A Long Time Until Now

by Michael Z. Williamson

“Good sign,” Alexander said. Spencer and Caswell agreed.

  Caswell said, “You don’t offer hospitality to enemies, and it’s a neutral enough gesture. Water isn’t something they’re likely to consider overly valuable, this close to the river.”

  “Well, good, because it’s almost vile.” He handed it back and smiled. “Thank you,” he said. Then he pulled a sip from his Camelbak. It was a lot fresher.

  They all stood around, and the native examined them. Sean politely but firmly blocked hands from his weapon and pockets. They didn’t seem to have pockets, and the idea of a pouch on clothing delighted them. One was in his thigh pockets, and he had to dance around to dissuade them. They were amused.

  The chief still looked puzzled, and waved for them to follow. He paired back up with Oglesby, which he realized was a good choice, translator and commander. He checked the others had also paired, nodded, and walked across the village to the southwest side.

  Regina Alexander looked around. Their houses were fairly sophisticated. They had a rock wall about two feet high at the base, then arched and lashed limbs covered with hides. Some were almost longhouses, around thirty feet by ten, about the size of an old GP medium tent. Several were close to being tepees. They were painted with geometric and anthropomorphic designs in medium earth tones including an obvious fish and elk. She wanted photos of those, but wasn’t sure how they’d react to her pointing a camera. They’d probably have no idea what she was doing, but . . .

  Everyone was dirty. Mud, blood, animal guts, tree sap, dust, debris from the leaves and branches covered them in layers. Two of the dirtiest were washing in the river, down an embankment to a stony beach.

  The Paleo people looked almost Caucasian, almost East Indian, but had kinked hair, not straight. All the men had scraggly beards, which wouldn’t compare to the coarse, full beards the soldiers were getting in a hurry. Most had dreadlocks. Some women did, too, though others had cropped tresses. A few of the men had shorn patterns in their hair. They all wore breechcloths. They didn’t have much body hair.

  And they were all tall. The women were six foot, the men taller. The twelve-year-olds running around were as tall as she. Or they might be younger than twelve.

  They had a lot of kids, and they nursed well into walking age. The women’s breasts sagged, and had long, chewed nipples. Most women had stretch marks and hollows or sags. She’d avoided that with plenty of exercise and a considerable amount of technology.

  They did have all or most of their teeth, however, and those were generally quite straight. They had large jaws and plenty of room for the teeth. It occurred to her that mutations to the contrary would likely not do well, until agriculture and modern technology came along. In that regard, modern people had devolved.

  They were friendly. They were too friendly. They approached her, hands out to touch, and the smell was revolting. They didn’t bathe enough, couldn’t wash off the animal refuse, and it all turned into a disgusting stench that rolled past her. And those dreadlocks were sickening.

  She stepped back and against Spencer, and held out a hand.

  That gesture seemed to work. They drew back.

  Friendly was good, she reflected, but it was possible to be too friendly. They obviously didn’t fight much. They had no sense of a comfort zone.

  Trinidad, the Navy intel guy, said, “Okay, those two are in charge. Everyone else looks toward them.”

  Spencer said, “We need more words.”

  Oglesby said, “I’ll work on it. So far, I have water, hut, ground, I think I have man and woman, spear, baby and fire.” He was scribbling in a notebook as he went.

  “Good start.”

  The two leaders came over and waved, an obvious “come on” gesture. She looked at Spencer, who nodded, and they followed, as did the others. Another of the Paleos, a woman stepped in to lead them to a hut.

  They were being shown to one of the larger lodges. Ten troops could sleep in a GP small if they had to. This was almost twice that, so there was plenty of room for people and gear.

  It was marginally more comfortable than it had first appeared. The floor was dirt, but packed. There were raised beds along the sides, of turfs and moss and tree cuttings. There were three hearths. There were several baskets and other containers.

  Their host laid hands on the beds and seemed to describe their comfort. She pointed at the baskets. She pointed at firewood and charcoal left near the hearths, and the smoke holes above. Then she waved them back outside.

  They gathered just out front, and Gina was really glad for a buddy. Spencer seemed like a decent guy, very smart, and able to help the lieutenant keep on track. With him and with her rifle, she felt safe enough. But it was close to sunset and would be dark soon. She really wanted company.

  Spencer said, “It’s a small enough camp. Ortiz, can you and Trinidad stay with grounded gear . . . here?” he pointed at a spot between the central fire and the large hut.

  “Hooah.”

  “Thank you,” she said, and gratefully shrugged out of the straps. She pulled her camera bag back onto a shoulder, and popped her armor open at the hips and neck. That helped. Even a light ruck was half her body weight.

  Elliott was glad of the hospitality. It wasn’t that necessary, but it was a good thing to be on friendly terms with potential neighbors. He’d already decided they wouldn’t be staying in this village for long.

  The chief and his assistants were joined by two more women. He took the first by the hand, and brought her toward Elliott. There was a stifled giggle behind him. Yes, it was hilarious to see them try to gift him with a concubine or wife, but there were complications.

  “Sergeant Spencer, I need help fast.” He noticed there was a bit of a crowd gathered at a distance. There were long shadows, too. It was evening.

  “Yes, sir, stand by. Follow my lead.”

  Spencer stood in front of him, waved a disapproving finger, and pointed at the sun.

  “The sun god would not approve, sir. As your Holy Man, I must advise against this. Corporal Dalton, you come advise us also, and both women.”

  Alexander joined the huddle, then the younger two. Alexander asked, “What exactly are we doing?”

  Spencer said, “Faking a religion so we don’t upset our own people, and using it to justify refusing hospitality. Let’s hope it works.”

  “Please,” Elliott said. “I’d rather not get involved with the locals.” He didn’t want to be party to some treaty sealed with sex. Or any contact if he could avoid it.

  Dalton said, “Yeah, you’d want her bathed before being brought to your hovel. And shaved.” He smiled slightly at the joke.

  Caswell rolled her eyes and muttered.

  “So what’s your plan?”

  Still waving his hands flamboyantly, he said, “Well, the two senior couples and your Holy Man advise against carnal contact. Now we need to explain it to them. Let’s see if I can do this.”

  Spencer turned to face the chief, and started pointing.

  “His most Excellency the sun, lord of all lemurs says we must not engage with females. They are most attractive, and you are most magnanimous a host to extend such hospitality. But now I must step back and make distance. I will pour a measure of aqua into my hand and drink, and I will offer you the same.”

  That was utterly bizarre, but the chief was distracted by the splash of water from the Camelbak straw into Spencer’s hand, and extended his own hand when offered. He licked at the water, then drank off his hand and grinned broadly.

  “Ak!a arluee.”

  Spencer stepped back another step, faced the sun, bowed his head and opened his hands. He then crossed them on his shoulders and stepped back.

  The chief seemed confused, and went into a huddle with his own advisers. There was some back and forth, and obvious agitation that didn’t seem angry. The shrugs were universal.

  The women seemed a bit miffed at being rejected. They apparently liked the idea of exotic strangers for bed.

 
Another woman, a girl, a young man and a teen boy brought over food. The woman had a twig basket of berries with some dried plant pods. The man had most of a smoked kid. The teen had two roasted rabbits, and the girl had a leather skin that held nuts and a pile of what appeared to be fried grubs.

  Elliott asked, “Spencer, what do we do?”

  “To be polite, try the grubs and decline with a bow or something. We eat the rest. If you want to avoid them entirely, I’ll make another petition to the Sun Lemur.”

  “Yeah, I guess I’m the officer.” He reached in and grabbed a couple of the crunchier looking grubs. Making sure his Camelbak straw was ready, he tossed them into his mouth and chewed.

  They weren’t the worst thing he’d ever tasted. Actually, he could probably eat them if he had to.

  He took a swig of water and swished it while bowing, then reached for an apple. It didn’t seem to have any resident pests, but it wasn’t in great shape, having been pecked and chewed. He found a side that looked reasonably clear, and bit into it.

  “Mmm. Nom.” He smiled and nodded slightly. That was understood to be affirmative.

  Behind him he heard, “Hey, sir . . .”

  He turned to see Devereaux flanked by a bevy of women, and Barker looking frazzled. They had hold of Devereaux’s hands and were examining his burnt-coffee skin. Barker obviously wasn’t going to hit them, and didn’t really have any other options, so he just stayed close to his buddy.

  Spencer high-stepped over, hands on shoulders, and made another pronouncement to the Sun Lemur. More splashes of water went around to the Paleo women and to Devereaux.

  The Paleos were persuaded that the soldiers were not going to be available for whatever trade rituals they had in mind.

  “Can you explain to me, Sergeant Spencer?” he asked.

  “I think Caswell has the info on that.”

  He turned to her, and she said, “Sir, it’s common to be exogamous. They’re a small band. If they understand reproduction, they want outside genes. It’s also considered polite in many to offer companionship, especially if it might be cold at night, which winter here is, even if summer isn’t. And they seem fascinated by Devereaux’s skin and my hair.” She’d removed her helmet, too, and her copper hair was a tangled pile. “I don’t think either is common, since they all appear to be sort of south Asian with dark hair.”

  “We don’t look like them, either.”

  “No, but they’ve probably seen albinos, and may have seen proto-Europeans. And your facial structures aren’t that far off.”

  Devereaux said, “I don’t mind the attention, but yeah, they need some better sanitation.”

  Spencer said, “Well, we have food, we appear to have shelter. Now we need to figure something we can give them in return, and some way to swap information.”

  Oglesby said, “I’m still working on nouns, making notes as I go.”

  Trinidad spoke. “For exchange, we have some big knives and a couple of machetes. We could cut some brush for them.”

  “I’m not sure we should show them modern tools.”

  Caswell said, “Sir, they’ll figure it out soon enough if they watch us, unless we never plan to use them. And we have to have something to offer.”

  “Yeah. Okay. Well, let’s ask about that large pile of limbs over there.”

  It was like being in some native village in Africa. Except even in remotest Africa they would know about steel, usually about cell phones, and have some way of communicating, even if it was pidgin French or Arabic.

  Oglesby was able to get across the point of chopping brush, and got an agreement. Barker, Trinidad and Spencer pulled out machetes and started chopping. The rest gathered by their gear.

  The Paleos looked on. They clapped, giggled in amazement, and generally got in the way. They seemed a lot less concerned about cutting safety than anyone in the modern world. Twice Barker had to turn his back and block young men from touching the notches he was chopping.

  Trinidad did better. He seemed to almost dance around, and was definitely the go-to guy with a machete. He took long, lazy swings that ended in a wrist snap that would sever right through a branch.

  Spencer almost took off someone’s finger, then gave up, moved back, and tried to act as warden.

  It took only a few minutes to reduce the pile to neatly stacked kindling and fuel. Elliott wasn’t sure how the natives did it, other than by breaking off what they needed. Perhaps by scoring with flint tools? Although the sticks in the fire were scorched at both ends, so maybe they just burned big chunks into smaller chunks.

  In the meantime, he noticed something else. They were very friendly people.

  “Sergeant Caswell, are they . . .” he had no idea how to ask.

  “Yes, they’re very intimate within the group.”

  That they were. They touched each other frequently, including intimate areas—buttocks and breasts, but occasionally groins. They kissed in passing. They leaned foreheads against each other. One younger couple in a tight embrace were shooed along with laughs and shouts that clearly meant, “Get a tent!”

  No, the soldiers would not be comfortable here. They needed a bit of food, and a guide if possible, and information on where they could settle without disturbing this group or neighbors.

  It seemed as if the lodge was theirs to use. The chief wandered off with two of the women. His advisor or deputy went back to wherever he’d come from, and the adults largely dispersed to their chores. They were obviously watching, but not that intently.

  Caswell said, “The strangers have food, water, shelter and don’t need company. Without a language there’s little more to be done.”

  “Good sign?”

  “I’d say so. They’ve extended hospitality, don’t seem offended, and don’t regard us as a threat. This doesn’t mean that can’t change after they talk to some shaman or other, but on the whole it’s positive.”

  “Okay, then let’s check into the hotel,” he said. He grabbed his ruck and carried it in.

  The lodge wasn’t bad. The overhead was low; he couldn’t get above a crouch. But it seemed to have a good roof of hides over sticks. The walls were hides that could be flapped open for light or breeze, in two layers. That was pretty impressive.

  On the other hand, it wasn’t symmetrical in either height or base. They’d just sort of thrown it together. But then, without measurements, shape didn’t really matter.

  Spencer echoed him. “They care a lot less about symmetry than we do.”

  “I’m wondering what else they do in here. You don’t build a lodge unless you expect to use it.”

  Devereaux said, “Cold winters, maybe? With all three hearths burning low and everyone stuffed in, it would be quite warm.”

  “That does make sense. People want privacy within the family when they can.”

  Caswell said, “Some Inuit do something similar. But I wouldn’t bet on a lot of privacy. And the attention,” she took a deep breath, “is creeping me out. Badly.”

  “You don’t like being an object of worship?” Dalton asked with a smile.

  It was the wrong thing to say.

  “No, I don’t like being an object of ‘worship’ when the only worship they have in mind is to gangbang me for hours, based on a very shallow characteristic. They’ve been grabbing and stroking my hair, trying to fondle me through armor, and violating every personal boundary I have. I get that it’s a system that works for them. It doesn’t work for me. They’re filthy, nasty, and very direct, and honestly, most modern men aren’t any different, they just have a slightly more refined approach. Don’t think I haven’t seen your glances.”

  Spencer cut in with, “What can we do to help you with that?”

  She sighed and shook her head. “I don’t know. But I hate it.” She turned away, trembling.

  Elliott was sympathetic. Despite her gruff exterior, she was rather vulnerable, and the culture here was partly familiar, partly alien. The thought of mating with any of these people was r
evolting, and they had been all over her. Over both women, actually, and over Devereaux.

  Being here was an admission they weren’t going home. That made it that much tougher. These were the neighbors they had, at least for the moment.

  They stacked arms, laid out bedding, and set gear.

  Elliott said, “We’ll need more water.”

  “I don’t think they’ll stop us going to the river.”

  “Good. Oglesby, you want to talk to them more. Barker, please go with him, fill the cooler.”

  “Can do.”

  They had met the natives. The natives were friendly. He really wasn’t sure what was next.

  Ortiz said, “These beds are pretty simple. Looks like they used turf and moss, and just kept filling in as needed.”

  Caswell said, “They probably sleep using animal hides, above and below. That will provide some cushion. They seem to have shaped them like a bivvy hole.”

  He nodded. “Yeah, I see hip and shoulder hollows. I guess they’ll work.”

  Trinidad said, “More comfortable than the truck. Especially for you tall guys.”

  “No doubt about that,” Dalton agreed.

  Spencer rubbed his chin. “I really need a shave, and I wonder how long our razors will last.”

  Elliott said, “Yeah, the locals are scruffy, but not heavily bearded. I have a rotary razor, works on a gyroscope. I’m willing to share as long as it lasts. After that, we have blades until they run out, then we sharpen a small knife, I guess.”

  Devereaux asked, “We’re not going to grow them out like Special Forces?”

  Elliott grinned, but said, “I’d rather not. We want to maintain our appearance so we retain our identity. We’re not cave men. We’re U.S. Army Soldiers.”

  Trinidad said, “And a Squid and an Airedale.”

  Elliott said, “Yes, we’re a multiservice force, but I’m standardizing. And I appreciate the broad skill sets everyone is bringing. You’re all going to be necessary. And tonight, something I should have done already, I need to know everything you all know that might matter.”

  The entrance flapped open and Barker came through, hefting a full cooler in his hands.