A Long Time Until Now

by Michael Z. Williamson

  He hoped they could grow some kind of grain. A walnut butter sandwich would make him feel a lot better. Or ham and cheese.

  He looked around and let data soak in. He was wondering if the timbered palisade was enough for the duration, or if they should work on stone walls. If so, here, or elsewhere? Realistically, the ten of them were not going to create an empire. That would be a nice story, but wasn’t feasible. They could make themselves as comfortable as possible, and expect any children to grow up native. Oglesby and Trinidad were already flirting heavily with the women. He also needed to figure out if that would mean moving their wives in, or building a village outside, allowing them to shelter if attacked. That village would need another wall. That could be lower, of piled stone.

  They really would have to follow up with the Romans again. The Gadorth across the river now had stopped being a problem. They seemed to have settled in and were trading for wives. Well, treating. Diplomacy rather than property. Either way, it wasn’t an American problem anymore.

  If he had a company, or at least a platoon, they’d have built as fast as the Romans, with much better knowledge. They had no lack of education and training, just not enough hands and backs, even with native help.

  More fences were going in. Ortiz wanted a horse corral and a field for cows.

  A very nonnatural noise made him recoil, and everyone else as well.

  “Merghan pahrry, us nten proach yu.”

  It came from a bullhorn or loudspeaker, very clearly, and was quite close. He took a deep breath as shock rippled through him.

  Then he replied in a loud, clear voice, “Contacting unit, say again. Your message not understood.”

  “Umerkhan parrdy, us ntenth uproach you.”

  It sounded like English, but very fuzzy and soft. Uninflected? Almost as if someone was slurring drunk.

  “Do I understand you intend to approach us?”

  “Crec.” Correct.

  “Please approach slowly.”

  The voice said, “Fru ees.”

  He shouted orders, and let the bluetooth relay them inside.

  “Arm up. Alexander and Barker watch south, Dalton and Oglesby get up top with Doc. Everyone else watch the arc north and west. Assume we can be heard.”

  Out past where the corral was to be, a humming noise rose, and there was a faint trail of disturbed growth. Whatever it was shimmered like heat waves, then darkened, and finally turned into a bumpy ovoid, pale gray in color. It appeared to be some kind of hovercraft, and it slowed as it approached, from possibly 10 mph to a slow walk. It stopped a good twenty meters away from the palisade and sat for a moment.

  He shivered. So the rift in time had affected all eras. How far back? How far forward?

  The voice said, “Us pear.” He caught the bare schwa sound in there, almost inaudible. “Us appear,” is what had been said.

  “I understand,” he said. “Alexander, Barker, how do we look?”

  “Clear this way, sir,” Alexander replied in his ear.

  A faint popping sound came from the vehicle, two doors appeared somehow, and two figures stepped out, legs first, no obvious weapons or threatening intent.

  They were tall. Goddammit, how often was this going to happen? And they were either wearing heavy clothing, or were ripped with muscle. Jesus. They wore soft caps and wraparound visor shades, too.

  “So you’re from our future,” he said.

  “Crec.” The nod was familiar. “Oy Torand Cryder n Rusen Arnet. Compren muy anlsh?”

  “Comprehend your English? Yes, just barely. It sounds very soft and . . . unemphasized.”

  “Zis bedr?”

  “A little. If you’re adding emphasis electronically, it’s helping.”

  “Norilly lecthronic, djustn. Udjustng. Uhdjustin.”

  “Those last two are close. Adjusting.”

  “Djusting.”

  “That will work, if you can speak slowly.”

  “Will do. Intro yosel? Yoself?”

  “‘Yourself’ is our word. Yes, I will introduce myself.” He was surprised he wasn’t more shocked, but by now . . . “I’m Captain Sean Elliott, United States Army. We’re from the year two thousand twelve by our dating.”

  “Norilly fr us. No’v Yebram Langn?”

  “Abraham Lincoln. He died in eighteen sixty-five by our calendar. We are . . . one hundred, forty-seven years after that.”

  “Gorrit, wooz. Neressn time.”

  “When are you from?”

  “Won’t say. Dunno maddr.”

  Spencer was behind him and asked, “Do you know how we got here?”

  “Mebe. All fuct.”

  That got a laugh that spread.

  He said, “Yes, sir, it certainly is fucked. But if you might have any insight that helps, we’re quite willing to be of assistance.”

  “Wooz. No hostl? Coloprate?”

  “No hostile intent? Not between us. And yes, cooperate, collaborate, whatever you want to call it, we’ll do what we can if . . . well, toward getting home. Or building one.”

  Was it possible? Or were they all stuck here? Even if so, someone with better tools and a rational mind was welcome.

  Assuming, of course, they proved trustworthy. He did make note that the palisade had once again degraded in quality relative to the threat.

  “Could you park your vehicle there and come inside with us? And if you don’t mind, we’d like to identify your weapons.”

  Torand Cryder, if that was the proper way to say his name, held up a device. “Zis cn be wepn if nessary.”

  “You don’t have dedicated weapons, then?”

  “Yeah. Zis. Wepn, tool, varies.”

  “It can be several things?”

  “Right.”

  “Understood. Do you recognize ours?”

  “Rifle ting. Knife. Pistola. Roj.”

  “Fair enough. Please understand I’m cautious of any group here.”

  “Make sens. We culd use co-op. Nummers help.”

  “Yes, they do.”

  The two men walked forward. Cryder locked the vehicle with a perfectly normal looking remote, as found on any twenty-first century key fob.

  “Torand and Rusen?” he asked as they approached. Both were very handsome, Arnet with softer features, and those appeared to be muscles. These guys were ripped like the Rock.

  “Cryder nd Arnet,” Cryder said with a nod and a faint bow.

  Sean returned the gesture. “Understood. How did you get here?”

  “Some kine temprol disrupshn.”

  “Yeah, I was hoping you had more details than that.”

  “Sorry.”

  There were two of them. They had higher technology. They didn’t seem disposed to violence, and had made the same assessment of the other groups that he had.

  Before crossing the stream, he gestured for Spencer to come over.

  “Martin, advise me, please.” He turned to huddle with the NCO.

  Spencer spoke quietly and close. “Sir, I say we let them in. We’ll want to keep someone on watch to make sure, though I don’t think we can do much to them if it comes to it. They have a vehicle that still works, so they have shelter. We give better shelter. There’s nothing they really need from us that they can take since we don’t have much. We couldn’t stop them if they did. We can’t get anything from them by force if we don’t know how their stuff works, like the Romans with a rifle. They seem willing to share some resources. I think it’s all positive. For once.”

  “That’s enough.” Spencer could talk a lot once he started. He likely did well at parties, but he got annoying here, fast.

  Elliott turned back and said, “Cryder, Arnet, welcome to COB Bedrock.”

  “Wooz. Where’d I park?”

  “If you can, that corner by the creek.” It was about the only place it would fit, if they could even get there.

  “Roj.”

  Arnet trotted over and hopped into their egg-car.

  The vehicle left wipes as if on tires, but
none were visible. It didn’t blow air like a hovercraft. It was also quite quiet. It could turn sharply enough to suggest four-wheel steering. Arnet drove it across the field, down into the stream. The power source hummed and howled as it rose back up the near bank and bounded across the slope, then up to the main gate. Barker had that open.

  Once inside, Arnet drove slowly, managed to turn between the hooches and kitchen without brushing anything, past the gawking Urushu and smoke hut, to the creek and parked it.

  Apparently the subordinate, Arnet, pulled on some levers that hadn’t been there, and a tentlike compartment popped out from the side, sort of like the crank-out living room on some motor homes.

  “We found a trail to the west last night,” Sean said.

  “Yeh, us. Reconznce. Okay?”

  “It is now, yes. Thank you.”

  Spencer was eager for information, and had a duty to find out their background. He walked directly up to their site, across from the Urushu.

  “Martin Spencer. Acting First Sergeant. How long have you guys been here?”

  Cryder said, “One thiddy fi days.” Damn, they were tall, muscular, perfect specimens. Obviously better fed and exercised.

  “In the area? Or did you just pass through now?”

  “Yeh, area. Kep low for recon. Finly brainfuct all lone.”

  He sympathized.

  “I know how that is. Are we going to share food, or do you need something special?”

  “We share. Got some flavings.”

  “Oh?”

  “Sure. Prosser genrate multi flaves.”

  Oh, goddamn, that could be awesome. Pepper? Jalapeño? Something?

  “That alone is probably worth the linkup. Glad to have you.” He offered a hand.

  Cryder nodded and smiled as he shook it. “No prob. You need labor? We do some.”

  “Absolutely. Whatever you’re willing to do will help.”

  He realized they were clean shaven, too.

  Two. The size fit the algorithm they thought they saw. So these guys should be relatively near future and from not far away. Could that explain the garbled English?

  But, they had sci-fi gadgets, and hopefully some tools, so perhaps he wouldn’t have to hammer out some more substandard lumps.

  “Do you need some kind of lodging? We might have to build another cabin.” They were quickly running out of room and would have to expand the palisade like this.

  “We rest in vicle. Noprob.” Cryder extended a hand again, and he shook it. That seemed like a dismissal. Except . . .

  It turned into back-patting and borderline hugging. Yeah, he could guess they were short-changed on contact. God knows he was. It got uncomfortable fast, though. Not because it was unwelcome, but because it was unfamiliar.

  “That’s enough, please,” he said, and the embrace broke.

  “Sorry. Good tsee pipl gain.”

  “I know. It is. We’ve gotten unused to touching, though.”

  “Nerstand.”

  Arnet was more reserved, offering just a hand.

  “Do you have any specific food needs?”

  Arnet said, “Back home, yeh. Here, nah.”

  “Meat, roots, rice and edible leaves are okay?”

  “Yeh, yeh, and we add flavr.”

  “Sergeants Barker and Caswell handle most of our food.” They had approached, so he introduced them. He noticed Dalton and Ortiz were well back with the M240 and a grenade launcher.

  “Wooz. Hi.”

  Cryder was a bit less clutchy with Bob, and when he got to Caswell, she raised her hands and said, “I don’t touch.” Her eyes were wide and nervous.

  Cryder nodded. “Nerstood. Greeting.”

  Good. Caswell looked bothered by more attention, probably because both were male. He did understand her caution. He just thought she dwelled on it overmuch.

  “Can we look at your vehicle?” he asked.

  “Sure, lemme scure.”

  It locked with a keyfob that also dropped the screen that made it invisible.

  Uncamouflaged, it was a dull tan-gray that could easily be mistaken for a rock at a distance. It seemed to have a rolling undercarriage, almost like treads but full width of the vehicle, or perhaps that was an air curtain, though it hadn’t blown that much air when moving. It had two seats with space behind for them to recline into couches, which in addition to the tent annex was apparently where they had been, and intended sleeping. Otherwise it was a relatively smooth, approximate ovoid with flattened sides and soft corners. There was space farther back for the apparent power plant and possible cargo. He rapped the shell. It was some form of plastic.

  “It’s meant for two people only, then,” he said.

  Cryder said, “Yeh. Per pair ishu.”

  “Are you military?” They seemed to be in uniform, but he wasn’t sure.

  “Simlar. Orders, equip, fighd az need.”

  He noted, “You still have motive power.”

  “Yeh, seval years.”

  “Well, we’ll share if you can. I’m not sure if there’s a compatible trade, though.”

  “Haul stuff, mayb.”

  “Oh, we could use a salt run to the hills, yes. Possibly rocks for reinforcement.”

  “Wooz. Can do.”

  “Okay. Is there anything else you need right now?” They seemed to be entirely set, and he wondered why they needed anyone else. It could just be a need for human company, since they were only two and had been here alone five months.

  “Designated dumper?”

  “Trash or human waste?”

  “Human.”

  “That building there, or the stream below it, not above. We get cooking and drinking water right here, actually.”

  “Wooz.” He nodded. “Wooz” seemed to be their “hooah.”

  “Do you need food? We’ll do dinner, evening meal, around eighteen hours, of twenty-four. Clock starts at the middle of the night, approximately.”

  “Will join. Wash place?”

  “Washing or bathing?”

  “Bathing.”

  “We’re still working on that. We use the stream here when it’s warm enough, boil water when it’s cold. That hut will eventually have a tub with heated water.” He pointed.

  “We can heat some.”

  “That’s welcome if it won’t strain your fuel supplies.”

  “Run wahder fr long time. No prob.”

  Gina was curious about the newcomers and setup, and what they’d have for communication equipment and supplies. That, and she wanted photos.

  “Did you say you have running water? Hot water?”

  The taller male said, “Hot wa’r? Easy.”

  He turned to the vehicle, opened a seamless hatch, pulled out what was obviously a siphon hose, and dropped into the water with a soft splash. The other side of the hatch extruded a nozzle.

  “Cold,” he said.

  Then another extruded at the rear.

  “Hot,” he said as he pointed.

  She held her hand underneath and it started flowing automatically. At once she snatched her hand back, scalded. But . . . no, not scalded. It was regular hot water, the kind she hadn’t felt in almost a year.

  “I’m tempted to strip naked and shower right now,” she said.

  “Go head,” he agreed.

  “Uh, I can’t right now, and I’d prefer some privacy.”

  “Ah, yeh, yr cultr need priv.”

  He touched a panel and a bar extruded. He dragged it out and around in a semicircle and reattached it to the rear. Then he pulled on it somehow and a curtain fell from it.

  “Holy shit.” They had a field shower in their vehicle.

  She reached in and felt it on her hand again. It was hot, clean water.

  “How much is there?” she asked. “Is it an onboard fuel supply? And how long does the power last?”

  “No wor,” he said. “Go do.”

  That settled it. She reached down and unlaced her boots, stripped out of everything. She stepped throu
gh the curtain into a small tract of paradise.

  She turned under the water, letting it run all over, relax her muscles and make her feel the cleanest she’d felt since they got here, even without soap. Her feet were in a puddle of mud, and what did it matter? But even that changed texture and became a plastic floor with a bowl, and her feet rinsed clean. That was an amazing feeling.

  Reluctantly, she stepped out, shy again. Everyone had gathered.

  Caswell tossed her a towel, then said, “Is that all you’re going to take?”

  “I thought I was in there for an hour.”

  “No, about five minutes.”

  “Well, I can always get back in line,” she said, wrapping the towel and tying it at her breasts. She chilled off fast in the fall air, but so what? The shivers added to the sensation of being clean.

  It was tragic and amusing how fast everyone else got in line. They didn’t even pay attention to her naked, washed body.

  Spencer almost had to shout.

  “We’re taking numbers,” he said. “We’ll go from lowest rank up. Everyone else back to work, you won’t be waiting long. Oglesby, get clean.”

  Her feet were muddy, but she was clean, really clean, for the first time in two years. How good was the future people’s power supply? Could they manage a shower a month until they had something of their own set up?

  With winter coming, that was a distracting idea.

  CHAPTER 35

  Ramon Ortiz was ready for a hunt. Barker was managing it today, with his bow. The man had gotten pretty damned good with that thing, and he had to admit Barker and Spencer had done a respectable job of making them. It had a heavier draw than he’d ever use, but that did mean an occasional antelope without wasting ammo.

  Barker came up, his sleeve wrapped down with leather, quiver on his back with his Camelbak, and bow in hand. The quiver was made from a tube of wolf fur with the head still attached, arrows inserted through the mouth. That was still funny and sick at the same time, even six months later.

  One of the future people, Arnet, walked over, as calm as if he did this every day. Certainly more comfortably than Americans did around the others.

  “Huntin?”

  “Yes.”

  “I join?”

  Ramon looked at Barker, who said, “Sure, if you wish.”