A Long Time Until Now - eARC

by Michael Z. Williamson

  He noticed the two of them were talking while Twine watched. Was she senior and they research fellows? Or did she represent an intel source?

  “Will it get better with practice?” he asked.

  Lar said, “Theoretically, but given the fallout incidents with this use, we may have to discontinue until more advanced capabilities exist.”

  “But you can send us home?” he asked urgently. Please . . .

  Ed said, “Physically we can. The advisability and safety are being reviewed. We have input, but no conclusive authority over that. Morally, we should send you home. What repercussions it may have for others is a counter question.”

  “I understand.”

  They weren’t home yet. Though this prison would be much more comfortable, if it must be.

  CHAPTER 45

  Dan Oglesby was playing Halo when he heard his name.

  “Yes?” he replied.

  “This is Researcher Twine. I am informed you have knowledge of the Neolith language.”

  That sounded much more interesting. He put the controller down.

  He spoke to the overhead, “I was able to compile a basic lexicon and grammar, and a workable pidgin.”

  “Would you be willing to assist us in communicating with them?”

  “If you need me to, sure.”

  She said, “We could engineer the translations ourselves, but if you have them already there is no need to duplicate the effort.”

  “I’ll be glad to help.” It was nice to be needed professionally, and it would help with the boredom. He’d forgotten how to play, the controller was different, and he really didn’t care about it anymore.

  Her voice said, “The attendant will guide you to our location.”

  “This way,” said House’s voice. A line lit on the floor, and he walked along it.

  The route was surprisingly direct, out a doorway that was almost ethereal, right, down a corridor that was decorated with more optical art, and right again through a door. There was some kind of frame for the door, but it wasn’t obvious, and they had a hologram or something hiding it. He just followed the line through and it wasn’t there.

  The Gadorth had been equipped with hide and limb shelters, though obviously for comfort, not necessity. They were all gathered around their eating table, which appeared to be slabs of wood, and there was what appeared to be a hologram of a fire near the far wall.

  “Heyla, Muta,” he greeted the nearest one he recognized.

  “Heyla, Dan! Woosi gahn nit la.” Welcome at our new home.

  “Tat woosa, Muta.” Thank you I am welcome. It was also “feel welcome” and “for welcoming me.” Their grammar and syntax was flexible, with context mattering for most statements.

  Lex Twine, he was embarrassed he couldn’t remember her full name, was there with two other subordinates. She wore what was almost a casual pantsuit without a collar, in vivid blue with a black skin-hugging shirt. The others wore T-shirts, as near as he could tell, and pants that were even more covered in pockets than ACUs. One each female and male, tall, blond, beautiful.

  Twine said, “Thank you, Specialist Oglesby. Or do you prefer Dan?”

  “Either is fine, I guess. I enjoy being informal, but it’s nice to be recognized, too.” And damn, she was hot. He tried not to stare at her boobs, just below his eye level. Everyone here so far was perfectly formed and fed. They varied from elfin to curvy, but all the women were smoking. He wasn’t sure about the androgynous ones. Those were a bit creepy.

  He didn’t know what discussions had gone on, but the Gadorth seemed to know the scientists were off limits. They didn’t approach Twine or the others. They didn’t seem to know about House, either.

  He noticed one Cogi man near the back, who seemed to occasionally point at things for them. So they had a live host. That made sense. He gathered a voice from the sky would terrify them.

  Twine asked, “Can you preface translations in English so we can build our own lexicon?”

  “Of course. I also have written notes if those are of use.”

  “Please! Where are they?” Alexian. That was her name.

  “They’ll be in my bags in our vehicle.”

  “Can you extend permission for us to retrieve them?”

  “Sure. You know which bags are which?”

  “If not, a DNA sniffer will easily tell.”

  “Ah, right. Just bring my laptop to me and I’ll take it from there. Do you have one hundred ten volt electrical power?”

  “We can provide any current needed, but we can also read the data remotely. If you consent, I promise all other data will remain unseen by people. An automatic system will scan for your notes.”

  “Oh, sure, if you can do that.” He wasn’t really sure about that, but it wasn’t as if he could stop them, and other than his porn there really wasn’t much private content.

  The Gadorth seemed to be engaged in a scientific study of foodstuffs, trying a bite each of everything offered and discussing it boisterously.

  Twine said, “We’re trying to localize them as we localized you, but it may not be feasible.”

  “I know Sergeant Spencer said Doggerland. It was turning swampy and marshy but was not yet inundated. He figured they were about six thousand BC, by our counting.”

  Twine flipped her eyebrows, grabbed a phone, and rapidfired almost-English into it.

  “Twine doc tempi third point corel Romn, ‘Mehrgan backcalc split time source.”

  Someone said, “Yeah. Rici!”

  Turning to him, she said, “We should be able to work out the time. Location is harder.”

  “How critical is it?”

  Her gorgeous grin stabbed him. “Now you ask too many curious questions, Dan. Shall we talk to your friends?”

  “Certainly.” He turned and called, “Muta, ku sif ta.”

  Muta came over and clutched his shoulders again, and started introducing everyone by name and background. They didn’t quite use chosen cognomens, nor patronymics, but almost clan references except they combined past and present into a compound word. It had taken a while to figure that one out. He explained that to Twine.

  “I understand,” she said. “We’re picking up a lot from your interactions. Keep going.”

  He was there all morning, and it was fascinating to see their combination of primitive and ultramodern. Their latrine had squat holes and a cascade of water like a waterfall, that was lukewarm. The food service was the same. Their huts were notional covers with bedding that was obviously supported by the same tech as the reclining seat-beds the Americans had, but disguised as quilted hide. It was a Potemkin Village illusion for comfort.

  Seeing that, he wondered what the future really looked like, how much wasn’t being shown them even in their own quarters. Still, he was able to sprawl when sleeping now, rather than being confined to a bag width. The beds here would open as wide as you wanted.

  “How are the Romans and the Indians doing, Ms. Twine?”

  “The Romans are fascinating. They are well-bonded as a unit, and are much less . . . reserved . . . than your people. They are consuming much, and while self-policing, need a lot of support. The Indians are obsequiously grateful and seem exhausted. They are resting and uninterested in much other than talking amongst themselves and a table game variant to Chess.”

  “The Romans were using them as indentured labor.”

  “So we deduced. Captain Elliott has given us some summary of the interactions. You are all to be lauded on your efforts to act as intermediaries and avoid conflict.”

  “Thank you, ma’am.” Yeah, they had tried.

  “Your data and translation is most helpful. I don’t know how closely we can return them, but it should be within a few decades and kilometers. Unfortunately, that is the best accuracy we are likely to get. We may be able to narrow it down.”

  “Decades? Is that as close as we’ll get?” That was a disturbing thought. Though if they arrived in the 1950s, they could be rich choosing stocks. />
  She smiled and placed a hand gently on his arm. “We can be more accurate in your case, since we have specific time ticks to work with. They lack a calendar, maps, or significant records.”

  “I see.” That was reassuring.

  “Please keep in mind that is not my field, and I can only give you an overview. I have no decision-making authority on that.”

  So it wasn’t definite they were going home.

  “Well, this place isn’t home, but it’s more comfortable than a bug-filled cabin in proto-A-stan. I am grateful.” A fuck of a lot more comfortable.

  “Thank you. I will relay that. You can return now.” She smiled again.

  “Are you visiting later?” he asked hopefully.

  “I am. Should I dress down?”

  “Uh . . .” It sounded as if she were offering . . .

  She said, “All the men in your element seem to appreciate my appearance. I’m flattered. If you’d like to see my natural self, I don’t mind, if it won’t make you uncomfortable.”

  Whew.

  They were going to hate him, but after his previous interactions with natives, he said, “If you’re asking me, why don’t you dress up a bit, and use your natural appearance to display the outfit?”

  “I’ll consider it,” she said. “There’s your light.”

  He looked down. Yes, so it was.

  “Have a good day, Ms. Twine,” he said.

  “And you, Specialist Oglesby.”

  He was glad she chose to be formal. Whew. Brains, beauty, and that voice. Amazing.

  He needed a drink.

  Armand wasn’t nearly as comfortable as the white troops. There was no one here with any melanin at all. Well, that wasn’t true. Some were tanned bronze or olive or even darker, almost black, some were sheened in green or blue. He suspected a lot of that was done with chemicals. A couple had faint Asian casts to them, Korean or Japanese in ancestry. There was no one the slightest bit African in features, though.

  It didn’t make sense for people to have split themselves up by race so thoroughly. Racial mixing was well underway in the twenty-first century, with air travel as common as it was. For it to not only stop, but regress, suggested some serious disaster.

  He and Trinidad were away from the others. He wanted to think and didn’t want TV.

  “Felix, what do you think of the genetics here?”

  “Red hot Swedish babes, all of them,” he said. “I wonder where everyone else is?”

  “Yeah, exactly that.”

  “They seem to have separated genetics, culture, appearance. Which I guess to mean there was a massive war and the Euros won. Or some kind of economic collapse, except that wouldn’t explain clarifying gene lines.”

  “Yeah. It’s like some Nazi master race bullshit.”

  It would take a long time, too. You didn’t wipe out entire gene lines instantly. There were always half breeds and diluted ethnicities.

  “They treat us all the same that I can tell.”

  “They do. But they won’t explain how this happened, and it’s important.”

  Felix said, “I see other races, but not Africans. There are several with Asian ancestry of different types, including South, East and Chinese. I don’t see Filipinos or Malays. There are obvious Hispanics and what look like Siberians. The rest is or entirely are Caucasian. So I’m thinking we’re in Asia somewhere, which makes sense. It’s likely in A-stan.”

  He said, “With the Euros in charge, and no Africans.”

  Felix nodded. “It looks that way, and I understand your distress.”

  He hesitated, and asked, “Attendant, I have a technical question.”

  “If it concerns genotypes I cannot give you an answer.”

  “Are you unable or not allowed to?”

  “The parameters do not permit of an answer.”

  Was that to the first or second question?

  Felix said, “Want me to ask for you?”

  Was there a discreet way to do that? Hell, Felix was intel. And he’d already asked openly, once.

  “Sure, if you can.”

  Just then, Spencer called.

  “Listen up! PT time. We’re going to do calisthenic warm-ups and run around inside our oversized yurt, here.”

  That might help. He fell into formation.

  “We’ll start with pushups.”

  Dalton replied, “The pushup!”

  “Funny. I’m informal here, but let’s do it. Two minutes on the clock . . . now.”

  A half hour and two miles later, with situps and leg lifts as well, he was sweaty, endorphin high and flushed.

  The attendant said, “Larilee Zep is approaching.”

  They turned as she came through the doorway.

  “Good day,” she said.

  “Good day, ma’am,” Felix said. “Why is it we see several racial influences among the staff here, but no Africans?”

  Well, that was direct.

  “That’s a complicated question,” she replied, and he was sure she was trying to cover something. “Some of it has to do with genetic diseases, and I can’t share more than that. There is no direct animosity or intent to exclude anyone. In fact, most people have very mixed lineage at this point. There is almost no one with what you would consider pure genetic lines, which were questionable even in your era.”

  “Thanks. What is your makeup, if we can ask?”

  “I am . . . part construct. Fully human, but with selected traits.”

  “Is everyone who looks androgynous like that?”

  “No, that is a personal lifestyle choice. Forgive me. You deserve answers, as far as I can and am allowed to give them. But we don’t generally ask such things of strangers here. Privacy is scarce in many ways, so we cherish what there is. However, I’ll answer as much as I can as a diplomatic courtesy.”

  “So are there Africans, or people with African ancestry here?” Armand asked.

  “Yes,” she said with a nod. “Few, but present. We do not divide ourselves along those lines, and there is no reason for any animosity.”

  He was still sure she was hiding something.

  “Thank you,” he said.

  After a week, they settled into a dull routine. Richard Dalton hated it. They could watch any number of movies or TV, read books, or sit and talk. There were board games, Xbox, pretty much any recreation from their time seemed to be available.

  After two years in purgatory, they were novelties, but everyone was rusty at games and had to learn over again.

  For himself, a lot of it just didn’t seem to matter anymore. He’d rather work or talk to people. Those were what mattered.

  He held service on Sunday and almost everyone attended. Even Spencer lurked in back.

  They sat at the dinner table and he read from Job 38.

  “Bored, Sergeant?” he asked afterward.

  Spencer said, “Partly. But you can be a very motivational speaker. You should pursue it.”

  “You think so?”

  “You kept several of our people in good spirits during this. Really. Don’t underestimate yourself.”

  “Thanks, Sergeant.”

  “You’re welcome. I hope it can be ‘Martin’ sometime.”

  “Time for pancakes,” Barker said. “And bacon.”

  Wheat was so awesome when you didn’t have it for two years.

  “A timeless combination.” He said. “I do miss the acorn pancakes.”

  Barker pointed at the table. “Yeah, but I ordered vanilla buckwheat with honey and peaches.”

  “Damn. Awesome.”

  The food here was always perfect, every time, and still managed to be unique every time.

  “Is the food prepared by hand?” he asked.

  Attendant said, “Some is. The rest is automated, but, there are algorithms to allow variation across a spectrum. You can request adjustments or select a particular variation by referencing it.”

  The contrast was extreme, between whatever one could hunt and find in the vagaries
of nature, or whatever one chose from an infinite selection. This was easier, but he wasn’t sure the other wasn’t better for the soul.

  Cal hovered around, waiting for the humans to toss him bits of something. He was fond of ham and bacon, and was convinced lamb was caracal candy. He brushed against Rich’s legs. Rich tossed a bit of bacon down, and the cat snatched it with a protective growl.

  Somehow, the facility-cleaning bots managed to take care of the cat piss and turd deposits. Rich wasn’t sure where the cat went, but it was probably in spots to mark territory, and were never visible.

  He thought back to the food. It was an interesting moral lesson. He’d been in the wilds of God’s world for two years, living by the sweat of his brow. Now he was inside a cocoon that could provide anything without effort.

  That afternoon, Researcher Alexian Twine returned. She was dressed in a coverall that had flowing legs, no sleeves and was V-necked. That was strangely hot.

  “Richard,” she asked, “may we discuss your faith with you?”

  “Of course!” he said. Did they still have Christianity?

  “Thank you. Your interpretation of Scripture will be most welcome.”

  “Don’t you have records?”

  “Yes, but few from nonscholars, and a personal interaction is always a sociological desideratum.”

  He retrieved his Bible, well worn and sagging as it was. He would certainly get another copy at home, but this one was special and would be with him for life. Its Word had given him so much solace in the last two years.

  A bubble formed around them, with several of the morphing couches. He sat upright for this. It didn’t seem respectful to Witness from a sprawl.

  Twine was joined by Ed Ruj in those snug shorts, and two other people. Mas Johns was short by the standards here, only about six foot, and wiry lean in spandex or something similar atop what looked like mundane jeans. Gella Xing was more Asian than anyone he’d met so far, with a lot of Chinese ancestry. She was striking, with her height. She was at least 5’10”. She wore a long, flowing skirt and a layered lace top. They all took seats and stayed upright.

  Ed said, “I see you brought your Bible. It’s been well used.”