A Long Time Until Now

by Michael Z. Williamson

  “Good. We’re going to need to have discussions on all this.”

  Doc asked, “They came from the west. What did they do to the Neoliths?”

  “Probably already claimed their town and slaughtered anyone who gave them lip.”

  Devereaux flared his eyes and said, “The Neoliths needed taking down a peg, but that’s not cool.”

  “No, it isn’t. And any women are probably Roman slave girls now.”

  He realized he was hyperventilating and choked down on it. Was it PTSD again? Or fear? He really didn’t want to die here, much as he didn’t like living here. The Romans were creative about it.

  His eyes blurred and sweat burst out, then he got it under control, mostly, but started shaking. He wondered about some medicinal wine. Or some of the weed. That wouldn’t upset his stomach the way wine would.

  It shouldn’t be affecting him this hard. He hoped no one would look at him for the next few minutes.

  Sean Elliott tried to calm his nerves. He’d just told a Roman military unit he was their superior officer, and made it stick. He breathed a deep sigh, and felt a hell of a rush.

  He motioned Spencer to follow him behind the trucks. They needed to crop weeds under and around the trucks again. The stuff had grown fast. Ortiz had said something about tethering goats and letting them crop areas down.

  The weeds were fine for now. He stood among some flowering things that looked like flowering things anywhere.

  He said, “At this point, if there are four groups displaced, there could be dozens or more.”

  “Yes, sir. No reason not.”

  Spencer was flushed and twitchy. Fear? Could be. The man kept his feelings down, mostly, but obviously had them.

  “But you said there was a documentable gap.”

  Spencer breathed deep and said, “Possibly. Five hundred years, two thousand years, eight thousand years. Each four times the previous.”

  “I think I see distance, too.”

  “Yeah, distance seems to be about the same. But that makes no sense.”

  “Why not?”

  Spencer said, “Because we didn’t all use the same measurements. Our mile isn’t a Roman mile.”

  “That doesn’t affect the ratio of the distance.”

  “Oh. True.” Spencer shook his head as if clearing it.

  “I think we really need to send a recon element out.”

  Spencer said, “I agree we need to. I’m still not sure we can risk it.”

  He was a really dedicated worker and craftsman, but very timid when it came to doing military patrols.

  “I’m going to say we do. I’ll need you to lead it.”

  Spencer said, “Yes, sir,” and nothing else. He stood very still.

  “You really don’t like the idea, do you?”

  “Sir, it’s a valid idea, but honestly, I’m afraid. I don’t like leaving the group.”

  “I figured you liked getting away.”

  “Personally away, behind a barrier, yes. Not leaving the presence of other people. I’ve been twitchy since we got here.”

  He suspected Spencer was a lot more than twitchy. He was probably shaking in fear, which Elliott understood.

  “I feel that, too,” he admitted. He did, though he thought he could handle the trip. “If you prefer, I’ll go, you stay here.”

  Spencer bit his lip.

  “Sir, they respond much better to you than me, especially the younger ones. You’re the leader. It should be me.”

  “Can you do it? I’m not going to force you.” Who could he send if not? Trinidad?

  “I’m interested, and I know what to look for, but I am scared. I’ll try. Who else?”

  “Oglesby, and someone for backup. Dalton or Caswell.”

  “Dalton, definitely.”

  “You don’t have to leave right now.”

  “Yeah, but it better be within a day or two.”

  “I’ll write up a frag order. Can you manage ten miles west along the river? And visit anywhere else that presents itself?”

  “Romans, Neoliths, Urushu if they’re still around. Yes. Any message I’m sending?”

  “I hadn’t thought about that.” That was a good point.

  “I guess that we’re here. We’re not going away. We’re peaceful. We have no interest in repressing others and want good relations, but refuse to be subjects. Try not to waste ammo, but if dropping an animal provides food from the gods and makes them respectful, do it.”

  “Okay,” Spencer nodded. “Give me a while to get used to the idea. A couple of days.”

  Dinner was river trout with a cream sauce made from goat milk and herbs. It was . . . okay. Something about it didn’t quite work, but at least it wasn’t goat.

  He brought up his proposal for general discussion.

  “I’m planning to send Sergeant Spencer on a recon patrol. I’d like to send Oglesby and Dalton along, too.”

  “Hooah.” “Yes, sir!”

  “I want to know what the other groups think, where they are, how they’re equipped. We can’t keep waiting for them to come to us. The problem we face is this: We have desirable equipment, and few people.”

  Ortiz said, “But they’d find it easier to fight each other.”

  Spencer said, “Sure, but why? The Indians and Romans both have iron weapons and armor. Different in style, but not significantly enough to steal. The Indians have muskets, but they load slowly. Their advantage is psychological, and everyone now knows how long they need to load. They aren’t even that impressive to the Urushu now, since they’ve seen ours. They can’t make muskets easily, but they can make more powder. The Roman smiths can probably make their own iron and go from there.”

  He waved around. “We have stuff we can’t duplicate, obviously valuable, and I guarantee the Indians can figure out a rifle from their muskets. Getting these,” he wiggled his carbine, “equals power and control.”

  “We have ten people. If two are on watch at any time, we stay on guard around the clock, making sure they do our bidding, or don’t try to rob us, enslave us and steal the women. And we won’t even really be able to inspect their work, which will have exploitable holes in it.

  “We just cannot trust them. If we had a platoon, maybe. But our technological edge is both a blessing and a curse. All we can do is enforce our neutrality.”

  “However, we can trade resources and information.”

  Caswell asked, “If they’re set in primitive skills, what can we offer? They won’t be as impressed as the Urushu.”

  Spencer said, “More medicine. Some agriculture to the Urushu and Neoliths. I know how to make actual steel, once they have a smelter set up. Just as with the Urushu, we have tools they can use. So we become useful elders. We’re not a threat, just reserved.”

  Devereaux said, “I’m not eager to patch up someone who gets hit with a rusty, crap-encrusted javelin. Even minor wounds can be fatal.”

  Barker said, “We know beekeeping, so honey and alcohol follow. We may even be able to set up a still and produce liquor for fuel, industrial use, and drinking.”

  “Keep them drunk and they won’t have the energy to attack us?”

  Barker grinned while rubbing his beard. “That’s part of it too, sir. We need them to see the benefit of us being alive and unbothered, not dead, not slaves.”

  Oglesby said, “I’m not sure if it’s good or bad we’re not fraternizing with the locals. They seem a bit insulted, and we’re not gaining allies for work or war. But it shows distance.”

  Alexander asked, “Would it make sense to take some Urushu, too? Additional eyes?”

  “Yeah, I wonder about that. Spencer?”

  Spencer said, “On the one hand, yes, more bodies, more eyes. On the other hand, they’d be in the way in a fight, not knowing how our weapons work, and we’d be responsible for any injuries.”

  “What do we know from the village?” he asked. “Caswell, have they had any meetings?”

  She looked at Oglesby, who said,
“They knew where the Neolithics were, and said so. Apparently, they arrived before we did, and were camping south on the hillside near a small pond. The Urushu thought that was the end of it. They just figured they were newcomers moving in.”

  Spencer asked, “Despite the different clothing, technology and trained dogs?”

  “Yes. They noted that and figured it was something to do with the spirits.”

  Spencer said, “Yeah, that’s a bit too friendly and trusting. I don’t think they’d be a good choice.”

  Ortiz said, “Sir, since I speak Spanish, I’d be a good choice to go. There’s some similarities to Latin that might help.”

  “Hmm . . . If you’re up for it.”

  “I think so.”

  “Okay. I’ll have a frag order in the morning. Sergeant Spencer, let me know when you think you can leave.”

  “Will do, sir. Everyone will need to shave. Remember the word ‘barbaric’ is Latin.”

  Sean’s shaver was turning into an essential piece of military equipment.

  CHAPTER 27

  Of course, it had to be raining when they left.

  Ramon wasn’t bothered by rain, though there was a lot more here than in South Texas, except during hurricane season. But they’d be hiking through wet grass and mud, then trying to bivouac in it.

  The wet grass soaked their pants, and the water ran down into boots. Within a mile, he squelched with every step. He hoped the poncho over the trash bag kept his sleeping bag dry.

  “We’re actually stopping with the Neolithics?” he asked.

  Spencer said, “If we can. We’ll walk up, see what kind of reception we get, and go from there.”

  They took a direct route, angling downhill and diverting around some of the terrain features.

  “At least the rain keeps the bugs and the animals down.”

  “I wouldn’t bet on that,” he said. “Rain is great cover for a stalk. Watch for the wolves especially.”

  It was going to be an uncomfortable trip. He hadn’t worn a ruck since they got here, and all the hard work they’d been doing was not the same as rucking. It was cold and wet, water now trickling down his back. Nor was that good for the armor, he recalled. The only food they had was several pounds of jerky, though they were all reasonably adept at digging up edible roots and stalks now. Dandelions and wild garlic didn’t have much taste, but they did make meat a bit less boring.

  By midafternoon they were getting close to the Paleoliths’ village. He wanted to see how that had changed.

  They were seen by wandering workers, and he got to look at their herding attempts.

  “Gimped females,” he commented. “I heard you say it, but it’s different in person. There’s a lot of them.”

  “Yeah,” Oglesby said. “More than last time.”

  “I expect they’re planning to raise a generation in captivity. Many of those are very pregnant.”

  Spencer asked, “Are those fields uphill?”

  “Sort of,” he squinted. “They’re not quite prepared fields, but they’re weeding around what they like, and seem to have increased the seeding. Oh, and they’re using the fruit and nut trees as latrine area.”

  “How . . . special.”

  He shrugged. “It works. I don’t know if they’re seasonal about it, just don’t pick up any fallen fruit, or figure rinsing any stink will fix it. There’s a reason Eurasians are immune to almost everything.”

  Spencer said, “Yeah, remind me to tell you about Vikings keeping cattle in their houses in winter, and saving all the shit and piss for leather processing.”

  Oglesby grimaced and said, “Charming.”

  Spencer said, “In any case, they’ve seen us.” He waved, so Ramon did, too.

  “Romans.” The group was part Neolith, part Roman.

  Yes, that was a hunting party. Five men and a dog. The dog was largely wolf, reminiscent of a malamute or husky. Three of the men were Romans.

  “They don’t seem to trust us,” he said.

  Spencer said, “I don’t blame them for that. This is going to be tense.”

  Spencer was shaking a bit. Oglesby flat out trembled like a Chihuahua. Right, they’d had a shootout last time.

  The hunters approached slowly. The Neoliths seemed more afraid than the moderns. The Romans were cautious, but seemed arrogant.

  “Should I?” Ramon asked.

  “Go ahead.”

  “Estamos en nuestro camino por el río. Traemos saludos de nuestro Tribunus.”

  One of the Romans replied with a string that included words like, “hospitia,” “habitate,” and “noctem.”

  “Do we want to stay over?”

  “Sure. Thank them.”

  “Assentior. Gracias, Milites.”

  As they preceded the party into the village, he felt his back crawl.

  Spencer turned his head and said, “I’m talking to you just so I can turn my head and keep an eye to the rear, using Germanic words instead of those other tongue roots.”

  “Hooah, Sergeant.” Oglesby seemed impressed and enthusiastic. Ramon caught on. He’d just be as non-spic as possible and that should do it.

  The three talked back and forth about nothing at all, just to keep an eye on the Romans, who were keeping an eye on them.

  Once at the village, it was obvious the Romans were in control. About twenty of them milled about, in armor, buttoned up and carrying javelins. They had leather capes to keep the rain off. The wall was now reinforced with those square piles the Romans used, and a ditch and mound not unlike their own, but not as tall. It looked like it went up fast, though. There was a lodge with water puddling under sticks, probably a bathhouse, and a couple of designated latrines.

  Oglesby said, “Well, that explains the improvements in even Neolithic technology since last time. Also, I don’t recognize most of these guys. Different group.”

  “Yeah. I wonder how many Romans there are, total.” Spencer kept looking about.

  “Enough to split forces. I see they’re putting in log cabins.”

  Ramon said, “Wish we could.”

  “They’ve got a lot of labor.”

  Ramon found himself translating to the Roman NCO on site, a Centurion Laurentius Flavius Brutus.

  He had a hard time following even slow Latin, but got an impression from pointing. “He doesn’t trust our rifles.”

  “Well, too bad.”

  Ramon shrugged, and clutched the M4 to his chest. The Romans could order them to leave, or deal with it. Shrugging back, Brutus pointed at a small cabin. It was just big enough for the three of them to roll out bags.

  “Gracias, Centurion,” he acknowledged.

  “You first,” Spencer said. “I’ll watch them.”

  The inside had a dirt floor, well-packed. The logs were loosely notched and chinked with mud and river clay. The roof was thatch over sticks, about five feet high. It was an oversized doghouse, but adequate by Army standards, and quite comfy by their local ratings.

  He kept guard while the other two laid out their bags, then his, with rucks stacked in a corner.

  “We have a servant girl, I think,” he said. “Urushu.”

  Spencer and Oglesby strained their necks around the door frame.

  Oglesby said, “Huh. A second change of leadership. I feel sorry for them.”

  She was Urushu, tall, dark, lean but with broad hips. She carried an armful of wood for a small firepit near their door, which she built into an efficient fire lay.

  Oglesby greeted her, and she looked up in surprise. She muttered something, and hurried off.

  “She’s coming back with food,” he said.

  When she returned, she had a stick with a coal to light the fire. She put down a leather-wrapped bundle of food, set the coal and blew up the small fire. They had a great view of her ass while she did so, and it had nice curves, but needed some pimples popped and a bath. Every encounter buried the noble savage crap deeper.

  That done, she unwrapped the skin to reveal bake
d meat and roots with some kind of flatbread. It smelled like rice and nuts again.

  She spoke, Oglesby replied, then they talked. That language was full of clicks, nasals, tones. It was a beautiful language to listen to.

  Spencer slowly reached out and took a cake from the leather sheet, tried it, nodded, and indicated. Ramon gladly grabbed one, and some baked meat that smell then taste proved to be salted beef. It was chewy, but not bad. The cake was rice cake. That was good. Dios, they needed more starch.

  “Damn. Good stuff,” he said quietly.

  Oglesby took a couple of bites, but kept talking. Some of the girl’s gestures were universal—shrugs and headshakes. Others were unusual hand movements that accentuated something she said. Overall, she seemed sad.

  After a few minutes, she stood, almost-bowed with her hands out, and walked away.

  “What was that?” Spencer asked.

  Oglesby said, “The Shiny Spirits, their name for the Romans, probably due to metal, moved in and displaced the Neoliths, who seem to be called the ‘Gadorth.’ The Romans killed some of the Gadorth, gave orders, and everyone accepts they speak for the spirits. The Romans put them to work, built a shrine to the spirits, and started building stuff, as well as bringing more animals using their magic. Her job is to provide domestic service and sex.”

  Spencer half-frowned and said, “Yeah, that’s the Romans.”

  “Her name is Uk!isa. She offered sex for us. I tried to thank her generously for the offer, but stated our spirits required us to abstain while traveling. I didn’t want to turn her down.”

  Ramon asked, “She wants us to use her?”

  “It’s a combination of them thinking of sex as hospitality and a way to spread genes, and the Romans raising that as a useful skill. She thinks that’s her duty.”

  Ramon grimaced. “Fuck. I want pussy as much as the next man, but not like that.”

  Oglesby said, “Yeah, and I’m not ready to bang her in front of you guys.”

  Spencer replied, “Besides, I’m senior, so you’d be getting thirds.”

  It took Ramon a moment to catch it as a joke, and Oglesby even longer.

  “Anyway,” he continued, “She doesn’t seem terrorized by the Romans, just sort of accepts it as something the spirits have sent, like winter, bad storms or a drought.”