A Long Time Until Now (57 page)

CHAPTER 34

Sean Elliott was tired.

He’d slept well enough, but once again, problems cascaded up to him. He hadn’t planned on spending his life as an officer. In fact, he’d considered at some point releasing everyone and letting them vote on a mayor. He’d since realized that wouldn’t work. They were a unit, and needed to remain a unit.

Dalton and Spencer took him out to the incident site they’d noted overnight. It was visible once they were about a hundred meters out, in the scrub and grass. The three were buttoned up and armed, his Bluetooth was live, and Alexander had them on speaker.

The growth was always chaotic, windblown in waves, flat from rain, crushed under beasts from goat to rhino sized. This, though, was a straight line.

Dalton said, “Something came through here. It was large, quiet, and I didn’t see anything on night vision.”

Sean insisted, “It must have been there somewhere.”

“You’d think so. But neither of us saw it.”

Whatever it was had lumbered across the landscape, but didn’t seem to have left distinct footprints. He could well believe it had been some kind of sled.

“Well, keep an eye out. Whatever it is, it’s respectably large. I wonder if it’s the Romans again, or some culture with horse-drawn drags.”

“We’d have seen horses, or heard or smelled them.”

“Probably. Dogs or people then?”

Spencer said, “It could be more mammoths. If they have wide enough feet and long enough hair. They were pretty shaggy.”

“I’m hoping it’s not a dinosaur,” Dalton said.

“It can’t be. They’re thousands of times farther back.”

“There’s Scripture that might contradict that.”

Spencer said, “The Behemoth bit? No, there are too many reasons that’s not supportable, and we can’t debate it now. Where does the track go?”

Dalton said, “It seems to disappear over the west ridge. Toward the Roman settlement.”

Sean looked behind them to the reassurance of a picket wall with a gatehouse, standing up from the weeds. Looking again at the drag marks, he said, “Yeah, I see it. I don’t think it was them dragging something, but that’s not impossible.

Dalton said, “Dunno. Let’s just keep watching. But it’s creepy as fuck.”

“Yes it is.”

He went back inside and out the east to supervise the tiling for the deep freezer. The tile would run into a secondary trough for the goats, so they’d have additional water. He was trying to decide how much fence to put around it after that, to keep predators from raiding the fridge.

The tiles were split timbers, and that had gotten much easier with the froe. Spencer said it was the ugliest tool he’d ever made, but it worked, mostly.

The man had made a tool from dirt. There was no shame in that.

It was heavy, dulled easily even after carburizing. He’d likely have to do it again. But hafted with a cut-down baseball bat from the Hajji-Be-Good box, it split shingles and planks.

The planks were laid out in step from the bottom up, and some notched ones at the bottom led into a scraped out log. He was sure they’d have to oil-soak some wood within a year or two as these ones rotted, but one step at a time.

“Good,” he said and gave a thumb up. It was decent looking. “Now split some more, and we’ll take them over there.” He used more gestures and pointed at the new sweat lodge, which had almost enough wood for a hot tub, and he wanted that done by Thanksgiving.

The place was starting to feel like a village. Add some actual fields if they could, and some other herds and birds, and it would be like something out of history.

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?”