A Long Time Until Now - eARC

by Michael Z. Williamson

  “Roger that.” Spencer turned and shouted. “Did everyone hear that? Radius is marked. Stay inside on penalty of abandonment.”

  She would have no problem at all with that order. Bivvy bag, poncho, latrine and the jerky. She’d sit right there if need be.

  “How long?” she asked.

  Cryder turned and said, “One point nine days.”

  Yes, she could starve for that long if necessary.

  Bob came out and clicked his blowtorch. The fire lay flared up in seconds.

  Arnet said, “Got tub of wood in truck,” and waved his hand. Dalton and Ortiz ran over to unload it. That was gracious of the Cogi, she thought.

  By evening, they had a watch atop Number Nine, a firepit, coolers to sit on and shade and windbreaks to bivvy in. It was good enough. Though she knew she’d wake in pain even after sleeping on the litter, even with a geek pad. The sun sank into the west, down past the forest below as the east turned indigo then black.

  She stared at the bright and gleaming stars and drifted off.

  She woke late in the night, stared up, and noted how beautiful the stars were. With luck, she’d never see them like that again.

  Something shifted against her. She reached out and felt Cal’s fur, then realized: Cal was here.

  “Cal!” she exclaimed, and hugged him close.

  From a few feet away, Dalton said, “He crawled under the MRAP about an hour ago.”

  “Good cat, Cal.” Could she take him along? He was as much family as the other soldiers at this point.

  “Yeah, I hope he doesn’t decide to go hunting just before we head for home.”

  She had an idea.

  “Can you hold him? I’ll crochet another harness and we’ll keep him at hand.”

  “Sure. How long does that take you? Three minutes?” In the bare glow from the embers, he was smiling.

  “Hah. Closer to ten.” She still had her bone net needles, dug out the #8, and searched for a hank of 550 cord.

  Dalton sat up and held Cal firmly. The cat didn’t seem to mind so far.

  “Damn, he’s big.”

  “Yes, about three times the size of a housecat.” She started looping and pulling. She would have to actually tie him into it.

  He looked concerned as she fastened it around his neck, probably remembering the surgery last time he was restrained. She tied the second strap around his chest, then ran out a length of cord and tied it to a log.

  Cal wasn’t convinced. He tugged at the cord and darted around, snarling, though in frustration more than anger.

  “No, that won’t work, he might drag it through the fire. I guess I need to move to that side—”

  “I’ll swap with you.”

  “Thanks. Then I’ll make sure he can’t reach the edge of the circle.”

  It was dusky in the east by the time she moved her stuff, sat down, caught the cat, calmed him, and fed him a sliver of jerky. He seemed to accept the humans knew what they were doing, and mostly settled down.

  Spencer staggered over, wincing himself from sleeping on the ground. Yes, being Army-old sucked.

  “Well, I’m up,” she said. “Are we going to have any assigned chores?”

  Spencer said, “If not, I’ll find some. I don’t want anyone getting bored and starting fights with the Romans or Gadorth.”

  Dalton asked, “What about an actual wrestling tournament?”

  “And lose their respect?”

  “The LT and Caswell clobbered those Gadorth. The Romans are even smaller. I’m not worried.”

  “Hmm . . . if we do brackets, we can set them up with each other first, and not have to worry about us until the end.”

  She said, “I would rather watch them clobber each other than any of us. That would be more satisfying.”

  “I like that better,” Spencer said.

  * * *

  Richard Dalton stuck to his routine. He prayed, brushed his teeth, ate some jerky, checked with Spencer for chores, and made sure his gear was good to go.

  The day passed with wrestling. The Romans had brought the rest of their wine, and were well-lubricated by midday. The centurion kept them mostly in line, and everyone else gathered to watch.

  The Romans had left all their camp followers behind. They were practical people, if nothing else. He also suspected some of them had families back home who wouldn’t approve of savage barbarian wives. Though some were probably pissed off, but he figured they were used to disappointment.

  They also had some kind of sacrifice going, were divining a goat’s guts, and rattling their banners and such. Whatever they did for worship, they were doing it.

  They were after Christ’s time, but the Word had not yet reached them, not even as secondhand news. Well, it could take a while. John had written decades later. The message was still spreading even in their time in America.

  Cryder and Arnet walked among the Gadorth with Oglesby, apparently constantly reassuring them that the gods had assured them this was the thing to do. The Gadorth really didn’t want to get rid of their native wives, but Cryder insisted, with Oglesby’s help, that the spirits would kill and banish anyone who was out of their time. With much arguing, the group split. It didn’t look as if most of the Urushu women were that unhappy about staying here and not going with the Gadorth.

  He hoped it was right. Mercy, but he was tense. He couldn’t eat, didn’t want to go to the latrine even though it was inside the marked zone, and it wasn’t just the smell. What if the chosen radius was wrong? What if it cut someone in half?

  What if nothing happened? They’d already destroyed their camp, they’d have to start all over again.

  Dear God, we accept Your judgment in this matter. We have learned much, become close, and my faith in you is stronger than ever. If it fits your plan, please let us go home. In your Son’s name, Amen.

  That was all he could do.

  The day was long, with a cool wind turning brisk toward evening. If this didn’t work, they’d have to rebuild fast for the winter. On the one hand, they knew how, and had help from the Cogi, and basic labor from the Urushu. On the other, it would mean starting over.

  No one talked much. No “When we go home” chatter. Not even “if.” They were all afraid of jinxing it.

  The Romans got onto singing something that sounded like a campaign song. Meanwhile, the Gadorth were beating some kind of drum and sticks and doing something that could be an American Indian dance.

  By mid afternoon, everyone was in the trucks, sitting on the benches, messing around with their phones for music or movies or games. That hadn’t really been a thing for a year now, but here they were, already reverting. That was something to note, that dependence on gadgets. He caught himself watching The Incredibles, halfway through and not sure where the first half had gone. He had his back to a tire and his shoulders itched.

  He thought back to COB Bedrock. It was a fence and some huts, really. They’d just managed to reach the technology of the Middle Ages, though some of that they’d not known and couldn’t duplicate. With all their training and knowledge.

  He muttered to himself, “We’ve done so little. All our knowledge, once we got here, didn’t make that much difference.”

  Elliott overheard him.

  “We didn’t have enough people. Given an entire engineer company, we might have pulled it off.”

  “Yeah. You have to have family and community.”

  Something else bothered him.

  “What if we need the mammoths?”

  “Mammoths?”

  “We have all the groups here, all the survivors. What if we need the mammoths?”

  “Cryder assured me the dead and missing weren’t necessary. He did try to make sure everyone was accounted for. He came by this morning to double check my count.”

  “Good.” Yeah. The thought of someone left here alone was a nightmare.

  He decided he’d walk inside the perimeter, and make sure everyone was accounted for, from all groups. Leaving someon
e would be almost as bad as being left behind.

  * * *

  Sean Elliott didn’t sleep to speak of. He knew he zoned out and catnapped, but that was it.

  This morning they would go home. Hopefully. So they were told. The rising sun cast long shadows over the other groups. It was warm, and the field was full of bugs. It was amazing how pruning and gravel made a lot of them go away. This was a raw field. He slapped and waved at annoying little things.

  He was almost as tense as when they arrived. He really needed to see about some anxiety medications or something.

  Oh, fuck that, he had every right to be a jittery bundle of nerves.

  Arnet ambled over, wearing his uniform in basic gray.

  “Do you have all your artifacts?” the man asked. He was still clean shaven with neat hair. It was as if he’d been in the field a week, not a year.

  “Everything we didn’t consume or destroy,” he confirmed.

  The Cogi turned to the musketeers and asked the same thing, then the Romans and the Gadorth.

  Arnet advised him, “It may happen at any time. Stay well widin the marked area, just in case.”

  “Understood. I’ll keep four people on watch at a time.”

  “Thank you. We unnerstand each other. The difrence between you and the other groups is signif.”

  Dalton, in full battle rattle, was up behind the M240B. All the other-time refugees knew what it could do, and they moved nervously, interacting only within their groups.

  They had water, some jerky and time. He wasn’t sure if it was going to happen or not. All they could do was be patient.

  “Hurry up and wait,” Trinidad said.

  “And watch the savages for any signs of betrayal.” He wasn’t joking.

  “I wonder if the Cogi think we’re savages.”

  He shrugged. “Probably, but we kept them alive and they hang out with us, so we’re better than average.” He didn’t care what the Cogi thought of them if they got home.

  “Or just better than the worst.”

  “Dunno.”

  Twenty minutes later, Cryder shouted.

  “Elyot. Got sig.”

  “Signal? Temporal?”

  “Yu. Summa spike. Postive devpment, wooz?”

  “Very. What now?” He fought down excitement. He didn’t want to get any hopes up.

  “Hang. Will track.” He jumped into the vehicle, slapped down the door and started rolling for the perimeter.

  Elliott was half in a panic. On the one hand, Arnet was still here, and he didn’t think Cryder would leave him behind. On the other, what if he got snatched back in the vehicle?

  But he said someone had located them.

  Gina tried to keep Cal calm. He wanted to prowl, to hunt, and the humans weren’t letting him. He wasn’t up to scratching yet, but he growled, had his ears back flat, and definitely didn’t like being in the vehicle.

  “Easy, boy,” she said.

  Barker was rummaging through the coolers.

  He said, “Hah. I knew I scorched a bit of liver. Feed him this.” He dropped it on the scuffed and dusty metal floor.

  The cat sniffed the morsel and disdained it for several seconds to show his disapproval, but then scarfed it down.

  “When will we know?” she asked.

  “About oh nine twenty-five. It hasn’t changed.”

  “I didn’t know the exact time,” she said.

  “We talked about it this morning. And last night. And two weeks ago.”

  “We did?”

  “Yes.”

  That scared her. Small but important details that everyone knew were not in her brain.

  The BANG caught them by surprise, as it had the first time. That was followed by a bone-jarring thump. They’d fallen about four feet. Cal yowled almost like a housecat and scampered behind her legs.

  She looked out the back while fumbling for her weapon. They were no longer on the promontory. They were under a huge semi-translucent dome, bigger than any football stadium.

  People in what were obviously lab clothes ran back and forth. The outfits were white coveralls and hoods. The people were all over six foot, lean and perfect. Most were blond, all had clear skin and were very European.

  Cryder appeared behind the vehicle, said said something that was almost English, and five lab people ran over.

  One of them was at the rear of the truck facing Gina in a second, and he or she said, “For safety, I must have your weapons.”

  “Ah, sir?” she asked, looking over at the captain, who had sprawled on the ground when they dropped. She wasn’t about to hand over anything without his say so, no matter how amazing this place might be.

  He stood and dusted himself. “Yes,” he said. “I don’t think we have a choice. Rules for POWs are in effect, just in case.”

  She locked the bolt back, dropped the magazine, checked the chamber and handed the rifle and magazine over. Her respondent, who Alexander felt was female based on body language, took it and stuck it against her back. It remained there.

  The woman then pointed at her RAT-7.

  She didn’t think of that as a weapon. It was her friend, her companion, that had kept her alive. Reluctantly, she unsnapped the mounts and pulled it off her belt. She offered her tanto, but didn’t mention her neck knife, her folder or her Gerber plier.

  Then the woman wanted her camera.

  Without it she was naked. She understood they wanted security, and might be concerned about either contaminating images, intel leaks, or even think it was a weapon. It was their country, she’d abide by their rules, but that was her other friend. She felt helpless. Her smaller knives were not discovered, and she wasn’t going to offer them.

  “Please come all with us.”

  She grabbed Cal’s harness and pulled as he snarled and hissed. Once he was out from under the seat, she grabbed his forepaws, tossed him under her arm and gripped.

  Bereft of weapons and large gear, but still with pocket knives and accessories, they followed the lead, as other future people surrounded them. Yes, they all looked like beautiful Norse gods. They varied from feminine to masculine, with other androgynes in between.

  She yelped for a moment as the floor shifted. It was like a sliding walkway, but she didn’t see any obvious signs of it, and the floor alongside wasn’t moving. Gravity control? Matter manipulation? The colors here were dizzyingly geometric, obviously art, almost Southwestern but tremendously more sophisticated. She raised her phone and hoped it might get an image. Likely, they had the device blocked or would take it. In the meantime, she meant to try. They rode around half the dome, as dozens of people in coverall suits approached the other groups and made them pile up spears and swords.

  Then they were through a door and in a smaller room, barely fifty feet across with a vaulted ceiling. As large as it was, it felt enclosed after being outside for months. There were chairs, amorphous looking and smooth gray.

  “You will be safe and comfortable here while we study.”

  The captain said, “We may as well get comfortable. Likely there’s more paperwork to be done here.”

  “So we’re in the future now.”

  “Yes, so it seems they can move stuff back and forth. We may get home.”

  Gina said nothing. She wasn’t going to stress over it unless and until they were home. But the hope was there.

  She leaned back in the chair with a bit of stretch and it reclined.

  “Wooaaah!” she yelped. She threw her arms out, and the chair extruded rests under them. Cal jumped away and under the chair. She hung onto the harness end like a leash.

  “Oookay, that’s a bit disturbing,” she said.

  There were noises around her as the others discovered the same thing.

  “But I am comfortable.” Very comfortable. She felt as if she were hanging in air, completely free of the ground. She raised an arm, let it fall back, and couldn’t feel much change. The material was springy, but that light.

  “Oh, yeahhhh,”
Dalton sighed from her left. “That is so much better.”

  The female said, “This place is for you. Ask any questions. I depart.” She turned and walked out. And somewhere along the way, all the weapons she’d accumulated had vanished.

  Caswell said, “Well, it seems comfortable enough physically.”

  “But not otherwise?”

  “All the ones giving orders present as male. And they’re all very Caucasian.”

  “I noticed that,” Devereaux agreed.

  “What does it mean?” she asked.

  “Dunno.”

  “And who do we ask questions of, if we’re alone?”

  He twitched suddenly.

  “Did everyone else hear that?” he asked.

  “No?”

  “Can you speak so everyone can hear?” he spoke while looking up.

  “Yup. I’m th facilty tendant. I cn ans ques und pervide service.” The voice was a well-modulated baritone, speaking Cogi English.

  Elliott asked, “What year is this by our calendar? We are from one hundred forty-seven years after the death of Abraham Lincoln.”

  “Uh dun have pmission t rlis th info.”

  Ever practical, Spencer asked, “Where are the latrine facilities?”

  “F you walk to’ard th sexion of wall now lit, the relief and sanitary facilities ll ’pear.”

  Caswell asked, “Is there anything to eat or drink?”

  “Food and bevage ’ll ’rrive shorly. How do y’ dvide the day cycle?”

  “Twenty-four hours, each of sixty minutes, each of sixty seconds.”

  “Bevrage will be pervided at once, in under three minutes. Food will be provided within twenty-six minutes.”

  Spencer muttered, “Damn. Future shower first, or food first?” And damn, it had corrected to their idiom and pronunciation within three sentences. That was one hell of an AI, or one hell of a translation algorithm.

  “I am not programmed to make subjective choices for you, and as yet lack sufficient knowledge to advise.”

  “It’s common in our era to ask rhetorical questions that do not require an answer. That was an example.”

  “I understand. Be advised I will always respond to a question. Here is your selection of beverages.”

  They came in through the floor, on a table that seemed to materialize. It was a cool blue color. The containers were open pitchers of some transparent plastic, as were the glasses. They looked high tech, but were clearly recognizeable and plain enough.