A Long Time Until Now

by Michael Z. Williamson

  “What game?”

  “Depends on what we see.”

  “Fair. Please lead.”

  They headed over the bridge and out. Caswell was in the kitchen, and he said, “Caswell, Arnet is coming with us.”

  “Roger that,” she agreed, eying the three of them.

  He didn’t think Arnet planned to shoot them in the back, but it wasn’t impossible. He deliberately lagged back and took the rear. He had his rifle ready and a knife.

  It was interesting how game came and went. Periodically, the herds would get the idea that the soldiers were a threat, and give distance. When that happened, they switched to hunting with rifle. The animals had a threat radius, and rifle was outside that. After a while, they’d get bored or lazy and move back in to bow range. For now, they were moving back out.

  Barker said, “Well, we have those saiga over there, or there’s probably deer in the woods down by the river.”

  Arnet said, “Warabout aurx?”

  “Aurochs? It would take more than one bow. Occasionally the Urushu bring us one they hunted as a group. They took to the fletched javelins I made for them real quick.”

  “Want that one?” Arnet asked. He pointed at a young bull a few hundred yards away.

  “If your gun can take it, sure. We’ll need help hauling it back.”

  “Wooz.”

  Arnet raised his . . . thing. It shaped into something like one of the high tech European rifles, and then let out a bang with a hollow hiss, like a silencer. It didn’t seem to recoil much.

  The aurochs in question shuddered once, staggered, dropped and twitched.

  Barker said, “Headshot.”

  He started walking that way.

  Arnet said, “Creed, Ani, banged aurx, need lifts, wooz?”

  It took a moment to realize he was talking on a radio.

  “Arup. Pend. Goo.” Arnet turned and said, “Urushu send lifts.”

  Barker asked, “Lifters? Haulers?”

  “Yeh, same.”

  “Goddam, dude, thanks. Steak for dinner. For several days. Next time we should get a pig.”

  “Bacon?”

  Ramon said, “Bacon, hell yes, my man. I am so glad you still have it in the future. They’ve learned to like it here.”

  The tall man smiled and said, “Real bacon is wooz. Do us. Soon?”

  That was something neat to have in common. Bacon. And yes, that helped a lot.

  Once at the carcass, he sliced the throat and let the blood go. They got enough from the goats anyway. This thing was huge. He started at the loins and hooked the guts. The hide was thick enough it was a fight. He had to pull and stretch to get a knife under it and rip the belly open.

  He was halfway through pulling out ropes of entrails when a half dozen Urushu arrived. He let them take over the dirty work, since they seemed to enjoy it, shouting, singing, hooting and splashing each other with blood. In an hour, it was skinned, sectioned and en route back to the COB.

  Trying to keep relations good, he said, “Nice shot, Arnet. Impressive weapon.”

  “Tang. Works. Be’r stuff at home. Gah.”

  “Gah, indeed.”

  They all missed home.

  Felix Trinidad took it upon himself to study the newcomers. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust them. If they’d had designs on enslaving people, and the means to do so, they could have done it. And, there were only two of them. Worst case, a large fire should cook them inside their vehicle, even if they closed up inside it. They’d need oxygen at some point.

  It was interesting to watch them, though. They didn’t socialize much, even after the five months they said they’d been here. They showed up for dinner. They helped with occasional chores regarding food or building, but few of the heavy lifting jobs. Of course, they were providing hot water and clean drinking water, filtered through their vehicle. It was hard to demand more of them.

  It had only been a week, too. They might acclimate more. But he got the distinct impression they thought of him and the Americans as primitives, the same way he considered the earlier people.

  They’d offered more help. They had references on their devices, and the number of edible plants suddenly increased.

  Still, he wanted to discuss his findings with the captain.

  Elliott was already talking to them, and he approached visibly, in case he wasn’t welcome. The captain waved him over.

  “This is Felix Trinidad,” he said.

  “Hi, Felix,” Arnet said in reasonably accented English. He was tall but not as broad as Cryder. He wore the same fitted coverall, or one just like the one he’d arrived in, but didn’t act cold in the fall air.

  “Hello.” He turned to Elliott. “Sir, I have some numbers to go over when you have time.”

  “Sure, in a few. We’re trying to compare some here, actually.”

  He paused and waited, and Cryder spoke again.

  “It’s hard to spesfy. Power cell inten’ed life is two years stanard use. Replacemen ad one point six, nomnal. When we arrived, fairly fresh ad point four years use. Expec one point six, but safedy marjn of twenny pecent. So two years. Assumes reglar road use. Off road is harder. We’ve driven less. Used power for some heat last winner when we arrived. Solar gives extension, like yours. If it’s only wa’er and some tool use, indefnite.”

  “But I assume that’s subject to equipment wearing out?”

  “Inevtable, evenchly.”

  “Well, we’re very grateful for what you do offer. Your knowledge is even more valuable.”

  “Wooz. Keeping scan for tempral effec. Still hope to go back.”

  “What do you know about that?”

  He shrugged. “Messing about our time. Obvious something fuct. Happens once, can happen again.”

  “So you know of a cause?”

  “Possible cause. Def involvement and research.”

  Felix felt a ripple at that. A good one. Just the fact that someone knew of a possible cause was a relief. And the logic was sound. If it could be done once, it could be done again, assuming they knew what they’d done. Though analyzing the effects would aid that, even if they weren’t sure.

  Of course, they’d have to know who went missing, where and when. It was all a tease unless someone actually showed up.

  Elliott said, “I’ll let you get on with your tasks, then. If you need help, let us know, and I will schedule that run for salt and other supplies. Thanks.”

  “No worries. Wooz, Captain.”

  Elliott looked at Felix and inclined his head toward the tepee. They walked over that way, through weeds and across gravel.

  “What’s up, Felix?”

  “Some observations is all.” He waited until they were behind the tent. “I don’t know if they can hear us here, but they can’t see us at least.”

  “Noted. Specific concerns?”

  “Not really. They’re remote and almost seem lazy. I’m wondering about their culture, or psychology after five months alone.”

  Elliott tilted his head and said, “Well, five months alone with any one of you would drive me bugfuck insane. So that’s possible. I guess it depends on how much interaction they need, though obviously some.”

  He said, “They keep looking at their glasses, like they’re playing a game or surfing the net or something. But I think they also have cameras and such in there.”

  Elliott nodded. “That makes sense, and they watch us a lot.”

  “We watch them a lot. They seem to be as cautious of us as we are of the Romans.”

  Elliott replied, “I can see that. Their technology is more sophisticated, and they apparently aren’t quite military. I don’t know how they view the notion of war.”

  “They spend most of their time near the vehicle, like we did when we arrived. They seem more dependent on it than we are on ours. They use it for power, water, shelter, entertainment. Other than food, they seem self-contained.”

  “You’re right,” Elliott agreed with a squint in that direction, even thoug
h the tent was in the way. “I’d seen that but not noticed it. It makes sense they have better tools. The Neoliths weren’t really inconvenienced. The Romans were up to speed in a couple of months. The Indians were too few to really matter. We barely know they exist. We’ve taken over a year and are still building up to what we consider field conditions. They’re only two, and have more tech but no way to exercise enough manpower. I gather they needed someone for companionship and work, just like we have the visiting Urushu. We don’t interact with them as much as they do with each other.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Okay, then that helps me understand how they think.”

  “How we think they think, sir.”

  “Hooah.” Elliott grinned and shrugged.

  Richard Dalton worked hard. It was cool and brisk and cloudy gray, but he was in a T-shirt anyway. He was digging a substantial hole.

  Cryder, whom he guessed was the NCO of the future pair, dug across from him. The man was tireless, but not very skilled with a shovel. Rich had had months here and years before to get very good at throwing dirt.

  Trinidad worked between them, scraping and smoothing the sides of the hole. They were aiming for three feet deep and eight feet across.

  It actually went fairly fast. In the meantime, Barker, Spencer and Arnet split planks with axes and the froe, and ran them over some tool on the future vehicle to smooth them. Then three of the Urushu burnished the surfaces with limestone, sanding back and forth. Barker called it “Holystoning.” It was a reference to scrubbing deck timbers with stones the size of Bibles.

  Three of the Neoliths, supervised by a Roman—Caius, he thought—stirred a pot of pine pitch over the fire. The pot had been made by the Roman smiths. If all went well, they’d have a tub together this evening.

  There were already steam-bent planks for the inside, and rope from braided goat hair for the outside.

  “This ll be bedr,” Arnet said.

  “Than the original plan? Yes.”

  That had called for a tub, heated rocks, and then bailing to drain. This should actually have a drainpipe, and hot water provided from the future people’s vehicle.

  He wondered about that. No one had asked yet, that he knew of.

  “Arnet, what should we call your people? We have the Urushu, Gadorth, Romans and Indians. We’re Americans or soldiers. So what are you?”

  Arnet shrugged. “‘Minders’ works.”

  “That’s a bit awkward with our usage.”

  “P’trollers? Wozzies?”

  “What is your country called?”

  He shrugged again. “Norilly countries anymore. Alleges, Tribs. Unities. Polities.”

  “We have to call you something.”

  The man shrugged again and said, “Cogi works.”

  “Cogi?”

  “Yup.”

  “Ok. Cogi it is. How are we on digging?”

  He’d give them this. They might not work often, but when they did, they worked hard. The man had done a third again the digging he had.

  Trinidad said, “We’re round to the line. How’s depth?” He handed over a measuring stick. Rich moved it around the perimeter a few inches at a time. It was quite even. Then Captain Elliott handed him a longer stick with a plumb line.

  “It should have the same perimeter mark and distance all around.”

  “Got it.” It was fascinating how simple tools could be so accurate. He moved it around, but they’d laid things out well to start with.

  “We’re good,” he said.

  Spencer said, “Take a break, then get ready to be sticky.”

  As the Urushu finished polishing, Spencer and Barker brought the planks over and laid them in a broad sunflower around the hole. Doc brought a platter of round somethings up from the kitchen. Rich drank some water and had one of the round things. It was a treat made of a rice ball stuck together with honey. Damn, that was good. It was sticky and filling and he drank more water, then sucked his fingers clean.

  Spencer said, “Okay, I’m going to be in the hole with Ortiz. Trinidad hands the boards down. We lay everything out and then caulk in between with rope soaked in pitch, and assemble fast before it cools. We have extra pieces, because if we screw up, it’s hammer and prybar time. The reinforcing planks go in the middle, the rope goes around the outside. I nail the planks in place. We caulk the bottom.” He pointed at a limb with a hole bored through it. “Drain pipe goes under here, we fill around it with cement, drill a hole, then caulk the joint.”

  Elliott, looking on, said, “Simple, right?”

  “On PowerPoint, yes. Any final suggestions, sir?”

  Elliott said, “Go ahead.”

  It got messy.

  Barker and Spencer rolled the large floor next to the hole. It looked like a giant round shield, reinforced with crosspieces that fit into a tamped and shaped hollow.

  Then came the first rope, and skins around the outside. They started standing the shaped planks inside it, braced against the floor. Rich held four of them in place, as others were set at cardinal points and the base rope tied. Then the top rope followed, and other vertical planks.

  Some slipped sideways, some out of alignment, and Spencer let out with a stream of profanity that Rich had never heard from him. The man didn’t swear much, but apparently knew how. Some of that was impressive.

  With much shifting, cursing and beating, it took on at least an oval. Then the inside boards were forced into place, though they weren’t quite round. They stretched the shape until gaps appeared.

  “Good, it’s tight.”

  “I see huge holes.”

  “Yes, but it’s tight against the ropes. Brief break.”

  But although he said “break,” Spencer walked around with the hammer, tapping stuff into alignment. He muttered and squinted as he went.

  “Okay, next. Doc, you’re up.”

  Doc stuck a stick into the rope, much like a tourniquet, and started twisting.

  “Easy!” Spencer said. “The rope won’t take that much force. Just keep tension on it.”

  He and Barker walked around tapping with hammers. Some in, some sideways, some down. It seemed to be much like when they did metalwork. Fraction by fraction, the tub came together like a broad half barrel. Doc kept taking up tension, and the gaps disappeared. The inside supports creaked and shifted into an almost perfect circle, with more tapping.

  “Okay . . . let’s wrap it up. How’s that glue coming?”

  Barker took a look and consulted with the cookers.

  “Better be soon. It’s getting thick.”

  “Okay, let’s do it.” He grabbed one end of a rope as Alexander took the coil and started winding it around the upper band. Three windings left them with a few feet left over, that Spencer tied into a knot and drew tight.

  “Paint it!” he said.

  The iron pot of bubbling pitch was carried over between lift sticks, and the crew started painting the cracks and ropes. Their brushes were made of willow, hammered with rocks until it split into fibrous ends.

  Hot sap splashed around, sticking to everyone and everything. The ropes soaked it up when hot, then were coated with more. Each joint got a layer, reinforced by stuffing fleece into the gap. Then the whole assembly was tilted over, with much straining of muscles, so the floor and the edge could be covered.

  Then it was time to roll it into the hole. That took Spencer, Barker, Arnet, Cryder, Rich, Caswell almost underneath, Caius and two of the Urushu. It slipped as it reached the edge at a tangent.

  Caswell shouted, “Woah! Woah!” and backed up the side fast, dislodging dirt as she went.

  It slid down into place, and Rich avoided splinters from the well-fitted wood, but his hands were sticky and cracking with hardened pitch. He wasn’t sure how that would come off, except through wear.

  “Okay, we’ve got it in. It should be ready for our first hot tubbing tomorrow.”

  It was already almost dark.

  Spencer said, “Much as I hate to, I’m goin
g to drain a cup of diesel for people to use to clean the tar off. Use it sparingly. Then you’ll have to clean with soap to get rid of that. Oglesby, explain to the ancients this is a magic potion that can clean or burn. They must use it in small amounts only by direction. The Romans are probably familiar with naphtha.”

  “Hooah.”

  They had a hot tub. They had a fucking hot tub! Rich felt for a moment they could do anything, then reined in the pride. God hadn’t sent them here to show off. This was a good thing to have, and they’d earned it, but they were subservient to God and the world, not any kind of masters.

  Ramon was ready for the hot tub. He’d had a cup of Spencer’s wine, steak, and berries with cream. It was a bit chill, and perfect for a hot soak.

  The dome was lit by a hanging lamp that Arnet brought along. It was a glowing globe, better than the flashlights they’d had to use for so long. A hose ran under the scraped skin lodge cover and into the tub, and wisps of vapor hinted at heat. Another hose ran back out to the future vehicle, which had more and more useful gadgets aboard every time they needed something. It was fascinating how tools changed the productivity, for a tiny society.

  There was a small arc of tent to crouch and squat in, and protruding sticks from the frame were used as clothes hooks.

  “Speech!” Dalton said.

  Spencer shrugged. “This was sort of my idea, sort of Bob’s, and everyone worked on it. It will have medical uses, hygiene uses, and social uses. Let’s plunge our bodies in the water of decadence.”

  He started peeling off his clothes. He bumped into Dalton and the LT next to him.

  They’d all seen each other in various stages of nakedness, but this was a little more. They caught on limbs and giggled as they tried to make it work. Ramon stripped to underwear, then as Spencer and Barker plunged feetfirst into the tub there was suddenly a bit more room, he dropped his shorts and slid in.

  Hot water. He was sitting in hot water. It had that tingly burn under his balls. Even the shower hadn’t come close to this. It was amazing, almost too hot, and stung his skin, then evened out. He gasped, and his face started sweating.

  Caswell looked quite nervous and small as she climbed down in. That was some serious bush, and it matched her hair. The Urushu had a lot less body hair. He wondered what genetics were behind that. That kept him from noticing her lean build and hips too much.