. She had checked and re-checked, unable to bear the thought of making a careless mistake with this set.

She stood and rushed from her workroom to the larger staff workshop. “Supay! Where is Supay?” she called out. Several devisers turned sharply, startled. Ilyapa rarely raised her voice. “Anahuarque, where is Supay? This is urgent.”

The young woman pointed. “I think I saw him go toward the diplomacy gift stations," she said. “What is it? Can I help?”

“I’m missing important equipment," Ilyapa replied. “I need you to attend the Sapa Inca while I find it.”

“But First Deviser, I can’t, I’m not…”

“I authorize it. I’m his wife, after all.”

Ilyapa strode away, ignoring the shocked looks her employees exchanged. “I'll be back soon," she called over her shoulder, trying to shake off her guilt at making Anahuarque go near the Sapa Inca. Most people were terrified of him and what he represented: the power of the gods and the dead. Ilyapa thought of him as a sad bundle of remains, and only feared the oligarchy. The living people who controlled her world were fearsome enough on their own. She had to find her assistant and her tools.

In the next devising room, teams worked in stations along the walls, each set of people completing gifts meant to impress and awe the visiting Amerigans without giving them anything particularly useful. The oligarchy wanted to impart the grandeur of Viracocha’s Land, but not compromise its power. A difficult balance.

Supay was at the far end of the large room, conferring with the group responsible for a tricky decorative entertainment device, a jeweled column that could quietly beautify a corner when at rest, but open outward into spinning displays that, when lit properly, would reflect throughout a room to create a festive environment. The Amerigans were known for liking parties and dances. Frivolous, but easy to indulge.

She broke into the conversation without acknowledging anyone but her assistant. “Supay, my miniature tools are missing, and I need them immediately. Do you know where they are?”

The tan of his face turned reddish. “I forgot to tell you. I’m sorry. Second Deviser’s assistant came for them. The Coya has a special project, and Second Deviser needed the tools quickly.”

So quickly that he couldn’t ask permission to borrow my personal set? Ilyapa thought. And now I can choose to offend the Emperor’s first wife, or cause an international incident. She wasn’t sure which would be worse.

“You must tell me when things like this happen, Supay. I’m offended.”

“I am so very sorry," Supay replied. “I meant to tell you immediately, but then people kept asking me for help, and….”

She relented. “I understand. And you couldn’t deny Khuno’s request, of course. I will have to go and get the pliers I need, assuming they aren’t in use.”

It really didn’t matter if they were in use or not, since she had to have them. Ilyapa started the walk to Khuno’s workshop. Their division of labor had been established for years: he worked on transportation, where less subtlety was required to make devices work, and Ilyapa, while actually in charge of all devising, focused her attention on the more difficult, intricate work. This allowed the two of them to hate each other quietly, at a distance. She wondered why, given their usual division of assignments, he hadn’t asked her to use her own tools on whatever was so dainty about the Coya’s project.

When she entered Khuno’s realm, a young apprentice sitting on a stool near the entrance hopped down and dashed away. She held back a smile at his nervousness about being caught sitting. Khuno, of course, was nowhere in sight. She would have to cross yet another oversized space to get to his private workroom; the relentlessly new buildings here were not of the intimate scale she was used to. The smells of metal and oil, stone dust and sweat still managed to fill the room’s large volume. Khuno strangely preferred working with men, saving women for romance, so his area boomed with too many low voices and made her edgy.

Ilyapa had passed only half of a long row of new riding carts when Khuno’s assistant approached. She could never remember the man’s name.

“Welcome, First Deviser," he said.

“Hello. I am looking for Khuno," she said. “Or, at least, the tools he had you take from my workshop without my permission.”

“He regrets that," the assistant said smoothly, not seeming flustered at all. “The Coya was impatient.”

“Well, I wouldn’t want to inconvenience the Coya," Ilyapa said, “but I will need to take back my pliers, for emergency repairs on the Sapa Inca’s Voice. You understand the urgency.”

“Of course, First Deviser.”

“Then I'll go and see Khuno now.”

“Unfortunately I am not allowed to let anyone visit his workshop, on the Coya’s orders. He is not to be interrupted.”

“Do you comprehend that I am repairing the Coya’s husband, my husband, the Son of Sun? Whose ability to communicate with the Amerigans is surely more important than the uninterrupted workflow of the Second Deviser?”

“First Deviser, please, I do understand. But the Coya Pachama assigned guards, and runners to report on any unauthorized activity….”

The boy beside the door. “Thank you for your help," Ilyapa said stiffly. “Please have the tools returned as soon as Khuno is finished.”

Fuming, she left, turning toward the building’s side exit. It was impossible. She needed those pliers. Anything else would be too big and clumsy, and they were her own pliers, given to her long ago, not even paid for by the court! Having met the Coya through her role as First Deviser, however, Ilyapa knew what the woman was like. An elderly former beauty long married to the Sapa Inca, celibate for life and making up for the sacrifice with her brittle and temperamental demands, she would not be denied. No matter how frivolous her wishes.

In the courtyard outside, Ilyapa paced, irritated further by the humid, briny air, which was worse in the sunlight than inside the building’s cool stone. The frantic activity level of preparation was not reduced outdoors. People rushed past talking rapidly, gesturing and bickering. Two women stopped in a corner full of lush plants and hot pink flowers to whisper fiercely at each other. A llama trainer came through with an immense, freshly-groomed auburn creature wearing superlative ornamental armor of silver, gold, and copper worked intricately together. The battle llamas were scheduled for a parade, she had heard; if this was the standard, it would be glorious.

She stopped pacing.

The llama outfitters had tools. Good ones. Possibly better than hers. She hurried toward the nearest runner stand and hailed a cart.

Fading light accompanied Ilyapa back from her failed errand. She hadn’t eaten since morning, and her stomach snarled as ferociously as she would if she ever got her hands on Khuno. He had beaten her to the llama outfitters, too, and claimed every piece of equipment she could hope to use for her project, as well as the ones she might turn to in desperation. She snapped her fingers at the lightbringer as she passed the fire pit, and the girl followed with a torch to light the ones set in mountings on the walls in her workshop. Ilyapa hated working after sunset, as her eyes didn’t focus well in low, flickering light at her age, but she had no choice.

In the near-darkness of the unlit room, Anahuarque sat in the farthest corner from the Emperor, with her arms wrapped around her knees, wide-eyed and tear-streaked.

“Oh, gods," Ilyapa said. “I forgot that I left you here. Are you all right?”

Anahuarque shook her head.

Ilyapa forced her crankiness down. “I am sorry. I’m sure that the Sapa Inca must appreciate your loyalty, though. Please, go home. Rest and eat.”

Anahuarque fled.

When she was alone again, Ilyapa reexamined the damaged gear. It was amazing: the bend amounted to the minimum damage that could possibly break the device. Exactly the minimum. The crimp didn’t look like damage from use and wear; with her suspicions sharpening her thoughts, the bend’s even line suggested the edge of a tool. At minimum, Khuno was working against her, and she wondered if others were involved. Had the Coya really ordered any of it, or was that a ruse of Khuno's, who knew how hard it would be to ask the Coya for verification? Khuno had always been jealous of her position, but what would motivate the Coya to destroy the power of Viracocha’s Land?

“Khuno thinks I won’t ask the Coya, Sapa Inca, but I will.”

She was glad she had chosen to live in the workshop instead of being assigned to a household elsewhere in the city. The tiny adjacent room intended for storage suited her for its convenience and privacy. She wouldn’t have to go somewhere else to change clothes before the visit. To show respect she would discard her usual simple attire and wear her most colorful ascu, long and made of alpaca wool, with her best bracelets and sandals. She would still look relatively shabby compared to the Coya, but that would be appreciated.

Preparing to leave, Ilyapa gave a final look around the workshop and nearly choked when she saw the Emperor in the corner. Despite her odd habit of talking to him, she hadn’t really thought about the fact that he was still there. She couldn’t leave him unguarded and she had already dismissed Anahuarque, so she had to find someone else. Who can I trust? she thought. Just outside her door, she surveyed the people at work. Someone solid and calm, unlikely to argue… “Supay!” she called.

He was at a nearby work station, kneeling as he made adjustments to a project that couldn’t possibly be as important as hers. She waved him over, explained, and rushed out. “I'll be back soon," she said for the second time that day. “I promise!”

Outside, smoke from the walkway’s torches kept the mosquitoes back, mostly, but Ilyapa could sense thousands of them just above in a buzzing, whining chorus, and she hoped the bats were feasting. Cockroaches skittered away from her feet with every step she took along the path. At least she wasn’t the only one out by night, as frenzied work continued, but walking in the dark made her nervous. As she approached the main street, someone called her name and she twitched, startled.

It was a man she didn’t recognize. “You are Ilyapa, the First Deviser?” he said.

“Yes. Who are you?”

“I’m directing the procession. I’m so glad I didn’t miss you out here. I was on my way to find you," he said, gesturing toward the building she had just left.

“Oh. Well, I’m sure my assistant can help you. He’s still inside," Ilyapa said, turning to leave.

“No, he can’t. This is about the procession. I obviously can’t replace you with your assistant!” the man snapped.

“What procession? What are you talking about?”

“The Emperor’s wives! You're to be shown to the visitors. It was the Coya’s idea. You should have been told already.”

“The visitors won’t be here until tomorrow. I will be there for whatever is required, but I have urgent work to do. For the Emperor himself.”

“You don’t understand. You and all of the other wives are to spend the night in fasting and preparation for the procession. This is mandatory. The Coya Pachama has ordered it.”

“I’m just on my way to see her about my work. I’m sure she'll understand that her husband must be in his best condition before the visitors arrive.”

“You may send her a message if you like, once you're where you're supposed to be," the man said, “but you're late already and everyone else is waiting for you, so you will come with us right now.” He beckoned, and two guards emerged from nearby shadows.

On either side of her, holding her elbows, the guards marched her toward a waiting cart, big enough to hold two people and a driver, one of the rare ones with a team of two llamas. A second large cart and team sat behind the first. The guards split, one to each vehicle, with Ilyapa in the first and the procession director in the second. It was an ostentatious display of wealth and force.

The Coya doesn’t want the Sapa Inca to be fixed, Ilyapa thought. But why not?

The wives were sequestered in possibly the most austere building Ilyapa had ever seen. It was certainly modern, with the high ceilings and echoing spaces of the newest buildings in Cuyochitampu. It was so new that it lacked furnishings, decorations, and all forms of charm. The wives were to sleep on the cold stone floors, naked, exposing themselves to the gods for judgment. Ilyapa began to perceive a calculating, punishing hatred in the Coya’s design for the night’s activities.

But before the sleep, there would be intensive bathing, grooming, and rituals. After the first ritual, Ilyapa was assigned to a group of twenty-five women. “Go through that passage to the baths," their leader told them. “Leave your clothes in the dressing room, and make sure to submerge yourselves completely and cross to the other side of the pool.”

They filed through, entering the water one at a time. Not a single one of the women failed to gasp at its temperature. The man-made waterfall filling it drew from an icy spring: refreshing if wanted, intolerable if not. Painful cold shocked Ilyapa’s skin and sank into her bones as she sloshed through the pool, moving as quickly as she could against the chest-height water’s resistance and saving full immersion for the moment before she could climb out on the other side.

They were ushered into a cool underground room where they sat, shivering, and waited as a few women at a time had their hair twisted into hundreds of tiny braids, so that they would all look as similar as possible.

The intensive schedule of activities went on late into the night, including a long practice for the morning’s procession, and all the while Ilyapa’s stomach burned and raged with hunger. Finally, they were arranged in rows to rest for a few hours, but she couldn’t allow herself to sleep.

It didn’t matter why the Coya wanted her to fail. She simply refused to do so.

The cold, hard floor worked in her favor, but Ilyapa still had to dig her fingernails into her palms and bite the insides of her cheeks to stay awake. She had not slept well for the past several nights due to the stress of her job. Exhaustion fought with rage over her ill-treatment. She had never felt any ambition to marry a dead body, but after being forced into this bizarre position, she was now kept from her work and tortured, for what? The Coya’s jealousy? The unfairness tore at her, adding to her array of discomforts.

Finally, the silence indicated that everyone was asleep, including her group’s leader. Ilyapa rolled over silently, rising to her hands and knees and then to her feet. She crept down the corridor between the splayed bodies of her co-wives, gritting her teeth, so tense that she thought she might lose control of herself and scream.

But she didn’t. She passed silently behind the guards as they joked around the fire. Around a corner, she stole a torch from a sconce and found her way down to the bathing pool, where she held the flame above her head as she crossed through the water, which seemed even icier than before. Her clothes and jewelry were where she had left them. No one was watching the building’s entrance; all of the guards were stationed inside.

Once outside, she had to choose between risking a witness to her absence and taking too long to get back to her workshop, so she hired a small llama-pulled cart, handing its sleepy driver one of her silver bracelets.

At her work building, Ilyapa circled around toward a back entrance. Off the main walkways, the distance between torches scared her. In the darkness she ran her left hand nervously against the building’s stone wall as she walked, flinching with every change in the surface’s texture. She imagined spiders lurking on it, waiting to creep across her skin. The small portal she wanted was also dark, but once inside she found that enough low fires had been left glowing to let her navigate to Khuno’s workroom.

She wanted her pliers.

The area was shockingly unguarded. Was this really the same place she'd been warned out of earlier in the day? Maybe their project is finished now, she thought. But then why did they block my repair of the Sapa Inca?

She took a torch from the wall closest to Khuno’s private space, and slipped into the room. It was a risk to have the light, but there was no other way to find her pliers. At first, she couldn’t take in the specifics of the cluttered space, but as she sought the work ledges where tools would most likely be left, reflections flickered from a large, shiny thing at the room’s center.

The project? She couldn’t tell what it was. Lifting the torch, she stepped forward and looked down at the thing, which had legs, a torso, a head…It was a giant metal man, twice the height and width of an ordinary man. A device, clearly meant to move and function. The impressive llama armor she had seen earlier would look like the work of clumsy children next to the grandeur of the metal man’s lavish decorations, so ornate as to stop just short of gaudiness. Every surface glittered with inlays of amethyst, mother of pearl, lapis lazuli, citrine, and more, the abundant gemstones made into patterns in the device’s gold exterior. Ilyapa wished desperately to examine it—to open it up and see the inner workings and deduce what it could do. Clearly this was the project, but to leave it alone here? Unbelievable. She had to be missing something. A trap of some kind? Hidden guards?

Then she heard voices nearby, a man and a woman laughing in sensual tones. The voices sounded familiar. Khuno and…? She knew the woman’s voice.

She ran to the nearest workbench, crouching behind it. If they came into the room, they would see her light. The only way to put it out would be to take off her ascu and smother the fire, leaving her naked and the room full of burnt wool smoke. She didn’t know where they were, so running away would be difficult. Rising to a half-crouch, she looked for possible exits. There was the door she had entered, and another door on the side, closed with a hanging reed mat, which, she now realized, had a slight glow around the edges. She crouched again.

I am an idiot.

With her heart stuttering, she considered her options. Khuno clearly felt secure enough to leave the Coya’s project here with no one watching it. Why? Why would he take even the slightest risk of displeasing the Coya by neglecting the project for sex?

Another burst of laughter from the next room answered her question, as she recognized the woman’s voice.

The Coya was in there with him.

Ilyapa had to leave immediately. She stood, taking a breath to prepare herself for the escape and trek to her workshop, and saw that a leather tray sat on the ledge by her right hand. Her tools. If she took the whole tray it might be missed, but by the gods she would have her pliers. She snatched them up and left, trying not to picture what Khuno and the Coya were doing to each other behind the reed mat.

Supay was dozing in Ilyapa’s workshop, loyal enough to stay despite her broken promise to return soon. Ilyapa hated to wake him, but there was too much to do and discuss, and she had only a few hours left before someone might find that she was missing. She shook him.

After some grumbling and muttering, he opened his eyes. “Wha'd you do to your hair?” Supay murmured.

She scoffed. “That’s the least of my worries. Wake all the way up, and I'll tell you what I know.”

While giving Supay a few moments to follow her instructions, Ilyapa began to unpack the pieces of the Sapa Inca’s old Voice. If they wouldn’t let her fix the new system, she would restore the old one.

The next morning, Ilyapa rose from the cold, hard floor with the other sequestered wives in her group, after sneaking back in and snatching a brief, turbulent sleep. Her neck was so stiff and sore that she could only turn it halfway to the left and a quarter to the right. Although she had tried to hold her hair up out of the water on her return, the lower halves of her long, skinny braids were still wet. She hoped no one would notice. Luckily, between being rushed into matching outfits—she wondered how many people had been pressed into making them—and lectured repeatedly on the way they were to behave in the procession, her wet hair was the last thing anyone wanted to think about.

Then the Coya arrived at the front of the great room where all of the wives were gathered, so thoroughly bedecked with precious metal and jewels that seeing her in sunlight might hurt. The procession director clapped his hands above his head, and his assistants made shushing noises.

The Coya spoke. “Honored sisters, I welcome you to my family.” Her face, cold and remote, looked anything but welcoming. “Today you represent Viracocha’s Land to the foreigners allied with the dirty Spanish and their weak pawns in Panama. We have long held the Spanish and their diseases away from our land, so our strength is unquestionable, but you must make them know the value of our precious Sapa Inca, who even from beyond death is denied nothing. He who has as many warriors, as many llamas, as many wives as he requires. He who decides our destiny. The Emperor Everlasting.”

The Coya looked around the room. “I hope you are all worthy of such a powerful lord.” With a sour expression on her face, she left.

Ilyapa still could not imagine the woman’s plan. If the Sapa Inca couldn’t speak, it would be an embarrassment for all. What was the Coya trying to do? And Khuno? How did they intend to use the metal man?

Well, they wouldn’t get their way, she hoped. She and Supay had returned the Sapa Inca and his workings, fully functional, to his oligarchy attendant—generally known as his “advisor.” Bachue didn’t care for the solution of restoring his old-fashioned Voice, but she agreed that it was better than no Voice at all. Concerned about plots, loyalties, and repercussions, Ilyapa and Supay had decided not to mention their suspicions about the Coya, but they both intended to watch as events played out, and report on the situation if necessary.

Ilyapa paced up the ramps toward the broad expanse atop the Wall with the wives, between two narrow columns of battle llamas in their sparkling light armor. Ilyapa was near the front due to her position, only outranked and preceded by the few teenaged noblewomen who had been available for marriage to the Sapa Inca when it was called for. The rest, behind her, were mostly country girls. They had all been instructed not to talk, and that was the one thing about the situation which suited her well. The Coya didn’t have to walk with them, of course, and she would arrive separately.

The sky full of ominous clouds didn’t help Ilyapa’s mood or her energy level, but she pushed on, keeping in step with the others. She glanced upward frequently as they reached the top and filed into position, expecting the perfect final touch of drenching rain at any moment, and it was during one of those glances that she saw the massive shape in the air above the Wall, emerging from the clouds, followed by another, and another. Her involuntary yelp earned sharp looks from the irritable wives around her, until they noticed the ships—dirigibles, the Amerigans called them—and reacted even more strongly by clutching at each other, pointing, and embarrassing themselves with babbling and tears. On the terraced walkways and streets below, waves of reaction rippled through the crowds. Even the well-trained llamas, despite being accustomed to battle chaos, began to groan fearfully in the strange tension.

And that was when the metal giant appeared, striding mechanically toward them from the opposite end of the Wall with the Coya’s own cart following close behind him. He wore a tall royal headdress, made of metal feathers instead of real ones, and he carried a colorful bundle in his arms: the Sapa Inca, Ninan Cuyochi, cradled within the device which served as his Voice.

The members of the oligarchy, known to the public only as high advisors and honored citizens, had been arranged in a semicircle facing the approaching dirigibles, but now they all turned to watch as the Coya was helped down from her vehicle, followed by Bachue, Sapa Inca’s attendant and interpreter. The two women preceded the metal man, walking toward Villac-umu, the high priest. He greeted the Coya as usual, while the advisors shuffled and hesitated as Ilyapa had never seen them do before. The crowd began to settle, curiosity overtaking fear.

Villac-umu, in his rich speaking voice, called out, “I welcome Yupanqui Capac, the son and heir of the Sapa Inca Ninan Cuyochi and the Coya Pachama!”

The metal giant raised his free left hand to wave, still holding the Sapa Inca in his right.

“The gods have informed me that this modern age requires a young, vigorous, and powerful new Emperor. They have placed the spirit-son of Ninan Cuyochi and Pachama in this metal vessel to create our new Sapa Inca, Yupanqui Capac. The Coya will now ask the Emperor if he wishes to object.”

Ilyapa’s understanding clicked into place. She stepped forward, watching avidly, not caring a bit for the rank of other wives.

The Coya said, loudly, “Ninan Cuyochi, do you wish to object to this transition?” She reached up to push the button on his device that would prompt an answer, and Yupanqui Capac leaned down to allow her access.

How does the device work? Ilyapa wondered. How does it know what to do?

The Emperor’s Voice whirred into operation. The Coya jerked back, looking to Villac-umu, who shrugged slightly. A cord began to emerge from the device, displaying a short sequence of knots. Bachue hurried forward to examine the cord.

“You will become an honored sacrifice to the gods," she stated in a carrying voice.

The Coya shrieked. She turned on Villac-umu furiously, gesturing with both hands as she launched into a series of curses and insults. He stepped backward, holding up his hands in front of him. The Coya turned to the giant metal man and spoke. Ilyapa couldn’t tell what she said, but he began to walk toward the Panama-side edge of the Wall and the dirigibles that hovered above it. Ilyapa could see pale faces watching through the clear walls in the nearest one’s riding section. No one had tried to come out yet; she wondered what they were waiting for. Yupanqui Capac stopped in front of it and tilted his head to look up, surprisingly lifelike.

The metal giant raised his arms to lift the Sapa Inca over his head. Slowly, he pulled his hands backward. For a long moment he paused there, and Ilyapa thought, No, he wouldn’t. But then the giant flung the Sapa Inca Ninan Cuyochi and his Voice with enough force that the apparatus hit and cracked the dirigible before dropping to the ground far, far below, in Panama.

All sanity broke down. The Sapa Inca’s wives turned to run away, screaming. Llamas fought their handlers, braying their anxious noises again and spraying spit in all directions. Shoving, shouting, and shrieking erupted. Ilyapa put all of her remaining energy into standing still and watching, despite the battering of frightened women pushing past.

The Amerigans, clearly agitated, seemed to be arguing behind their cracked wall. Some peered through what she thought were the seeing tubes she had heard about at university. Maybe she could examine one when they landed, she thought. But then the lead dirigible began to move up and backward, away from Viracocha’s Land, and the others went with it.

Ilyapa found widowhood to be tolerable. She thought of her late husband fondly, but without regret, as he had lived an extraordinarily long life. Immediately after the Coya was sacrificed, it became apparent that performance evaluations would be necessary in Ilyapa’s department. Khuno received an evaluation so unsatisfactory that the oligarchy sent him to work on the maintenance of mining devices far away, in the southernmost gold mine of Viracocha’s Land.

The new Sapa Inca wasn’t terribly complicated. His giant size allowed one of his specially-trained “brothers" to climb inside and operate his body when necessary. Although the Amerigans didn’t return to visit for a long time afterward, Ilyapa thought her step-son was much more handsome than his father had been, and she enjoyed working on his Voice.