A Long Time Until Now - eARC

by Michael Z. Williamson

  “I guess that’s mine,” Caswell said. “We had rice cakes at their village, though. Now bacon. We may attain civilization yet.”

  “Rice cakes?”

  “Rice and acorn flour, with salt and animal fat.”

  “That sounds . . . good.”

  Dan said, “We’ll work on it. They agreed to help. I got the recipe, as you ordered.”

  Ortiz moved up to the top watch. Alexander came down gingerly.

  “What happened?”

  “Stabbed in the foot with a stone spear. My boot is probably trash for anything other than dry weather.”

  “Crap.” There was obviously a story there. He hoped to hear it soon.

  Spencer asked, “How are the prisoners looking, Ramon?”

  “Eating their meat and not causing trouble. They’re afraid of the big gun.”

  He wondered why Ortiz and Trinidad had tied them to logs. They could certainly untie the knots, or even cut the thongs with rocks, but it would take time. This was obviously to slow down any attack.

  “Good. We need to remind them we have even bigger guns inside, if need be.”

  Dan said, “Once I work out some more lexicon, I can do that.” Their language was a lot more complicated than the Urushu, who seemed to have only a couple of thousand total words.

  “Where are they sleeping?” he asked.

  Barker said, “They have the smoke hut, and we made it clear they don’t come out except for the latrine, one at a time only.”

  The bacon was suddenly a little less tasty.

  After dinner, Alexander showed off her new toy. She’d made what she called a drop spindle. It wasn’t fast, but how it worked was pretty obvious. It did spin yarn. It was going to take a lot of such yarn to make any clothing. That, and they’d all have to take turns.

  “Draw out the fibers, let them spin through your fingers at a steady rate until it’s near the ground, but don’t let it touch. Pick it up, wrap the yarn, set it here, and do another drop.”

  “How efficient is this?” he asked.

  “We can expect it to be a full time job for someone eventually, shearing, retting plant fibers, washing, spinning. We have a loom in progress.” She pointed at a rough frame. “Then the fabric has to be washed in strong urine, dyed if we wish, and washed and dried. Then we have to sew it.”

  “But you know how to do all that, yes?”

  “So do I,” Spencer said. “It’s not that hard for the basics. But I have no idea how to weave twills and such. I always wanted to learn. I guess we have time.”

  She said, “You can do it slowly while on watch. It’ll keep your hands busy and help you stay awake.”

  Trinidad asked, “So does our diplomatic party know how the Urushu are doing?”

  Caswell said, “Largely intact. Few actually died. The women and surviving children are glad to be reunited. We’re held in high regard.”

  “Do they want more from our spirits or magic?” he asked.

  Dalton took lead. “They aren’t really interested in our weapons or gear, actually. They want gifts, but they don’t want to learn how to use them.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “This time they weren’t interested in our devices at all. It was sort of ‘oh, neat, gotta go.’ It’s our magic and unless our spirits agree, they’re not interested.”

  Dan said, “They put it that obviously our spirits were strong and should be abided. They asked about them. They did ask about a rifle, though.”

  Spencer said, “What did you tell them?”

  “That the workings of our thunderspears are magic that only our wizards know. Which is true. I’m no chemist.”

  “What were the subjects of conversation, then?”

  “Uh . . . ”

  Dalton said, “Since they asked, I told them about the scripture. I showed them my New Testament and explained the marks were drawings.”

  Spencer said, “Dude, not cool. At all.”

  Elliott said, “Anything like that should be avoided. We can’t share that.”

  “Hell, Caswell was trying to teach them feminism. I figure they’re smart enough to listen and decide what they need to know.”

  And here it came.

  Caswell said, “I was teaching them that division of labor is useful, but doesn’t have to be along gender lines.”

  “Oh, dammit,” Spencer said.

  Elliott held up a hand.

  “Okay, we need diplomacy and calm thoughts, Sergeant Spencer.” He turned. “Now, yes, if they ask, you can answer questions, vaguely, in context, in reference to yourself, and not as absolutes. I’m going to recommend against any specific scripture.”

  “Sir, from an ecclesiastical point of view, they’re ignorant of the word of God. Their souls will be better with knowledge.”

  “I knew that’s where you were going. I’ve been a lay aide for my church. But if you give them partial knowledge, you run the risk of them creating a creole religion, and expose them to potential punishment, since they are aware of the Word.”

  “I don’t think God would hold that against them, sir.”

  “Probably not. In which case, their ignorance is fine, too. If God wanted them to know, he’d have arranged for it.”

  “Well, maybe he has.”

  “Maybe. But now is not the time.” Dalton looked to protest, and Elliott raised a hand again. “No, that’s an order. Caswell, what did you say?”

  “Sir, I only said they should continue as they are, with people fitting the roles they do best in. I suggested one young man had fantastic visual color separation and would be great with berries and roots, among other things. In exchange, they showed me some more plants, including wild rice in the river.”

  “That sounds less dangerous, but we have no idea what effect any of this could have on our future.”

  Devereaux spoke up, “I think we’re pretty well fucked on that, sir, pardon me, because of the damned trucks. But minimizing the rest is probably good.”

  Dalton said, “Respectfully, sir, we have to spend the rest of our lives here. I’ve accepted this.”

  “It seems probable, but we have nothing to base that on.”

  Dalton said, “I know when prayer is working, sir. It’s working for this. We’re here.”

  Spencer stood up and hurried away, and Dan didn’t think it was to whiz.

  Elliott said, “Until the year is up, we’re calling that we’re lost on deployment. You will please abide by SOP.”

  “Yes, sir.” Dalton didn’t sound happy, and he wasn’t arguing, but yeah, the man talked about religion constantly. Dan had gotten an earful himself.

  Elliott said, “Oglesby, how much did you translate for him?”

  And here it came, round two.

  Not looking at Dalton, he very carefully said, “Sir, with regard to your instructions, I told them we had numerous spirits, each of us picked our own, but once we had picked them we were bound to them, and couldn’t change without a lot of meditation and purification. I said that the three of us had similar spirits that we saw in different lights, and that two of us here had completely different spirits altogether. But, that our spirits all commanded us to get along when we could. We are allowed to defend ourselves and others, and help the weak, but we should resolve things through strength and thought first.”

  Dalton said, “That’s exactly what I said.”

  Dan said, “I did not translate any mention of God or Jesus, or any of the books. The conversation took most of an afternoon.”

  “But they asked questions back about Christ,” Dalton said, looking confused.

  “Yeah, I made those up. Sorry.” He was sorry, a little. And embarrassed. But dammit, he’d been on the spot, and they’d all been briefed on this predeployment, and he’d had reminders of it at DLI.

  “Bu—”

  Alexander snickered up above.

  Elliott said, “And I should have had the debrief in private. I’m sorry to everyone. So let’s stick to what we worked ou
t between us.”

  Caswell said, “They know other seasonal plants and are willing to help us find them. They can smoke meat for winter, and hunt fresh as well. They spoke about a few roots, but I gather they get mostly meat and a few gathered nuts. The rice is seasonal and takes a lot of wading. They put on fat in fall from fruit, because that’s the best starch they get. I’m deducing that, of course, since they don’t grasp biology.”

  “Good.”

  Barker said, “Indians used canoes and a beating stick to gather rice. We need a canoe.”

  “Beech bark?” Elliott asked. “I don’t see much birch.”

  “Or pitch-soaked reeds, or hides.”

  Dan said, “They’re willing to swap Doc’s attention and more knowledge on building and tools for them doing labor here. I said we’d ask you. They also feel a debt over saving the women. Their greetings were . . . public and enthusiastic.” Hell, three others had tried to molest him in the open.

  Elliott said, “The labor is definitely useful. We can discuss that on our next swap.”

  Caswell said, “Sir, I took the liberty of saying they could bring up to three ill people in a day or so, and ten people to work.”

  The LT said, “Okay. We’ll do it by ear, depending on what the spirits say. I think the spirits will be flighty and not allow it every day.”

  “They want to learn how to suture. They have a vague knowledge, but Doc’s stitching is neater.”

  Devereaux said, “I’m not sure what they can do with bone slivers and sinew. But we can teach them to boil water.”

  Ortiz said, “Isn’t modern procedure beyond them?”

  Spencer said, “Boiled medical tools go back at least as far as Philip of Macedon.”

  “Interesting. I didn’t see much of it in Africa.”

  “Yeah, and I don’t know why that is. But it’s not new.”

  “Well,” Ortiz added, “It might help if I showed them animal techniques. Those are a little cruder than Doc’s, but should work.”

  “Do both. That’s fair enough.”

  Dan found himself licking his fingers and the tray. Damn. Bacon. Now where was the apple pie? But if there was rice, they might manage those awesome cakes, or pudding. Something.

  There were apples for dessert, but no pie. Dammit, bacon deserved ice cream. But if they had milk, honey and ice, it was possible for next year.

  That done, the Urushu went to relieve themselves in the stream, then retreated to their embassy.

  “One more thing,” Doc said as they left. “I hate to bring it up, but it won’t get better.”

  Elliott asked, “Uh oh, what?”

  Doc held up a flat Crest tube.

  “This is the last of the toothpaste. I’m going to slice it open and I figure we get one good brushing each out of what’s left.”

  Damn. One more link cut.

  Everyone sighed, and got their brushes, which weren’t going to last forever, but hopefully a few years.

  Doc sliced the tube open, and yeah, there was just enough to dip into to make for one refreshing brushing.

  He took two minutes, then more, going over his teeth again and again. He’d had minor tartar buildup already, that Doc had scraped off for him. This wasn’t a good omen.

  Then they were done. No one said anything, they just dispersed.

  He didn’t feel like hanging out with anyone else, so he sat by the fire. Bit by bit, they were becoming part of this time.

  He stared at the embers for a while, until he saw movement. It was the Urushu returning.

  “Dan,” Ak!tash said in greeting, as he held up a leather-wrapped bundle. “You have not prepared bitter drink. I offer ours.”

  “What is ‘bitter drink’?” he asked.

  “From bitter leaves. Roasted, stewed, cooked, stewed again.”

  Whatever it was, the flakes smelled pungent. They weren’t tea. They were sharp against the nose. Could they be proto-tea?

  “Caswell,” he called. “They have a plant drink. I need help.”

  “Hooah,” she called, and arrived in a few moments.

  As he asked questions, she sketched.

  “The leaves look like this?” she asked, holding up a piece of bark with charcoal rubbed on it.

  “Yes,” Ak!tash agreed. “Those leaves.”

  “It’s something like holly,” she said. “I think some of the southern bands of Cherokee did that.”

  “Is it psychoactive?”

  “No,” she said. Then she called, “Sergeant Spencer, they have caffeine!”

  “Fuck me, what?” he fairly bellowed. That was almost hilarious.

  “They have a caffeine drink.”

  Ak!tash said, “If we drink now, we will wake until sun.”

  Spencer must have heard that as he arrived.

  “Don’t care, brew pot.” He ran under the kitchen and started grasping for pots.

  “Caswell, is there a metal pot here or do we use a canteen cup?”

  “Use that.”

  “Will do.”

  In ten minutes, they had boiling water with a dark cloud of leaves in it. Ak!tash squatted while Spencer reclined in a seat, and used a finger to check temperature and quality of the mix.

  “It is good,” he said. “Please drink, for the behcawn.”

  “I will definitely drink to bacon,” Spencer said. “Tell him thanks.” He raised the cup carefully, spit on his fingers and wiped the rim to cool it slightly, and sipped.

  A moment later he grimaced.

  “Oh, shit, that’s disgusting.”

  “Not good?”

  “Bitter, sour, earthy tasting, charcoal, rope, nasty.”

  He sipped again anyway, and passed the cup to Ak!tash, who took a drink as a long, careful sip.

  Two minutes later, Spencer said, “Oh, yeah, that’s caffeine. I can add honey and berries and make it drinkable.”

  “So, you have coffee,” Caswell said.

  “I do not have coffee,” Spencer insisted. “But I do have caffeine.”

  “Isn’t there tea south of here, too?”

  “Possibly. Trade goods or road trip.” Spencer shook his head and said, “Goddam, that’s strong. Really strong. They weren’t lying about seeing the sunrise.”

  Caswell said, “Hmm. That’s interesting. I bet if they only use it scarcely it’s almost a drug. Likely that makes it holier and more magical.”

  He said, “It is magical. I shall call it black magic.”

  “Hah!”

  Spencer said, “Hey, Dan, are you up to helping Ramon for a bit? I’d like two on watch, especially since our guests don’t like each other.”

  “Yeah, I can handle a couple of hours.”

  He wondered if that was to keep him away from the guest female.

  “Good. I’m likely to be up all night as is. I’ll wander when I can.”

  And even if it served other purposes, that definitely was part of the reason for the order.

  CHAPTER 20

  Felix Trinidad sat on guard, spinning wool and watching the barren landscape, along with ten Urushu moving logs under Spencer’s direction. He felt much better as the remaining wall came along. That still left gaping holes along the stream bed, but with more wall and fewer trees, and the leaves off the ones remaining, they had better field of fire and visibility. The stream was uneven, and would slow intruders a bit.

  It wasn’t just the possible Neolithic response. It was that stampede, and the bear that had wandered through, and the lions who’d drunk from the stream right at the upper corner near the kitchen and sweat lodge.

  The LT said he had a plan for bridging the stream. Though he still thought it would have been easier to put the wall on this side with a small people gate. But the fresh water and waste removal was a very good feature.

  Looking to the future, they’d have better housing with shake roofs. He’d stayed in wood huts back home. He’d be comfortable enough here. Then he’d really want someone to be with. Losing your family was worse when you didn’
t acquire new relations.

  But convincing the mates to live with them was one problem, then raising the kids to be more modern was another. Unless they organized a school, most of the modern knowledge would be lost, and make only a minor ripple in the development. They could make themselves reasonably comfortable for their life sentences. They couldn’t change this world.

  And he’d screwed up and made the yarn too thick again. He sighed, unspooled a section, rolled it between his fingers, re-wrapped, and continued.

  If they ever did get back, he thought, he’d hunt down some of those, “The simpler life was better” types in America and smash them in the face. They’d not last ten minutes in Bataan, and this was notably more backward.

  Overhead, the flag snapped in the wind. He pulled up his goretex. It was getting much chillier. It wasn’t bad here overall, but he was tropical, despite some time at Fort Lewis. They figured it was early December. It wasn’t terrible, with daytime temperatures in the 50s, but that was cold when you were in them all day. Then at night it froze.

  Had it been less than three months? They’d done a lot of work, undistracted by internet and TV. He wasn’t sure it felt like home, but it did feel like a base.

  He wasn’t sure he wanted it to feel like home.

  However, he could do without wolves and badgers ripping apart the bodies of the abandoned Neolithics. That was creepy and ugly. That they did it in daytime a couple of hundred meters from the camp was disturbing.

  Spencer and Barker changed back to setting poles again, with Dalton and Ortiz and a bunch of natives.

  He yelled down, “Hey, next time we need to drag the dead a bit farther away, hooah?”

  Barker climbed up the rise at the bottom wall and looked.

  “Holy fuck, yes.”

  “Want me to shoot or scare them off?”

  Spencer also took a look, then the LT climbed up the ladder.

  Elliott said, “No, not for now, they’re . . . mostly done. Definitely next time, though. Then there’s the ravens and buzzards.”

  “And ants,” he said.

  Martin Spencer was twitchy with the mixed camp. He expected the Neoliths to come back in supplication or force. They and the Urushu might fight each other, or the Neoliths might attack someone in rage or desperation.