A Long Time Until Now - eARC

by Michael Z. Williamson

  The third day of her glamorous duty, she came in to find an ugly, flashing malware banner demanding she pay for “viruschek” or “stay infected.”

  “Hey, LT!” she called.

  He stuck his head around from the side a moment later and asked, “Yeah?”

  “The laptop has a virus. How did that happen?”

  “You’re sure?”

  “It’s pretty obvious.” She pointed to the screen.

  “Oglesby was in here last night, right?”

  “Yes. Thanks, sir. Hey, Oglesby! Come here!”

  He trotted over.

  “Yes, Sergeant?”

  “Did you have a geekstick plugged in here last night?”

  “Uh . . . yes.” He flushed red.

  She held out her palm and made the gesture for him to hand it over. Then she looked at the gawkers.

  “Shoo!” she said.

  The problem was she needed a boot disk to fix it, and didn’t have one. But she had her own flash drives, and she used the LT’s laptop to make a clean boot file.

  Once she had it up in boot mode, banishing the malware still took two passes. She had to remove the root, then it changed names to “Save” her from itself. And without any online references, she was cracking from scratch. But it worked. Then she had to remote scan his drive.

  Five minutes later, she knew was right on both suspicions. Oglesby’s flash contained porn, and some of it had been swapped for in theater, and was corrupted. As soon as he’d opened that file, the system was toast.

  She scanned through the porn. It was pretty typical, nothing that made her twitch. Lesbians, blowjobs, fucking. She found the dirty file, killed it, checked it was gone entirely, and scanned again.

  Once done, with the files back and not corrupted, she said, “Oglesby, here! You lost one corrupted file.”

  He came over at a jog and took his precious personal information back.

  “I only removed that one, though a few of the others may be damaged,” she said without a smile.

  He blushed again.

  “Thanks, Sergeant.”

  “It’s safe with me.”

  While she was at it, she might as well scrub everyone’s files.

  Rich Dalton was chopping a log, of course. He heard his name, finished the swing, let the axe bite wood, and looked up.

  From Number Nine, Alexander shouted, “Dalton, you’re next, bring me your phone, your tablet and your drives.”

  She leaned around the hatch, wearing pants, a T-shirt and sneakers. She was pretty well shaped for a woman, and that was starting to look way hot. The running joke was that a four back home was a ten after two months in the field, and she’d been a six or maybe a seven to start with, given her age. She looked a lot younger even with her laundry list of damage.

  Most troops had dogtags and flash drives around their necks. Some had religious symbols or jewelry. He’d thought she had a drive or a large religious doohickey, possibly some Thor’s hammer type of thing. He saw now it was a small push dagger, hanging just underside and between her domed breasts.

  She had a folding knife clipped in her pocket, that huge tanto on her thigh, and a small sheath knife on her hip as well.

  He wiped sweat on his T-shirt as he walked over to the tepee, panting for breath.

  Inside was hot, dank and nasty, so he grabbed the stuff quick and got back into daylight and breeze. He walked around the trucks to where she was waiting.

  “How come you two b—females have so many damn knives?”

  She almost rolled her eyes.

  “Think,” she said.

  “I have. I don’t get it,” he said.

  “Well, I suppose I should be glad of that. Just take it as a fact that you won’t see either of us ‘b . . . females’ without a knife, even when asleep or taking a crap.”

  “Oh,” he said, suddenly getting it. That was an uncomfortable subject. But he needed more information and there was no way Caswell would talk to him.

  “I didn’t realize the risk was that bad,” he said. He didn’t want to believe it. Most guys were decent. The constant harping . . .

  She said, “It depends. Really bad among some of our eastern European allies. Or among the natives. Modern natives. And there are always some dangerous males even in our Army.”

  “Sorry.”

  She shrugged. “Not your fault. The Army doesn’t want anyone to drink, look at porn, jerk off, tell rude jokes, then expects us to kill people, go back to the FOB and become monks. And then there’s that five percent of men who are just abusive assholes. It’s a bad combination. And we’re the only two here, and the natives find us just exotic.”

  He wasn’t sure what to say. He nodded. He wasn’t going to admit he’d considered her a few times late at night.

  “And that’s why we’re bitches with knives,” she said.

  “I don’t blame you,” he said. “I’ll let you work.”

  “This won’t take long,” she said. “Have a seat.”

  He sat on the ramp steps and watched her. She might not be a warrior, but she knew computers, and apparently cameras and night vision. His first thought had been that insisting on admin was an excuse for her to slack off, but she had two laptops up, cables from the solar panel running all over, and his files on screen.

  Yeah, those files that . . .

  His porn scrolled by too fast to see, but slow enough to identify. But she didn’t say anything, or give any indication she was upset. He still shifted uncomfortably. This was very personal.

  “You were airborne intel?” he asked, hoping to distract her slightly. He was blushing.

  Without looking from the screen, with folder “redheads” up, she said, “Sort of. I maintained the equipment for battle management. And that stuff was archaic. Built in the seventies.”

  “Crashed?”

  “Yes, North Carolina. A couple of planes have been lost entirely to bird strikes. We got lucky. Ingested geese into two engines on takeoff. Made it over the trees to the field beyond. Landed hard, all survived, but beat to hell, and the plane was a total loss.”

  “No way to avoid the birds?”

  “Not really. They fire guns and air cannons, shoot a few, bait them away, try to schedule around their cycle and watch for mass flocks, but eventually, there’s a lot of birds and someone’s going to eat one.”

  She moused, keyed, closed the file and handed the stick back.

  “Phone next,” she said.

  He had all kinds of stuff on his phone, including his journal notes, religious thoughts, shopping list and bank info. But she scanned by eye and by software, nodded and handed it over.

  “So why the Army Guard, not Air Guard?”

  “Air Guard won’t take me with the bad ankles. Army Guard will take almost anyone. I keep up most of the time. I can’t run much, but I can walk as far as I need to.”

  Yeah, she had.

  “I noticed. I’m sorry for my comment the other day.”

  Without looking from the screen, she said, “Well, you’re young. Apology accepted. Keep in mind you’ll be Spencer’s or my age eventually.”

  She was old enough to be his mother, and she had a great rack, and had just scanned through his porn files.

  “Yeah, I’m going to be old here.”

  “Please don’t remind me. Here’s your laptop,” she said as she powered it down. “I defragged and did some routine maintenance while I was at it. It should be a bit faster.”

  “Thanks. Facebook will be much easier now.”

  She ignored the joke.

  “Actually, we might be able to set up a local network,” she said, “I need to think about that. It wouldn’t work for more than a couple of hundred meters, but we could swap images from the perimeter.”

  He didn’t really see how that would be useful, but Oglesby had been wrong about the Ripit cans being trash. Those were being used to steam meat and roast roots.

  “Cool. Good luck with it.”

  “Thanks. Pol
itely tell that red-headed bitch I’ll look at hers next.”

  Interesting. So she didn’t like Caswell either.

  “Roger.”

  “Politely,” she reiterated.

  He slid the laptop under his arm and carried it, since he was going to drop it back in the tepee after relaying that last message.

  Caswell was over past the kitchen area, lashing limbs together.

  “What’s that?” he asked.

  “Another wall for the latrine. Eventually double walls for insulation and a roof.”

  “Cool. That’ll be nice in winter. Alexander says she’ll look at your stuff now.”

  “Stuff?”

  “Computer, phone, memory sticks.”

  “Eh. Mine are fine. I check them regularly.”

  “I get the impression she’s insisting on checking everyone’s.”

  “Oh, goddam her,” Caswell replied. She didn’t move, though.

  Polite. “I’ve delivered the message. You’ll have to argue the point with her, or with the LT or Spencer.”

  “Yeah, yeah.”

  He left. He didn’t want to argue with her, and yes, she was a bitch. She didn’t have age or injury as an excuse. And it wasn’t being non-Army. Trinidad was Navy. Barker was Reserve and had been Navy. Alexander had been Air Force also. So it was just her.

  Possibly because of her looks? Did she play them for advantage and it wasn’t working here? But she hadn’t done that at all when the convoy started. Was she afraid of her looks? The natives had definitely homed in on her. She was at least an eight, maybe a nine, and the nicest looking thing around. He wouldn’t mind some attention, but even if it wasn’t a bad idea, there was no way to approach her.

  If God wanted to test a young man, this environment was the way to do it.

  He walked back to the tepee. Maybe chopping another half dozen trees would burn off some of the tension. Or at least give him blisters.

  The next day, the Paleos returned to see Armand.

  “Natives inbound, party of five,” Spencer called from the turret.

  Armand was nervous. He had a vague idea what to do, and hoped it would work. He had fears of either making the problem worse, or causing infection and death. This wasn’t life-saving field surgery. It was a complicated OB-GYN reconstruction. Well, complicated from his experience. He was a second year student, not a surgeon.

  “Are you guys ready?”

  “Yes,” Barker said.

  “I am,” Dalton agreed. He looked uncomfortable.

  “Yes,” Alexander said.

  “This is damned near an all-hands operation,” Barker added. “Like overhauling a ship.”

  The approaching Paleos were Ai!ee, two women escorts, and two warriors with spears. They also each carried four javelins like the ones Barker had made. They’d learned that quickly.

  “They caught on fast, I see,” he said. “I’ll teach them other stuff, but we need to remind them how useful we are.”

  “Sure. In case she doesn’t make it,” Armand said.

  Caswell said, “You’ll do fine.”

  “Okay, ask her when she last ate. It should be two days ago. She shouldn’t have drunk since last night. But make them answer, don’t lead them.”

  Oglesby said, “Got it,” and turned.

  “She says two days, no food, praying to her mother and grandmother and the nature spirits. She’s very hungry but at peace and had a good vision last night.”

  “Good. Bowel movements?”

  “Yesterday. And she’s thirsty now.”

  “Okay, wet a rag in the boiled water and she can suck on that.”

  He led the party into the tepee, and then Caswell chased the men out. On the one hand, he appreciated it. On the other, if she was going to push this equality thing, she shouldn’t exclude them.

  Not his problem.

  They had ponchos on the ground, swept and clean. He figured they could be washed in the creek afterward.

  “The spearchuckers are out,” he said. “I always wanted to call someone a spearchucker.”

  “Well, they are,” Barker said with a laugh.

  Caswell rolled her eyes, but said nothing. She didn’t seem to have a sense of humor, though she was interested in science. He’d keep it serious around her.

  “Are you ready to assist?” he asked her.

  “Ready, Doc.” She sounded sure.

  “Gina?”

  Alexander had instruments laid out in an ammo can lid.

  “Is that the correct order?” she asked.

  “Yes. You know the names of everything?”

  “Well enough.”

  “Good batteries in the light?”

  “Full charge.”

  He turned to Oglesby.

  “I need her naked and on the poncho. We’ll need to hold her legs. Her head will be on a pillow, and she can talk with her friends and the spirits. This is going to be as painful as childbirth.”

  Oglesby explained, and there were nods. She stripped easily from her skirt, and lay down as directed. Her belly was striated with stretch markes, her breasts flat and pendulous. Once they started squeezing out babies here, they aged fast.

  Barker and Dalton each sat cross-legged and took one of her calves across their laps. They then pulled masks on.

  “Okay, Oglesby, tell them to keep her company and soothed. And there is going to be bright, magic light.” He pulled on the magic gloves and masks, and just maybe that idea would catch on and save a few lives.

  Her friends cradled her head and caressed her forehead and cheeks. They spoke reassuringly, and even smiled.

  So here he was, operating by flashlight, in a hide-covered tepee, scrubbing a Stone Age woman’s vagina with soap while Caswell dilated her with two spoons. The squirt bottle made a handy douche for rinsing.

  He peered in by flashlight, as Caswell straddled her belly and reached down with the dilator spoons.

  “It’s not as smooth as I’d hoped,” he said, feeling a bit embarrassed even on duty. “I can’t localize the tear. Suggestions?”

  Caswell said, “You may have to illuminate from behind.”

  He thought about that.

  “. . . yeah. Okay, I need my backpack,” he said as he pointed.

  Alexander ran to get it.

  “What’s in there?”

  “More gloves. And a microlight.”

  It worked. With some lube and effort, he inserted the wrapped glowing light into her rectum, and found the perforation where the light was brightest.

  Two careful nicks with the scalpel sliced the membrane and exposed tissue. Ai!ee tensed and hissed, but didn’t move.

  The tough part was suturing. There wasn’t much room, and he had only an improvised speculum.

  “Wider, carefully,” he told Caswell.

  The patient actually didn’t move much. There were involuntary muscle tremors of her wall muscles, and her ass puckered a bit, but no significant reactions to pain. And it had to hurt. Her friends chanted in a steady rhythm that was hypnotic and annoying. He glanced around Caswell. Ai!ee’s face was screwed up tight, but she didn’t twitch as he stabbed a suture needle through tender flesh.

  Dalton mumbled something, he looked over, and realized it was the Lord’s Prayer. Well enough. Armand would do his part, the rest was up to the Almighty.

  In fifteen minutes he was done, nodded, leaned back and then shifted so his foot wouldn’t cramp.

  He never wanted to be that close to a native woman again.

  He removed the light as Caswell removed the spoons.

  “Okay, we need her to rest here. She is not to get out of bed until tomorrow, and no lifting anything for the rest of the week. Oh, and no food until tomorrow, and no sex for a month. She needs to drink lots of water and have help while urinating. I doubt they have bed pans, but they’ll need to hold her so she’s not straining muscles.”

  Oglesby translated at length, and said, “I told them she should also pray twice a day.”

  “Goo
d.”

  Barker said, “She really didn’t fight much.”

  Dalton concurred. “Yeah, No real trouble. Tough constitution. But that was not a pleasant view.”

  Caswell said, “It’s medicine.” She sounded cross.

  Alexander said, “They’re male. It’s instinctive.”

  “Okay, these gloves are now industrial, as long as they last. Any goat guts to process?”

  “Yeah, I’ll take them,” Barker said.

  He took a deep breath. That had gone okay, as near as he could tell. He wanted to know she had survived without infection. Because it sure as hell wasn’t the last surgery he’d be doing.

  He wished they had booze. This called for a drink.

  Caswell said, “There’s one other matter, and I’d like privacy.”

  “You and her?”

  “And Oglesby and you and the two women. Rest of you, get the fuck out, please.”

  Damn, she was blunt. Barker and Dalton rose and left without comment. Gina shrugged and followed.

  After they were out the flap in the door, she looked around, then said, “Oglesby, I need to ask them what to use in lieu of tampons.”

  That was a damned good question Armand had wondered about himself.

  Oglesby turned beet red, nodded quickly, and turned to the women. He pointed at Ai!ee, gestured with hands, looked words up in his notes, and repeated.

  “They say you should ask the spirits for a baby. Get pregnant and nurse, and you’ll stop having moon sickness. I told them that wasn’t possible. Hold on.”

  He looked very uncomfortable. He talked and pointed more.

  “They say it doesn’t happen often. Only to women who are really well fed and not with men. They seem to use rawhide and cattail fluff.”

  “Fuck,” she said. “I guess I wad up a T-shirt in my panties and waddle around. Goddammit. Well, thank them for helping. Are we done?”

  Armand said, “You can go if you need to. I have it.”

  “Thanks.”

  After she left, he told Oglesby, “She meant to thank you, too.”

  He replied, “No she didn’t. But I guess I can’t blame her. That’s pretty damned personal.”

  “We’re all going to know too much about each other after a while.”