A Long Time Until Now - eARC

by Michael Z. Williamson

  “We’re here.”

  “Yup. Shovel things here.” Cryder reached back, grabbed two tool things with protrusions, twisted and pulled until they turned into very efficient looking shovels.

  Zikom and Ki!cla had enough practice with shovels to go straight at it, digging away at the dirt over the vein, scraping at it, piling it up.

  Cryder twisted another tool into something like a coal shovel.

  “Yours,” he said.

  Spencer was rather irritated. The man intended to sit there while they did the work. On the other hand, he was trading transport and technology, and he had to protect his own vehicle.

  He wondered if the Gadorth and Urushu felt this way about him and the other Americans.

  Cryder sat back with his goggles and some kind of control glove and played whatever game he had cued up.

  The Stone Agers dug, he shoveled, the bin was easy to reach and had an agitator built in so everything settled down as he loaded. He’d toss in a shovel load, the bin would shake for a few moments, and it seemed to detect gaps and continue until they compacted. It only took an hour to get a full load of coarse salt, white with hints of gray and pink.

  Cryder tracked their progress, and as they reached the top, said, “Wooz. Back now.”

  As they rolled downhill, he could see the COB when they crested ridgelines. It was a neat little place. They’d need to expand shortly. They’d likely expand forever.

  “Cryder, is our presence going to interfere with the time line? Do you have any information?”

  “No info. Various possibles.”

  “We figured either it has no effect, things correct around us. It has some effect and things adapt to it. Or it splits off a new timeline.”

  “Prolly not last.”

  “Oh?”

  Cryder shrugged. “Just prolly not.”

  “Okay.”

  Well, the future people seemed a bit less worried about some aspects. Was that good?

  He was hesitant to ask the next question, but did anyway.

  “How did you find us?”

  “Metal mass. Magnetmetr.”

  “Yeah, I guess it would be pretty distinctive.”

  “Wooz.”

  “We have that, but not small enough for trucks.”

  “Nesry on field.”

  “If we had it, we’d use it, for sure.” He was still a bit irked about Cryder treating him as common labor. He was quite happy to take a turn digging, but Cryder had been gaming.

  The hierarchy was established. He was near the top at least. Nor was he above manual labor, far from it. It was just a bit depressing to see how fast it adapted.

  His phone rang. He pulled it from his pocket and stared at it in shock.

  “Hello?” he answered.

  Gina’s voice said, “Spencer, we have cell net!”

  “Yes, Cryder said they were going to do that.”

  “Isn’t it great?”

  “I don’t know yet, but I like it, and I can see uses for it.”

  He wondered if there was some way to build a map of the area and locate themselves. That would be a great addition for traveling.

  Back at Bedrock, Cryder put the vehicle within an inch or two of starting point. In only a couple of minutes, the water was connected again, and the shower stall erected.

  Zikom and Ki!cla bowed out with profuse thanks. Cryder waved, and adjusted something on the control stem.

  “Chloride salt in here. Magnesium here, Potassium here.” He pointed at three different compartments the bin had apparently separated itself into.

  “Awesome. How long?”

  “Hourso.”

  “Can you refine any from the stream water?”

  “Does. Slow, though.”

  “I imagine. But good, that helps.”

  Gina found Arnet easier to talk to than Cryder. He was more verbal and used his hands for emphasis. He was lean, taut, with neat twinkle to his eyes. He had healthy looking light skin with a nice olive cast under it, not just pasty white. His hair was gorgeous, even in the wild.

  She looked at the frame showing connectivity. “Okay, it’s a network, and now we have better commo. Thanks very much.”

  “Noprob. Wooz.”

  “Do you have a way to create grid coordinates either based on Earth proper, or zeroed on this area?”

  “Either, both. Should I?”

  “Please. And a map would be useful.”

  “You had aerial maps of ground?”

  “Yes, fairly good ones, depending on the area.” She thought about scale. “Three meters shown in a two centimeter square on some civilian systems.”

  “We have maps, general area, simlar rez.”

  “Great. How do we transfer those?”

  “Waita, gorra check with Cryder.”

  She shouldn’t have assumed they’d share that intel, but at the same time, they’d mentioned it. She held off on calling Trinidad, because he would want to see this, too.

  “Cryder says okay. Want me to file it?”

  “Uh, I prefer to be the interface. Can we make the formats compatible?”

  “Show where you want to file,” he said.

  She opened up a new folder for now. She’d put it in the intel folder later. There probably wasn’t anything there the Cogi didn’t have already, but it was encrypted and she took security seriously.

  “There,” she said.

  He nodded, pointed at the screen, thumbed his device, and said, “Okay.”

  She looked, and there was a file there, in .jpg.

  “How did you do that?”

  “Jus told grip to find format and send.”

  There was a wireless connection, but how had he accessed it that fast, into the laptop, and in the right format? In seconds?

  “How much access and bandwidth do you have with that?”

  He shrugged. “Hard to define. More than yours.”

  “I gathered. Can I ask you not to try to look at our files without asking? As a courtesy?”

  “Yeah, we respect that priv in our culture. Image takers all over.” He tapped his glasses.

  “We’re starting to get that in ours. Were,” she said, holding up her phone. He nodded.

  “I won’t go in wout asking.”

  “Thank you,” she said. She was still going to disconnect power when away, and bury personal info behind more encryption. It might not help, but she had to try.

  She opened the file and let out a gasp.

  “That’s one hell of a map,” she said.

  It showed both Roman settlements, the Gadorth village across the river, the Urushu upriver and another one beyond that. South it showed the hills. North it showed the river and the wooded plain. It was a good forty mile view.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  “Wooz. I let you work.”

  He rose and slipped back out.

  She clutched Cal with one hand as she zoomed in with the other. South . . . ridge . . . no. Not there. It would have been . . . Urushu village, now Roman camp, and south, then . . .

  That was it. That dirty little round spot was where they’d come through.

  It almost seemed like it should have some kind of shrine marker.

  She panned away, not wanting to be reminded of it. She had trouble remembering anyway. They’d come through . . . and a week or so later they’d reached the Urushu village. There was something about a tribal dance.

  Her memory would get increasingly fuzzy as she got more lethargic. Eventually depression would reach critical stage. She already wanted a nap.

  She wondered if the sweetbreads were doing any good at all. They weren’t terrible, but weren’t particularly tasty, and she had no idea how far off kilter she was.

  Still, they now had modern telecommunications. It was actually possible they’d achieve twentieth century technology here. Spencer knew how to make radio coils. They had limited electricity, and if they could draw wire, might manage a windmill and a bank of lead-acid batteries. They could bu
ild windmills or waterwheels. They might actually manage it. They had knowledge, they now had labor, and the Cogi had references.

  They would never have chocolate, though.

  Nor Synthroid.

  CHAPTER 37

  Martin woke when his phone beeped. It was a message.

  Message?

  He picked it up, clicked it open. Text message.

  Silence your phone.

  What the hell was this? He silenced it, and texted back, Who is this?

  The next text was an image file. He opened it.

  That was a photo of Gina, from neck to thigh, naked. He slowly enlarged it and panned across it.

  Damn. Thank you.

  You’re welcome. You can save this. It’s better than trying to sneak peeks.

  You caught me.

  My friend, everyone is trying to sneak peeks. ;)

  Yes.

  Doc is on watch, so you have an hour. Any ideas?

  He took a long, deep breath. He wanted human contact. He wanted a partner. But interaction was still very high on his list, and this was interaction and feedback.

  Quite a few, he typed. Dumb phone. Slow msg.

  Then you read and I’ll tell you a story. I’m here alone, and I’m going to do some things . . .

  He missed an hour’s sleep and loved every moment of it. He was on after Doc, and was cleaned up and ready to go on shift.

  Doc had been on with Caswell. He nodded. Those interactions weren’t going to be common, but might be workable when they were both alone.

  Apparently, Gina’s “still married” wall was developing cracks. His was gone. He wasn’t sure what adjustment he’d made—his family wasn’t even alive yet, and wasn’t dead, but he accepted they were lost to him. He could only wish them well.

  Sexual interaction with a woman he was very interested in should not trigger PTSD.

  Especially one with such a vivid imagination. If she was serious about some of those comments, she was more flexible than some porn stars. Whew.

  “How does it look?” he asked Doc.

  “Quiet. Creepy cracking noises from the trees again.”

  “Well, we won’t have that problem next year.”

  “Yeah. Less trees.”

  “It’s ecologically sound.”

  Caswell said, “I know you’re joking, and I know it’s unavoidable. I just . . . ”

  “I know,” he said. “I like trees, too. Shade, climbing. I wish we had some close, but security issues, ease of resources.”

  “I know,” she said. “I don’t have to like it.”

  Doc slid down and away.

  Martin said, “In A-stan and Iraq, I hated seeing piles of usable stuff left in the desert. I know it’ll get reused by locals, but so much was stuff we could have taken. And I’d give a testicle for a hundred pounds of loose scrap tools here, that I could forge into stuff.”

  “Well, I just pinged Ortiz,” she said. “Having phones again is another odd thing. I’d gotten used to not having so much communication. It’s useful, but I almost wish we didn’t have it.”

  “Eh, I’ve only got a dumb phone, and I’m glad we do have it. It’s going to help scouting missions a lot.”

  “There is that,” she said. “And photos.”

  “Yes, those could be important.”

  “Or just artistic,” she said. “I’m not as good as Gina, but I’m a fair photographer.”

  “True. We can build our own gallery of stuff. Having that scroll in the tepee in winter could make a big psychological difference.”

  “I’m not sure you’d want all of my photos scrolling,” she said. “Here’s Ortiz. Take care.”

  He wasn’t quite sure what she’d just said or implied. It didn’t fit her public persona, but he’d rarely seen her private one.

  He was glad it was dark, because he was sure he was blushing.

  Caius studied the Americani camp openly, standing two hundred yards downhill. It was impressively built. There were details he might have done differently, but it was certainly proof against anything short of a major assault or a siege. The small gate was protected by rampart and ditch. The main gate might be charged by a ram, but those banduka would chop to bits anyone who tried.

  The evening sun illuminated it well, and he could see the man on watch atop their central redoubt. He was reachable with arrows, but his weapon outranged any bow. They could see in the dark, or turn on directional lanterns that outshone the moon. They were disciplined and took their task seriously. Their armor could stop spears, and they had those strange glass eye covers that cut the sun and protected against debris, and the others that could see in the dark.

  The pilus prior had been an idiot not to believe him about their strength. If one banduka existed, and they obviously did, since the Indians had them, then better ones could. He had not lied when he stated the female had fired eleven shots in a few seconds, eight of them at once. Why the man chose to ignore that advice when three Americani arrived in camp with weapons was simply boggling. The man had deserved to die. As had the fool who’d tried to instigate a fight here.

  Now the Romans had an embassy of sorts, downhill from the camp, but uphill from the other savages. The Americani had offered a bucket of salt as incentive.

  He was impressed with their tribune’s patience. The man could have wiped them all out. On the other hand, he was busy governing his own village here.

  Caius didn’t perceive a military threat. He did think it was entirely possible Tribune Elliott would attempt, intentionally or not, to draw more people, including Romans, into a town around his fort. An alliance between the two was possible, but Rome and her soldiers would not serve another, even if he claimed to be from some future Rome.

  Nor was Caius sure of that claim. The Americani language had lots of Latin vocabulary, but the grammar was wrong and there was lots of Germani, too.

  Whatever they were, they weren’t really Roman. They’d displaced Rome. That irritated him deeply, and also frightened him. If they could do that to the Empire, what else could they do? What was the future?

  They wouldn’t tell him. But it obviously didn’t include Rome.

  They wanted help with several mundane tasks, from leather and pottery, to ironworking. These were things every unit should have craftsman in, and know the basics of. If they didn’t, it meant they’d lost those skills.

  That was another item of note and concern. They had banduka that fired a lot of bullets. How were those made if not on a forge?

  He would treat with them, but he’d choose his ambassadors carefully, and counsel them to keep tight tongues.

  Winter was inbound. Sean Elliott looked around his small command in satisfaction. This time, they had baskets and boxes of fruit, dried and ready. They had smoked meat, dried vegetables ready to add to thick stews, salt, fat. They had a huge rick of firewood in useful lengths, both solid sections and split. The Urushu had a lodge with a hearth. The Gadorth had a longhouse. The Romans had a small roundhouse. Those were both outside the wall, visible from the turrets.

  Cryder and Arnet mostly stayed in their vehicle. Occasionally they’d offer an insight, or run some kind of scan to help find materials. Their library was very useful, at least the parts they shared. He noticed they were very protective of it, either because of technology or history they didn’t want to share. They did share their transforming tools.

  But for labor itself, they’d do about ten minutes each, then disappear for half the day. They had some kind of game software with them, as well as all the vast memory of their library, and didn’t really have much interest in anyone except to study the primitives. They were always there for meals, of course.

  Those meals were flavored with their refined salt, so he decided it was still fair, all in all.

  This would be a lot more comfortable than the previous winter, now that there were timber or gravel walks between most buildings, a second windbreak around the latrine, and a sweat lodge with a hot tub. A weekly bath and soak in t
he heat would do wonders for all of them.

  He already had plans drawn for next year. An annex downslope, which might affect waste matters, though if they could pipe water from upstream, that went away. Cryder said the Cogi vehicle could shape wood troughs for an aqueduct, and the Romans would certainly know how to build one and understand why. They would build another corral with a higher fence and see about some aurochs. They might manage to clip and domesticate some fowl. That gave them a full range of meat, a reasonable number of tubers for starch, some greens, rice, nuts, berries and occasional honey. Oh, yes, Caswell wanted to build a hive, and they had split timbers to do it with.

  At this point, he figured their past, now future, was gone. They would have to do the best they could here, and if their developments caught on and fucked up the timestream or whatever? Well, the timestream should have thought about that before it sent them here.

  He was going to need a wife. He also needed to pursue the idea of a mayor for the town, and letting people’s terms of service expire. The Army discipline had been useful, but they were working more as a community now, and eventually the Army would be more prison than home. Especially as two of them weren’t even Army.

  He could probably hold off that discussion until spring, but he needed to have answers ready when people started asking.

  For now, the standing order of, “No fraternizing in the COB” had somewhat limited interaction. Oglesby and Doc had regular, or at least repeat, girlfriends they met with every couple of weeks. There weren’t any disease outbreaks and no one was pregnant yet. He wasn’t sure what the rest were doing, and while he needed information for decision making, those weren’t the kind of questions he was prepared to ask, especially of the females.

  Though he did get the impression Caswell was interested in Arnet. He wondered how that would work out.

  Except for the cold, Felix Trinidad felt almost at home. He had a small but sealed cabin with a slate floor. It had a fireplace and chimney that drafted well. His pallet was a sleeping bag set on his foam pad atop quilted hides set on a frame of pegged timbers and rawhide. It actually wasn’t bad, and more comfortable than many Army beds. Caswell had done a good job with them. He had a battery powered light and phone. His clothes were hung on a line to give some privacy between his bunk and Ortiz’s. On the whole, it was better than quite a few field deployments, and on par with parts of the PI, including the village he’d lived in until he was ten.