A Long Time Until Now (50 page)

Martin Spencer looked around the camp. It was a beautiful clear day, like he’d never see anywhere in the modern world.

The spring was quite productive. With Urushu help and a better grasp of the resources, plus all the exercise they’d been getting, things moved well enough. By the end of April they had four log cabins and the tent, with two residents each. The Urushu lodge was a cabin with a wickiup at each end, on the far side of the stream but inside the camp. The smoke hut was dedicated, and Barker and Caswell took meat and vegetables through steadily. Next to it, a new, bigger sweat lodge started taking shape, with plans for a tub.

Spencer moved into a cabin with Doc, downslope of the center. They spent a day trenching around it to ensure it stayed dry in the rain, and poking additional clay mortar in the gaps. The hearth was a bed of slate at the bottom, with a slightly off-set smokehole with a sump under it against rain, and a wooden shingle over it to reduce drips. He didn’t expect they’d use it much, since they still cooked everything communally, and would be in the tepee during the winter freezes. For now they were on beds of greenery, until they could lash or peg some cots together.

However, it meant a couple of hours of complete alone time every couple of days while Doc was on watch, and he was sure Doc appreciated it, too. The man’s phone was mostly full of porn videos. He was a reasonably devout Catholic, a very nice young man, but had an obsession with huge tits. He probably liked private time to consider that.

Just getting away from everyone, though, while being near enough for emotional support, was a good thing. That first night, tension just melted out of him. He stared at the almost complete black of the ceiling, heard the occasional shuffle of people in the compound, and zoned to sleep, the most relaxed he’d been since they got here.

He had morning watch as the sun came up, and let the light soak into him. It was still cool and damp at night, and sunlight was welcome. Ortiz replaced Trinidad, and they watched the Urushu wake up, clean up, and help with the cooking fire and breakfast. It did go faster with more hands, to a point. They had to be reminded of the soldiers’ “ritual” of hand washing, too.

There was always movement—the flocks of goats, occasional family groups of deer, wandering herds of aurochs, wild horses and the occasional rhinos. As far as one could see, there were food animals. Birds circled and landed or took off. Occasional predators padded through to the water, mostly silent but with occasional growls or howls. It was a full-time task to keep an eye out. Every shift was a nature documentary.

But he saw something to the south, up beyond the ditch. Movement, and he recognized upright human movement from its pattern.

“Sighting movement,” he said.

“I see it,” Ortiz agreed. “Small group.”

Elliott was brushing his teeth behind Number Eight. He spat and asked, “What do we have?”

“Small number, under ten, not Romans. Should I page them?”

Elliott said, “If you think it’s safe, yes.”

He called, “Hello!”

There was some shuffling in the treeline, and he waved.

Slowly, one man stood up. He wore leggings and a tunic.

“Neolithics,” he said. “Whatever they’re called.”

“Gadorth,” Oglesby said.

“Well, there appear to be four of them.”

“That’s all?” Elliott asked.

“That’s all I see. Ortiz?”

“Four,” the man confirmed with binox.

“Okay, call them in.”

Oglesby climbed up the back, cupped his hands, and carefully shouted some words. He pointed at the front gate.

The men waved back and started walking. He followed them, as they slipped in and out of sight through the brush and behind the wall.

Shortly, they were inside, and by the fire.

“Offer them some food,” he said. “Protected guests.”

Caswell said, “I believe I said that a long time ago.”

Oglesby and the LT sat down to talk to them.

Elliott called, “Spencer, it’s daytime, come on down, please.”

“Roger that.” It was light enough to go to a single watch. Well past light enough.

He slid and contorted down out of the turret, and ducked out the back. He could still bend like that, but it wasn’t fun, the way it would have been at age twenty.

He joined the fire circle and asked, “Caswell, can we get ham here, please?”

She brought some over, and seemed pleased he’d asked. Minor power play. There was a lot of that going on.

He chewed the meat and wished for oatmeal. He wasn’t a huge oatmeal fan, but . . . goddamnit, he’d never been big on carbs, until they were gone.

Stupid shit like that shouldn’t cause stress reactions. But he remembered having cinnamon cereal or toast for breakfast. And he’d love some eggs without bird shreds.

The ham was good. He no longer noticed the gristle or other bits. He chewed, he spat, he moved on. Cal would come in tonight and clean out all the scraps in the area, plus whatever bits of liver Barker cooked for him.

The Gadorth were wiry, short, and had interesting blueish eyes with Mediterranean skin tones and brown hair. They smelled of buckskin and sweat. They had stained and large but healthy teeth. Their clothing was simple, unadorned for the most part, with a small square and line marked on the front. It seemed to be a tribal mark.

They showed great appreciation for the ham, and relaxed in their status as guests.

Martin hoped they could come to terms with them as well.

Dan Oglesby didn’t know much of the Gadorth language. It was still fairly simple in construction. Tenses and cases were apparently a later invention. It had basic SOV grammar. Some of the words were almost recognizable, which supported the theories about PIE. It was a shame he’d never be able to share this information.

Rohss, the leader of this element, was balding, shaggy elsewhere, with gray shooting through the brown. He was well-wrinkled and tanned with age.

“We Shiny Spirit settlement depart. Hunting tell of. Here arrive.”

He translated, “Yeah, they ran from the Romans.”

Elliott asked, “Okay, but why? I don’t want to guess.”

“Magic thunderspear Shiny Spirit Kill.”

“Past or here?”

“Here-
guch
.”

“
Guch
means not-past?” He pointed at the rising Sun, then to the west. “
Guch
?”

Assent.
Guch
meant “now.”

“Sir, they want us to kill the Romans.”

“Right, I figured. Tell them our spirits don’t allow that, but if they want to move to the east here, or even onto the river bank, they can associate with us and we’ll try to keep the Romans away.”

“I’ll try. I haven’t learned much of this language.” He looked at his notes, and said, “You move there,” and pointed over the wall, “or by water. Help-help us you. Shiny Spirits stay there,” he pointed again.

After some back and forth, that deal seemed acceptable. But there was more.

“Sir, they want us to help them go get the women.”

“Urushu women, yes?”

“Correct.”

“If we do, they’re free as soon as they leave. They don’t get to keep them without permission.”

He figured they wouldn’t like that, and he was right. From their perspective, they’d conquered a weaker group and owned whatever they had. The Romans were a problem, and since the soldiers didn’t seem aggressive, they were useful. The inherent illogicality didn’t bother them. They hadn’t grasped the hierarchy, only their own decline.

He explained the exchange.

Spencer said, “I don’t want them too close. They’ll either scare off the Urushu, or try to take the other village. I’d say they go down by the water.”

Elliott said, “I agree. I also don’t want to send anyone to help them bail out. That’s between them and the Romans. If they can create a place, they can keep it, and we’ll interdict as we can. Take it or leave it. They can camp a hundred yards downhill for the time being. Be as diplomatic as you see fit.”

“Hooah, sir.”

“
To water Gadorth move. Selves move. Thunder Spirits Shiny Spirits send away
.”

After some back and forth, they accepted it was the best deal they’d get, shrugged and agreed.

“Now ask the Urushu where they should go. They have a say in this.”

Caswell said, “Sir, if we’re fishing down there, I don’t want them in the area.”

“A mile upstream?”

She said, “What about they cross the river and set up there? It’ll be harder for the Romans to get them there, too.”

Spencer said, “Shit, why didn’t I think of that?”

Ortiz said, “Because we’re thinking of it as an obstacle, because we’re thinking about herding. They likely are, too.”

“I like that better,” Elliott agreed. “They can set up rafts or such to arrange a crossing.”

He relayed it, then translated back.

“Sir, they want to be sure you can stop the Romans from here.”

Elliott said, “Tell them our big guns can reach the river easily.”

He pointed up at the M240B on Number Nine. At least one of them looked familiar from the previous battle, and that man spoke intensely to the others.

They all agreed, and rose slowly, with open-armed gestures.

“Sir, do we want to bow or shake hands? Or just do as they do?”

“Hell if I’m bowing to anyone here.” He opened his arms the same way and nodded his head.

That done, Barker escorted them toward the gate. The Gadorth understood they were being evicted fast, and their status in kind.

“I’m going to update my notes now,” he said. “Alexander, can I upload it when done?”

“Just bring it to me.”

“Hooah. And, sir, one point.”

“Go ahead?”

“Other people either need to start learning their languages, or they need to start learning rudimentary English. I recommend the former for security. I like being the lead on the project, but if I’m the only one I’m a risk. I’ve been in two firefights already.”

“Yeah. Make time here and there, talk to people, get it done. Everyone understand?”

There were hooahs and yeses.

Caswell asked, “Is there a risk of them learning our language?”

“Not as much,” he said. “It’s very complicated by comparison. They tend to single nouns and adjectives with emphatic gestures or repetition for emphasis.” English was a hard language even in the modern era, if you didn’t grow up with it.

Elliott said, “Still, I’d rather we could communicate with them, and not the reverse. We’ll work on learning their words. As to the rest, figure on putting them to work when they’re here. Don’t be shy. Anything grunt labor, they can do. If they start getting disgruntled . . . okay, that wasn’t intentional—let me know and we’ll see about contracting it.”

Dalton said, “Hey, who’s gonna wind up on TCN escort?”

They all laughed, even Caswell.

Two weeks later, Jenny Caswell was nervous about the Neolithics being even that close. The scents of their campfires rolled across the river through the trees, and she could hear faint sounds now and then. It was useful for trade, though. They’d even helped improve the fish traps the Americans used now.

The trap was made of stakes pounded into the water about an inch apart, with an angled entrance to funnel the fish in. The tops were lashed with cord from the anti-RPG mesh from Number Eight to keep them in place. Small fry got out. Large fish got stuck and rarely found the escape. All one had to do was wade into chilled glacial runoff and scoop them up. She was thigh deep and fighting muscle cramps as her feet tried to curl into balls. She caught a large one, probably five pounds, and reached over her shoulder to her ruck.

Worse was the smell of fish in her ruck. She’d have to soap and rinse it again soon. However, it seemed some of the Stone Age people of both groups knew what plants to render for oil, so they’d be able to make more soap, with refined lye, not just ash.

She understood, and agreed, with Elliott’s caution. It would be too easy to join one of these groups, but then get subsumed, and in the process, they might wind up destroying that culture as well.

Oglesby was twenty feet farther out, pulling out fish. There were two ways to kill them. Either crush their skulls with a hammer, or let them suffocate. She tried not to think about that as she stuffed another in back, and waved off some bugs. They were tiny little gnatlike things. They didn’t bite, but swarmed in clouds and were annoying. One brushed an eyelid and she flailed to chase them away.

The fish were some form of trout, and tasty. They had enough between them for a good meal and some smoked leftovers. They needed more of this. Fish was a great source of protein, readily available, and less ethically troublesome to her than a mammal.

As she thought about that, the gnats returned.

The Neolithics seemed to be behaving themselves and weren’t disposed to trouble. They had their own trap across the river, which was almost a quarter mile wide at this point. Apparently, fear of the Romans was also keeping them in line. They rafted over once a week or so and engaged in light interaction with whoever was gathering fish.

She hopped out, feet almost completely numb, then burning cold, and rubbed her legs down. You dried off for warmth, to keep the clothes dry, and to avoid getting grit into the boots, which would cause blisters and wear out socks. She was down to five pairs now, though Alexander promised to darn a couple of the least damaged.

She sat on a down log near the pebbly bank, cautious of damaging her underwear, and worked on drying her feet. They’d all be wearing leather in a few years.

Oglesby plunked down next to her, doing the same thing.

“Ow,” she said as a muscle started spasming.

“Did you step on something?”

“No. Cramp. Calf.” She started massaging it and flexing her foot.

He reached over and pulled her leg over his.

“I can help,” he said.

She picked up a tremor in his voice, and really didn’t want “help.”

“I’ll be okay in a moment,” she said.

“I don’t mind,” he replied. “I learned how while swimming. My calves took a beating.”

Oglesby had never seemed like the type. She expected Dalton, with his “traditional” values, or Spencer, who was tough, mean and gave her those looks. Possibly the LT, playing the power card as leader. Oglesby was a kid.