A Long Time Until Now - eARC

by Michael Z. Williamson

  He was very glad to be sitting under water.

  “Oh, even having hot showers, this is fantastic,” she said, and dunked her head for a moment, before running her hands over her hair.

  It was fantastic, even without naked chicas to look at.

  All the American men and Trinidad were very carefully not looking at each other, and not looking at the women. They looked at the curving roof, the struts, the water surface.

  Cryder said, “Feels great. Tanks.”

  “Thanks for the help with the pump and tools. That made all the difference.”

  “Wooz. Why staring?”

  Yes, they were all looking at him, rather than make eye contact with each other.

  Alexander said, “Look, tits!” and rose up enough to bring them out of the water, then shimmied her torso. “I have tits! Look at them!”

  Ramon broke into hysterical laughter with everyone else.

  “And some of you are hung like stud horses, and some like stud gophers,” she said. “Deal with it.”

  Spencer said, “Nice tits. Pass the wine.”

  And just like that, they were friends again. Though Caswell still looked a little shy, but she was smiling.

  Maybe she’d relax some day. She was cute, and very useful. Alexander was lush and smooth, if older. She had some skills, too. Though he’d probably have to marry a local girl.

  Dalton said, “Everyone please remember, there is no farting and no coming in the hot tub.”

  Spencer said, “If this was San Francisco, a young man like you could do both at once.”

  Everyone howled. Man, that was rough.

  The water was hot. It swirled around him, and he tried to ignore all the other feet and hands. Realistically, this would fit six people, not eleven. Everyone wanted to try it, though.

  Elliott said, “So, hot tub and shower. We have some tools. Next year we might have wind-powered electricity, too, and maybe engine fuel.”

  “No business talk in the hot tub, either,” Caswell said.

  Oglesby said, “She’s afraid we’ll want her to turn it into a giant stew pot.”

  “I’d be cooking you,” she snapped, pointing her finger but grinning. “Boiled asshole stew!”

  The Cogi seemed a bit put off, but didn’t flinch. They sat touching and didn’t seem bothered by it. Ramon was bothered by Dalton against one side of him and Trinidad on the other.

  “I’m good for now,” he said. “It’s been tested. I’ll wait for more room to stretch out.”

  He pushed himself up, then realized everyone could see him hanging there when they turned to pay attention to him.

  It was cold all over as he climbed out. Even with the bodies and the dome there wasn’t enough heat to compensate. He watched steam roll off his skin, and then his breath fogged up.

  It was no worse than an Army shower point. He just hadn’t had even that luxury in a year.

  The gravel kept his feet as clean as could be expected. He toweled fast and pulled on undies, then wrapped the towel over his shoulder and worked on pants, squatting under the dank goathide roof.

  “I’ll relieve Doc so he can come down.”

  And despite the chill, he felt clean, really clean, for the first time in a year and a half.

  “Sergeant Spencer, Sergeant Barker, your hot tub is fucking awesome.”

  “Thank you!” they both said, with raised wine mugs.

  He stepped out into the air.

  “Hey, Doc, let me grab a jacket and you can go tubbing.”

  “Awesome, man.”

  “How’s it look?”

  “Quiet and clear.”

  Behind him, Caswell said, “I’ll join you. I’m good for now.” She had dressed fast and was tying her hair back with a leather cord.

  “Warm enough?”

  She said, “The water was great. The air is cold. You’re all silly.”

  He said, “We can take turns from now on, unless a couple wants to use it together.”

  She cocked her head and replied, “I can’t see Dalton coming out of the closet.”

  “No, but Oglesby might.”

  Was she actually cracking jokes? The serious feminist and political correctness girl?

  “Are we going to let the others use it?” he asked.

  “I expect they can, after we do, or if it filters clean enough through the Cogi’s vehicle.”

  “I wonder what they’ll trade for that.”

  They continued the discussion up in the turret and on the roof, while Doc went shyly to the tub.

  Caswell replied, “I’m worried about social effects more than technical. They may have a hot spring they travel to for rituals, and we’d be taking that. Any number of things we do could damage their culture without thinking.”

  “Sort of like ruining migratory patterns for birds by feeding them, or how a few predators can change an area’s dynamics.”

  “Exactly,” she said. “I know we have to do right by ourselves, but when we can, we need to consider this environment and their culture, too.”

  “I don’t think the Romans will,” he hinted. There was no way not to change things.

  “They’re not the way I imagined them,” she said. “I expected more civilization. They invented the word. They’re more barbaric than most of the others.”

  “Yes, it’s not our type of culture.”

  “It may have to be,” she said.

  “I don’t want to adopt too much of it. I’d rather convert them to ours. Soap at least.”

  “We aren’t enough,” she said. “And neither Gina nor I is going to settle down with anyone here.”

  “No?” he asked, tense and curious.

  “If we pick any of you, the rest will be unhappy and resentful. Gina can’t get pregnant, but I can and don’t want to yet.”

  “What’s the alternative, then?”

  “Fingers, just like you.”

  Yes, they all understood that, but no one wanted to discuss it with each other. Well, not with other guys. If she wanted to tell he’d be glad to listen.

  “We need families,” he said.

  “We do. It’s not going to be fast or easy, though.”

  She was probably right about that.

  CHAPTER 36

  The tub was a useful trade tool, especially in winter. The Romans wouldn’t share theirs with lesser barbarians. The next day, with Sean Elliott’s consent, the Urushu took a turn. They were familiar enough with pools of water, and Caswell reported they dammed sections of the river to create plunges for summer. To have that water inside and hot, however, raised relations to an entirely new level. They soaked and sang and shouted.

  “I assume that’s positive,” Sean said.

  Oglesby said, “Yes, they love it. They’re thanking us, and the future people, and the spirits.”

  It certainly sounded joyous.

  “While part of me wants to exploit it for all the labor we can get, another part wants to be charitable, and of course, we’re using Cryder’s vehicle.”

  Doc said, “Yeah, but they’re using a lot of our resources, too. I offered it free to people with sore joints. I also warned that it would hurt pregnant women.”

  That was decent. And pragmatically speaking, he said, “Well, if they choose to gift us, we’ll make sure our future friends get a share. Either way it helps us be a focal center, which means this will be a town, given time.”

  “It pretty much is now,” Oglesby said. “There’s another group of pilgrims supposed to arrive today.”

  That was interesting. He couldn’t keep track of everyone anymore. He made a note to talk to Spencer and Alexander about that. It was important not to have strays in the COB.

  “Thank them for visiting. Show them the way out.”

  “As before, hooah, sir.”

  Having friends was becoming necessary. Spencer was project manager and first sergeant. Barker was senior craftsman. Alexander ran increasing amounts of admin, with all the visitors. Caswell supervised three kitc
hen help. Ortiz was in charge of animals and veterinary work. Doc worked full time on everyone’s ailments. Oglesby had to run around translating. Trinidad watched everyone and drew up threat warnings, cultural analyses, resource needs and interactions, which Alexander compiled for him, with an index. That left Dalton to be full-time security, hunter in chief, roving badass and general backup. They’d become management by default.

  The Urushu were firm allies, appreciating all the knowledge and technology, and happy to share their own wisdom of plants, animals, minerals and utilities. They kept salted and smoked hides coming for tent covers, hut linings and bedding. The Gadorth provided semi-skilled labor in fence construction, weeding and hoeing, and could make clay artifacts that were of limited use without a nonporous glaze. Still it helped to have jars to hold dry goods. The Romans offered some useful skills that were tweaks of the basics, but much improved.

  With hot water and additional recharging power from the Cogi, they were advancing quickly.

  “Sergeant Spencer, what do you place our tech level at now?”

  “That depends. We don’t have a powered forge hammer or powered lathe. We’re still working on textiles. Lodging and water supply is around thirteen hundred or so. The tools are about the same era, for a remote area, not a city.”

  “That’s a long way from the Old Stone Age. That’s what I wanted. Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome, sir. We’re doing it, but I wish it were further along.”

  “We’ll get there.”

  This winter they’d build that ice storage, and just maybe the Cogi could provide cooling power for the mass. That would improve food storage either way. Next year, it was probably time to build a satellite compound the other groups could use. That would provide secondary defense for them, but keep their increasing numbers separate from here.

  When time and circumstances permitted, he needed to find out if the Cogi would support that effort with more energy. They were cagey about their supplies, and he didn’t blame them, since he was too with earlier groups. They might have resources if asked, though, that they wouldn’t blanket offer. It was also possible they had stuff the soldiers hadn’t thought about yet.

  Eventually there would be another generation here, and then they’d need a political process. He wasn’ t sure that was something he liked. It did simplify things to have everyone under military discipline, but he could’t maintain that indefinitely, and some of them were already looking for local wives. Oglesby, especially, got to meet a lot of them, as did Doc. Both were obviously attracted to the younger Urushu women, and flirting heavily.

  If he was correct, Caswell was keeping an eye on Arnet. He being an outsider, but with modern sanitation, might clinch that deal.

  The captain was dealing with long-term thoughts, as he should. It was Martin Spencer’s job to run what was here. That included more resources for current needs.

  He walked over to the Cogi vehicle. It was interesting how they hung around it, like teenagers with a TV. Although, given how it worked as tent, power supply, resource center, it wasn’t really more remarkable than Gina hanging out at Number Nine. It was just that they both did, and didn’t seem to have a lot of involvement in much else. Now that they had better sources of food and a hot tub, they seemed content to chill and let others work. They were both reclined in chairs in the shade, visors on, but obviously awake. As he approached, they raised the darkened lenses and looked at him.

  “Cryder, you said we could possibly use your vehicle for a salt run into the hills?”

  “Wooz.”

  “When can we do that?”

  He shrugged. “Never.”

  “‘Never’?”

  “Sorry. When Ever. Langage drft.”

  Yes, there had been a slight emphasis before the N. Damn, their English had gotten sloppy by comparison. He supposed the Americans’ was overly formal and wordy.

  “Gotcha.”

  “Wanna do now? Weather nice, plenny time.”

  “Let me confirm with the captain.”

  Elliott was outside the fence. Rather than shout, he pulled out his phone.

  “Sir, it’s Spencer. Cryder says we can make a salt run today. I’m free. I’d want a couple of the help. Urushu or Neolith.”

  “Sure, if we can get that done, great. Do you need shovels?”

  “Cryder, do we?” He looked over.

  “Got tools. Should be good. Can sit four inclusive.”

  “We’re good, sir.”

  “Do it, then. I’ll have Gina arrange to cover your shift.”

  “Roger.”

  He turned to Cryder. “Let me grab two people to help and we can go.”

  “Wooz.”

  He didn’t recognize the Neolith volunteer, but the Urushu was Ki!cla. He was short by their standards, barely six foot two. He was probably seventeen and and very eager to help the “Ahmerkin.”

  “We will ride spirit beast,” he said, indicating the future vehicle. His Urushu was limited, but he could make himself understood.

  Ki!cla jumped and clapped hands in glee.

  He thumbed his phone for the Gadorth translation and said, “Atop hut-horse.” His pronunciation probably sucked, but Zikom, which was as close as he could get to the name, seemed rather sobered in comparison. He nodded, though, and followed.

  Cryder pressed a button that folded up the shower stall and disconnected the tub hoses. The vehicle hummed steadily and softly, and they walked alongside as he maneuvered along the south track, between the bathhouse, smoker, Urushu lodge on one side and the kitchen, work area and Oglesby and Dalton’s lodge. Arnet remained in a chair in their area, wearing his coverall and goggles. He seemed aware, but didn’t react much.

  Once outside the gate, Cryder did something that opened it up like a Jeep, with four seats. Given the puffy clouds and light breeze, that was just fine with him.

  It took some coaxing to get them into the passenger side, and he climbed in behind Cryder, so they each could keep control if the Stone Agers freaked out.

  The Stone Agers twitched and clutched at the sides as it started off, but settled down as they rolled. At least it felt like rolling. They were about as high off the ground as a HMMWV, but smoother over the terrain.

  “Where?” Cryder asked without looking over.

  “South and east, toward that ridge.” He pointed to where it was supposed to be, and hoped they could either use some kind of sensor or eyeball it as they got closer.

  “Roj. What range on your phone?”

  “A hundred meters or so, here.”

  “Zatall?”

  “We don’t have an actual cell tower, we’re using a network through one of the computers.”

  “Shit. Ll fix that. Wooz.” He spoke into his own mic. “Arnet . . . warra setup tower recep commo call check band w Ellyot.”

  “Wooz, do.”

  “Okay, we set you on ours, LOS range unless aerial fly.”

  “You have a drone antenna?”

  “Yeh.”

  “Cool. Duration?”

  “Balloon. Several weeks.”

  “Damn. After that?”

  “Bip antenna.”

  “Bip?”

  “Build in place.”

  “From sections?”

  “Carbon in, nanotube out.”

  “Oh, printed.”

  “Solid, but yes.”

  The two primitives wouldn’t have understood the discussion even if they knew the language. They watched the conversation and watched the terrain, but took no part. They did smile when he made eye contact. They hung on tightly.

  “Did you say LOS?”

  “Yeh. Drone approx two fifty kilmtr. Base antenna approx fifty.”

  “Goddam, that’s great, if you can carry our bandwidth.” Just how much tactical footprint did these two guys have?

  Cryder snorted. “Course.”

  “Well, I assume you can, but I don’t know what frequency it is or how it’s transmitted. Not my field.”

 
“Nod.”

  He’d actually said “Nod” rather than doing it. He still didn’t make eye contact. Very aloof.

  They were moving at a good 10 mph, he figured. It would only take about an hour to get there this time, unlike walking. They rolled smoothly up and down the ridges and dips, displacing growth with a faint crunch under the track.

  Martin asked, “How much can we load aboard?”

  “Gorra empty tub, holds two unnerd liter.”

  “That should last a while. Great.”

  “Nod, we use some for wa’er and food.”

  “Yes, I can understand water treatment. We use it for food, preservation of food and hides, might use some to develop ceramic glazes, but we don’t know quite how.”

  “Can show.”

  “You know how to do ceramics?”

  “No, got files.”

  “Information?”

  “Yeh, for field critcalties.”

  “Damn. We’re going off our own knowledge.”

  “Wooz. Done well. No files?”

  “Oh, we have lots of files and books on all these subjects, but not with us.”

  “Ah.”

  Yeah. What he wouldn’t give for thirty minutes on Wikipedia, copy/paste and Gina’s laptops.

  He spotted one of the outcroppings, pale under an overhang.

  “Over there,” he said. “See the salt lines?” They were white with tinges of pink and gray. Actual rock salt, and the ground below it was bereft of green from salt poisoning.

  “Yeh, good stuff. We can process, too.”

  “Refine it?”

  “Yup.”

  “That would be fantastic.” They could have sodium chloride, calcium salts, potassium . . . he could probably work up a reasonable chemical industry.

  “Reglar trips then, have primtives mine fr us.”

  “If they’re willing, yes. We’d have plenty to trade.”

  “Them or you. We do tech end.”

  Yes, that was a negotiating point he held. Spencer decided to drop that line for now.