A Long Time Until Now

by Michael Z. Williamson

  “I took the water off the top, upstream from any disturbance. I skimmed off some surface crud with a handful of cattail leaves. It’s as potable as we’re going to find around here.”

  “Good. Thanks much.”

  “No problem. If it’s okay, I’m going to change to PT shoes.” He indicated sodden boots and wet pant legs. They were dripping into the packed ground.

  “Go for it.”

  Barker got dry and changed. Dalton asked, “Should we see about lighting fires? Do we need to?”

  “It is getting dark fast.” He noticed it now. Everything was gray, and the chill was becoming damp.

  A call from outside got their attention.

  The apparent chief stood near the fire, and it was built higher. Flames offered some illumination. He was waving and obviously saying something along the lines of “Come!” or “Gather!” Elliott motioned for the others to follow.

  “Dalton, load and keep an eye on the gear,” he ordered.

  “Hooah, sir.”

  There were stones and logs around the fire, and a couple of piles of something covered in hide. It was cool, but the Paleos seemed unbothered. He found a smooth stone, probably pulled from the river, though it might be glacial, and sat. It was uneven and cold under his butt, but it was better than the ground.

  With a big grin and broad gestures, the headman told a tale. Even without knowing the language, the presentation was obvious.

  Elliott listened intently, knowing he’d never understand a word, but it was a beautiful language. It was tonal, singsong, with clicks and nasals and whistles in among the common vowel and consonant sounds. It didn’t seem to have a lot of words, but there was broad variety in their expression.

  The audience responded, but it wasn’t formal. They talked, pointed, joked. The leader made his way around, eventually reaching the soldiers.

  He put out a hand and patted Elliott on the head, then motioned him to come to the center.

  Sighing slightly, Elliott stood. He had no idea what this was about, but he’d follow for now.

  He was expected to speak. Everyone watched him, intently and patiently, and the leader opened his hands and stepped back.

  “Okay, well, I don’t speak your language, so I’m going to use mine,” he said. “I hope you’ll show me the same courtesy I showed you. Because I really can’t do anything else.”

  A couple of his troops chuckled.

  “We come from a long way away and a long time away, so far we couldn’t describe to you even if we did know your language. We’re lost, we’re short on resources, and we’re very grateful for your hospitality. You don’t seem scared, and that’s good. You’ve offered far more than we need, which we declined with gracious thanks.

  “I wish we could stay, but we’re too different as groups. So I’m hoping we can make our needs known in a short time, for a guide and a place to settle. I hope we’ll be good neighbors, because we are few, but so much stronger than you can imagine. So let’s be friends.

  “And even though we’re new here, we will make ourselves comfortable, and hopefully learn a little from you, while teaching you a lot about the future. But either way, we plan to make it work. There are only ten of us, but we have broad knowledge and skills, and we’re American Soldiers. We do not accept defeat, even in the harshest of conditions. Thank you.”

  He bowed slightly and stepped back out of the light.

  There were “Hooah!”s, a couple of cheers and a whistle from his troops. He blushed. He hadn’t really intended to give a pep talk, just fill some time as his counterpart had. But if it worked, it worked. It was hardly the greatest commander’s speech ever, though it might be the best for fifteen thousand years. Or ten, at least.

  The dark was less enclosing with the fire. Behind them was a curtain of black. The fire was home. He’d found that in Boy Scouts, and felt it that much more strongly now.

  The chief led some odd cheering that was half whistles, half whoops and half laughs. It didn’t seem to matter what was said, just that everyone shared the fire and was hospitable.

  A woman started singing. It was soft at first, and repetitive. She reached a modest volume, and others joined in. Shortly, it was a long, sonorous unison chant.

  The troops sat politely, listening as the Paleos added rhythms with sticks, claps, shuffles and stomps. It had a very simple beat, and Elliott had no idea what it was supposed to express.

  People wandered away bit by bit, going to their huts. Elliott waited until about half had left, then said, “Us too, soldiers. Rack out.”

  They rose and headed for their assigned hall, and Oglesby turned his light on with a dim red filter.

  Even that was enough to draw attention, and there were shouts. In a moment they were surrounded by excited, chattering Paleos.

  Elliott moved in close to him, and Spencer slipped in along the other side.

  “What do I do?” he asked, as jabbering, smelly Stone Agers grabbed at his gear, especially his light.

  Spencer asked, “Mini Maglight?”

  Oglesby said, “Yeah, the Surefire is too bright. This is my night light.” He kept batting hands away.

  “Let them have it tonight. They’ll run the batteries down and lose interest.”

  “Can we get it back?” Oglesby sounded worried. Sean didn’t blame him.

  Spencer said, “Yes. I’ll make sure of it.”

  “I was hoping to use it for a while before they go dead.”

  “Well, you brought it out, now they’ve seen it.”

  “Sorry, I slipped.”

  Spencer kept his voice moderate, but his tone was urgent. “It’s fine. Now give them the goddam light.”

  Oglesby surrendered it, and someone shouted gleefully, holding it aloft. It did in fact get passed back and forth, shone into people’s faces, and then the red lens came off.

  “Batteries will last about a day, figure, on that LED bulb.”

  Spencer waded into the party and emerged with the red lens and rubber cap. He handed them to Oglesby.

  “Okay, now we sleep in the dark, unless someone lights a fire.”

  It was awkward feeling around in the total darkness. Oglesby was near the back, so he made his way by touch to his sleeping bag and kit.

  Up front, Spencer said, “I’m here. Alexander was just beyond me. Barker was directly across. Find your buddies and make your way through that way. I think we want a small fire, especially as we’ll need a watch anyway.”

  “I’ll build it,” Barker said. “Watch needs to stay on the door side of the fire, backs to it, when not tending, so they get illumination of anyone coming in.”

  Sean checked his sleeping bag wasn’t against the side, to avoid condensation. The shaped bed seemed workable, though a bit tall for him. It had hip and shoulder hollows and was lined with a couple of inches of fresh grass. That and the bag should be workable, though he figured he’d be sore in the AM.

  Then he realized fatigue was beating on him and he . . .

  Bob Barker woke as someone came close. It was Oglesby.

  “Your turn on watch, Sergeant.”

  “Got it. I’m going to roll out to their head.”

  “Okay.”

  He wiggled out of his bag, slipped on his boots, and tied them in a hurry, because he did need to go.

  Outside the lodge was beautiful. It was cool and crisp, the moon was down, and the stars were amazing. With some rest and some nearby people, it was much easier to appreciate them.

  But it reinforced that they were fucked and far from home. What in the hell had happened?

  There were vague hints of gray in the east, and there was a fire tender watching the camp’s fire. Whoever that was looked up, but said nothing, so he ignored them back. Part of him would have liked to socialize, but he was needed on watch, and he couldn’t have talked to them anyway.

  The locals used just a line of rocks at the west edge to mark the night latrine. He pissed over the line, felt better, and headed back to the hut.r />
  He scratched briefly at the hide on the door, whispered, “Barker,” and crawled back in. He made his way cautiously to the fire and around, wished for a jacket, and settled for hunching in close and adding another stick to the coals.

  Oglesby said, “Thanks. Nothing happened. See you in two hours.” They intended to be up at 0600, but he wasn’t sure if the natives would wait that long. He had plans.

  He wasn’t sure who’d been on with Oglesby, but Caswell was on now.

  “Morning,” he said, casually.

  “Yeah, whatever,” she replied, sounding annoyed. Well, it was early in the morning, chilly and they were lost. So he left it at that.

  It did feel a lot better to sleep on an actual bed, even if it was field conditions. The truck and the ground had not been pleasant.

  There was nothing to do except watch the coals, so he let it become meditation, as the heat shimmers drifted across the broken blocks of scorched sticks. He used a twig to push stray lumps back into the glowing mound. He added occasional fuel, shoved the burned pieces into the middle and marshaled it. There was just enough heat to cut the shiver, and just enough light to show the door.

  At 0600, his phone buzzed in his pocket. Others must have, too, because people started stirring.

  Caswell said, “I’m hitting the latrine now, before the rest do.”

  “Go.”

  The locals were casual about elimination, and Barker figured he’d probably learn to be, too. A lot of civilized rules were luxuries they weren’t going to have here. He had some practice. Now it was real.

  “Calm all night,” he said. “So we’re ready for the day.”

  Spencer said, “Goddam, I do feel rested. Did I snore?”

  “Occasionally. Sounded like a damned diesel.”

  “Yeah, I do that.”

  Elliott said, “I’m also good. But don’t get too comfortable. Actually, hold on, we’ll have formation in here when everyone is back.”

  When everyone had returned, the LT said, “Okay, we don’t have much food, we do have a way to refill water, but it’s going to be river water. We’re going to try to get information from our hosts and observe them for a day or two tops, then find somewhere to settle ourselves. Pack up all your gear, don’t leave it for the curious.”

  Spencer raised his hand for attention and said, “Not only curiosity, they’re going to have very slippery concepts of property. If you’re holding it, it’s yours. Don’t let anything go, it’s probably considered sharing or gifting. Be polite but be firm.”

  Elliott nodded. “I want to leave two or three people in camp, right here, watching anything we’ve grounded. As Spencer says, polite, firm, shout for backup if needed, be creative on religious rituals, that seems to work. Good thinking, Spencer.”

  “That’s SERE training, sir. From when I was a flight engineer.”

  “Okay, either way, we use it. Whacking sticks if you must. I don’t want any weapon fire unless we’re being swarmed.”

  “What is the plan, sir?” Trinidad asked.

  Barker liked what he was hearing now. The LT had definitely come around. That was good.

  He said, “I’d like to take two others and see if we can join a hunting or scouting party. Dalton, and Ortiz?”

  “You want me to save the animal after you spear it?” Ortiz asked with a grin. He was a vet assistant.

  “No, but you’ll be able to tell me what their butchering method is like.”

  “Ah, true. Sure, I’m in.”

  Elliott said, “Oglesby goes around gathering language and helping translate. Spencer is here, acting as our holy man. The rest of you I’m not sure about yet, just be ready for taskings. When you have time, tell me all those useful things I asked about.”

  Devereaux said, “I can’t stress enough for you to wash hands as best you can. We have a little meat they left us, and some marrow bones, but they’re not cooked.” He pointed at a pile. “They must be a lot more resistant to bacteria than we are.”

  Spencer said, “I’ll try to convince them we need cooked food. And there’s fire, so we can cook our own.”

  There was movement outside. “Well, I hear them getting up themselves.”

  Spencer said, “So stick close to the hut for now. Inside and right outside. Let’s see what we can do.”

  Outside, there indeed was a hunting party forming. They had spears, skin bags hanging by leather thongs, and fur capes over their kilts.

  Bob walked up, and Ortiz and Oglesby came with him. The apparent hunt leader was the same guy as yesterday, very tall, lean, hair in a sort of dreadlock skunk pattern with shorn areas in between.

  “Good morning,” he said clearly and cheerfully. “Can we come with you?” he indicated the spear and himself.

  It seemed clear enough. The leader smiled.

  “We need spears,” he said, and indicated it again, and his own empty hands.

  There was some singsong shouting and someone came out of a hut, looked, made some kind of gesture, then ran inside and back out with a spear. It was presented to him with some formality, and what seemed to be an admonishment to “Take care of it, it is a good spear.”

  He nodded and said, “Thank you, I will.” He held it up, examined it, and put it over his shoulder as they did.

  The spear was interesting. It was cut from a thin sapling, barked, then shaved smooth. The skinny end was down, the fat end carved into a tang and imounted with a thin bone that was held on with pine pitch. The bone was cut and ground at an angle, to give it a point like a syringe. It was probably very effective, and balanced for short-range throwing.

  They had a chuckle over Ortiz’s 5'6" height, then handed him another spear. It looked as if they got it from one of the youths.

  “I thank you for this,” he said, as he hefted it for feel.

  Good. It was important to treat the locals with respect, and it was kind of awesome to be among their tribe, with their handmade tools.

  Felix Trinidad hung out with Oglesby. The lieutenant seemed to have missed him completely. For an Intelligence Specialist, that was a feature, not a bug.

  In his estimation, these people didn’t fight much. The wall around the camp was mostly brush, some rock, and appeared to be a result of clearing the area and throwing away non-waste debris. Sewage went into the latrine pile, or the river in daytime, and waste food went into the river or over the wall to the vermin.

  So their sanitation was marginal, and they faced no threats that could cross a two-foot wall.

  Likely, the wolves and other large predators didn’t like the smell. It was pretty ripe. More so than villages in modern A-stan usually were.

  The people were friendly and curious. The chief came over and Oglesby managed to greet him with some word or other. Then the touching began again.

  The girl was probably about twelve, pubescent, and wearing little. The boy wore a minimal breech cloth. Most here wore little. They had kilts and capes for the evening, and he wondered what they did in winter. Their technology was crude. They weren’t dressed even as well as poor villagers back home.

  No, it was “good enough.” It kept them warm, fed and dry. That’s all they needed.

  He kept gently pushing hands away. They seemed to grasp what his pouches were, and they wanted whatever was inside. He took to adding “No!” as he detached groping fingers, just as he’d say to a child.

  That got him thinking about Isabel. His sister’s class had been sending regular boxes of treats. Now what? And would he ever see her again?

  Eventually they understood, and stayed back about three feet, in a circle. Most were children, but one was an adult male, probably twenty or so, and one female, age indeterminate, but probably no more than twenty-five, if she squeezed out babies regularly.

  They were all curious, and cheerful, and didn’t seem afraid of anything. Of course, sharpened sticks were about the height of their technology. He did see those spear thrower things primitive people used, but no bows.

  H
e was glad of the people they had. Dalton probably wasn’t much good technically, but likely a sturdy fighter, and if he could shoot, he could probably use a bow. The Air Force female, Caswell, knew something about sociology. Barker seemed to know several primitive skills. Spencer had some variety of training. They had a medic and a vet mate. It wasn’t many people, though. He was the smallest here, and the Paleos were giants. They were a solid foot taller and broader.

  As long as the LT could keep his head, with Spencer advising him, he figured they’d survive, but it was going to be an entire life of field exercise, with no going home.

  Which was better than being blown up.

  Whatever had sent them here was apparently a fluke, or else was intended as a one-way trip by whoever had done it. It made him angry. A few feet to either side and they’d have been safe. A bit ahead or behind. Why right on top of them?

  He assumed it was on purpose, aliens or something wanting to study them.

  They better learn what they needed faster than he did. If there was a way home, he was going to find it. Revenge might figure in, too. Felix was very good with a knife.

  Ramon Ortiz huffed along. Barker was taller, and these Stone Age bastards had legs like ostriches, and about as skinny, but goddamn they could run.

  This river wasn’t the same as the one in their time. It was younger and more defined, cutting its way through the land. It was edged with trees and had bluffs and rocks.

  The ten archeos ran through the growth barefoot, Barker behind and him trailing. There weren’t any paths, but it didn’t seem to bother them.

  He was about to call for a break, because they’d done at least four miles at a serious clip, when they piled to a halt.

  That thing was some kind of antelope, sheep, something. It was large, had horns, and was definitely a steak to be. It resembled a saiga, and might be some variant.

  The natives spread out quickly, so silently it scared him. Barker sidled up to a tree and looked back, finger to lips. He nodded. He got a tree between himself and it, and stepped up to it quietly.

  The beast snuffled along, big, and quite alert. It looked like no breed he knew, but was definitely a bovine.