That was interesting. He could speak, or had learned to speak, contemporary English. He just chose not to.
“What then?”
The two looked at each other. Arnet said, “Sig increasing. Fig we build secondry arceiver and trangulate it. Find zero point, camp and wait.”
“And we need them to camp and wait with us, without any violence. We’ll also need enough food for days? Weeks?”
“Weeks possible.”
“What happens if the transfer happens when someone is away hunting?”
Cryder shrugged. “Proble a second transfer is arranged.”
“Yeah, but ‘probably’ isn’t good enough, and those poor bastards will be bugfuck gibbering insane.”
He shrugged again. “All is unknown at this point.” The man seemed quite calm outside, but was he a little jittery with his gestures?
“Fair enough. I haven’t told my people yet, other than our administrator.” He shifted his feet and continued, “But I think I need to. We’ll need extra security. I value their input. I’m hesitant to do so until we know it’s a likely thing. I’d hate to get everyone’s hopes up then smash them.”
“Nod. Can’t say how likely. I hope. Good sig. I don’t know the tech, can’t say how well they can read us, what they can do as far as—”
Bang.
The report startled them. It sounded about like an arty simulator.
The goats started howling and screaming.
He shouted as he grabbed his phone and started walking. Arnet and Cryder followed.
He pointed at one of the Romans, made a circling gesture and pointed at the ground. “Remaneo,” he said.
Into the air he snapped, “Report!”
From the northeast corner post, Barker replied, “Sir, unknown. It’s east of us, near the goat pen. I don’t see any threats. Animals all got agitated, but seem fine now.”
He got his phone up and punched for Dalton. “With me,” he said. He did the same with Spencer. By then, he was at the east gate.
Spencer came running up, handed him a carbine, and checked his own load. He drew the charging handle back, checked for brass in chamber, and nodded as Dalton ran up.
“I just got back from hunting,” Dalton said. “I didn’t see anything that way.”
He put the phone on speaker and slung it in the pouch around his neck.
“Barker, are you receiving?”
“Yes, sir.” It was a bit muffled, but audible.
“Keep us covered and observed. We’re going out. Dalton lead, Spencer, rear.”
“Hooah.”
The gate was generally open daytime, to allow access to the animals and the ice tent. It was in clear view of the watch turret.
Barker said, “Sir, Ortiz called Alexander. He says something exploded in the goat pen.”
“Understood. Break. Dalton, lead us carefully, go.”
They trotted out, crouched and with weapons at low ready. Dalton went right, he went left. He hoped to God Cryder and Arnet knew how to do this. There was nothing ahead of him, so he risked a quick glance. They were fine, moving forward, covering arcs. He pulled back into the movement.
Christ, it had been two years here and then time back home since he’d last rehearsed this, and he’d never done it in combat. His heart thumped.
Ortiz stood on this side of the ice tent, looking around it. He was armed, as he always was out here. He waved.
Dalton moved back in front as they reached the goat pen. There was something there.
“Talk to me,” he said.
“I don’t see anything in the area, sir. I’m looking out and east.”
Barker said, “You’re still alone. I got nothing.”
Spencer said, “South is clear.”
Arnet said, “North.”
Cryder shouted, “Contact!”
Sean turned that way as everyone else did, too, weapon up and ready.
Then he realized Cryder was referring to the object in the field.
“What is it?”
“Message drop. I need to get it.”
Shit. Message drop. Actual contact.
Well, everyone knew now.
“Help me get to it,” Cryder said.
“Climb over the fence.”
Cryder hesitated.
Ortiz hand vaulted the fence, and Cryder easily followed. Interesting. He wasn’t comfortable around domestic animals up close. That wasn’t ridiculous, but Sean could see how it wasn’t something that had come up, and could be a bit embarrassing.
The tall man bent down and lifted the box. It was about the size of a 7.62mm ammo can, in an orange so neon bright it could be used for a rave. It hurt to look at.
With a twist and pull he opened it.
Then he started howling into the air and leaping around like ballerina on crack. He twirled, rolled his leg overhead, jumped into splits and came back over the fence.
“Zey found us!” he shouted.
* * *
Martin Spencer had figured something was up when the LT had called for a powwow and consulted with the Cogi. It had been easy to guess it was temporal related, but he’d not dared hope it was this.
It was. Contact with the future.
The fire was up, and the Cogi hung a lantern that flooded the area with a warm light. Martin felt much lighter, less tense, but nervous.
Things were never that simple, he thought.
There were two Moghuls, five Romans, the soldiers, three Gadorth, and four Urushu present. All the earlier people stared at the lantern trying to figure out its mechanism. The soldiers and Arnet looked at Cryder.
Cryder apparently spoke passable Latin. He used that, then switched to English as Oglesby translated for the Gadorth. Arnet used Hindi for the two Moghuls present. He said they were from even further forward in time than the Americans, and had even better tools. He demonstrated his folding tool as shovel, pick, prybar, axe and hammer. That was fascinating. The mass could shift around.
Then Arnet morphed his handheld into what looked like a bullpup carbine and blew a section of log in two. That got everyone’s attention. There wasn’t much noise. The log cracked and split, and that was it.
Cryder resumed, and the English part was, “We got messages through the air and light from our people, then they sent a box through the thunder that had this message.” He held both up.
“They have marked a spot for us to meet, where we will go to them. Then they will send each of us back home.”
There was much chattering in Latin and in proto-European. But the official announcement had the soldiers elated, too. They’d all known what the story was, but having it said gave it credibility.
A pair of arms wrapped around him from behind, and he jerked, then realized it was Gina.
He patted her arm. “I hope so,” he said.
Barker high-fived, and he returned that, as Trinidad punched him in the arm. Everyone else was too far away, and Dalton and Ortiz were up top with guns live.
The Roman spoke slowly, asking what was involved. Oglesby translated for the Gadorth.
“‘When can your gods send us back?’ they ask. Yes, I explained the gods aren’t involved. They don’t get it.”
Cryder said, “Today’s message gives us a wick over two weeks to reach a location on a bluff downriver. I make guess that was chosen as a distinct landmark. Have grid from here and from our home measure. I can find it.”
The Romans had cracked open some mead and were passing it around. Martin accepted the pottery jug and took a swig. Not bad. A little dry for his taste, and a tad bitter, but very drinkable. Better than their previous efforts by far.
“Sir, with your permission, I want to get out the wine and hooch.”
“Do so.”
Barker said, “Way ahead of you,” and thumbed over his shoulder. Under the kitchen awning was the wine tub.
There were plenty of volunteers to help open it. The Roman privates appointed themselves guardians of the booze, by holding up hands in the
universal “Stop!” gesture, then popping the lid open and dipping out liquid. They tasted it first, of course, and made faces.
“Whew. Acutus! Fortis! Bonum effercio!”
“Thanks. Yours was bonum, too.”
The stuff got passed around, and Oglesby explained to the Gadorth to wait a moment. They held their cups, expectant and confused. The Romans understood.
With everyone ready to fortify themselves, Elliott said, “Ladies, gentlemen, Romans, Gadorth, Warriors, Soldiers, to a hopeful trip home. Toast!”
“Hooah!”
The two Moghuls sipped, chattered to each other. They were almost certainly Muslim and forbidden from drinking.
Doc apparently anticipated that, and told Oglesby, “Tell them it is a tonic and a health potion to aid in calming the nerves.” Which, he reflected, was true. “As a doctor, I prescribe it.”
Thus reassured, they drank, too.
He hoped it worked. He really, really hoped it worked. He hoped the “nerve tonic” worked, and he hoped the return trip worked.
This place had become home, and he was sick of it.
CHAPTER 42
Sean Elliott watched their labors disappear in wreckage.
“Ready, and push!”
Two engines roared, twenty-odd people shoved, and a third of the north palisade collapsed.
They were back down to the tepee and vehicles for sleeping, all the other cabins and hooches having been destroyed and tossed into the stream. The smokehouse remained, and the steady crack of rifle fire in the background was Dalton head-shooting goats so the meat could be smoked. Arnet was out killing a couple of aurochs. They already had salt, onions and some rice loaded.
Sean reflected that he felt most useful now, destroying their former home in a hurry. They had twelve days to reach a point thirty kilometers downriver, and the MRAPs wouldn’t get through the forest, so they’d have to go uphill and around.
“This will be enough?” he asked Cryder again.
“Yeh, river’ll change course sevral times, all ziss floodplain, during next short-freeze and melt.”
“Is that the Younger Dryas Sergeant Spencer mentioned?”
“Yeh, that.”
He’d accept that. Of course, there was no reason someone couldn’t prop the timber back up. On the other hand, it would all rot eventually, and the Urushu had shown no interest in changing their architecture style.
Barker and Spencer backed and filled their vehicles cautiously, lined up with the next section, and waited for the signal. They nodded to him, he gave a thumb up, and made sure all the local help were in place.
“Ready, and push!”
The timbers creaked, leaned, cracked and crashed.
Caswell had two people assisting her in gutting, skinning and butchering goats into what was almost jerky strips. Those were dredged in salt and herbs, then taken to the smokehouse, which leaked roiling brown smoke from an almost too-hot fire. By tomorrow, they’d be ready for a couple of weeks of dry transport.
His phone beeped. It was Ortiz. “Goats are done. We took care of a few pheasants and ducks. Kicking the fence over now.”
“Hooah.”
It took far less time to dismantle than it had to build. By dinner time, all they had was a kitchen area, latrine, smokehouse and tepee. Spencer’s forge had been shoveled into the creek, and the lathe and other tools were in the miscellaneous junk pile. The icehouse tepee had been dragged to the stream, where it caused the water to swirl and slosh over it. The ice pile would melt faster in the sun, and with some dirt scattered on it to reduce albedo, it would be gone in a couple of weeks, he figured.
It was impressive. All the hooches, the cabins, the hot tub, the kitchen ramada, were a pile of broken timbers about eight feet high and twenty across.
The ragged flag was back in a bag and behind the passenger seat of Charlie Eight again.
“Everyone police for plastic and metal. Bring it all with us. Doublecheck the kitchen area and tepee.”
He didn’t sleep well that night, being restless and excited. He woke, checked his phone again, realized it was 0300 and only a half hour since he’d last checked it. Around him, people shifted, snored, rustled.
It didn’t matter. They were done here, and he could rest in combat naps en route, or wait for fatigue to catch him. They were in vehicles, there was no enemy, and they had support.
He hoped the trip home was real.
He rolled out exhausted around 0500, decided he was done for the night, and found the Roman Caius and Oglesby on watch. Once it was understood they were going home, most of the hostilities had vanished.
“Morning.”
“Mani.”
Oglesby said, “The goat is ready. I hope to be completely sick of it within two weeks.”
“Same here, brother. And beef jerky.”
Oglesby tossed a long rope of meat down from up top. He took it and chewed. Not bad. Though yes, it would get boring fast.
“When are we rolling, sir?” Oglesby asked.
“I figure to let people wake up naturally. Then we go. Not much left, is there?”
The wall had been a comfort for a long time. Now, it was a tangled mess. Nothing was nearby, though. The smell of upturned earth, rot and splintered wood didn’t attract interest from wildlife.
Dan Oglesby was outside around 0700, as was everyone else, gathered around, eating some leftover stew with rice. The Urushu gathered nearby their still-standing lodge, obviously sad at the parting. They wore red ochre face paint and black mud of some kind. They had capes over their shoulders, breechcloths and footwraps.
As the Americans finished eating, they rose and approached across the stepping stones, carrying bundles.
Dan stepped out to talk. This was formal.
“Greeting, Uhk!i and Ghitra and Ytuvo.”
Uhk!i said, “Greeting, Dan Knows Speaking. This day you leave?”
The others laid the bundles down as Uhk!i spoke.
“We must. The spirits say we may be-go home.”
“That is fine for you. If the spirits say not, you always our camp wilkahm.” He used the English word, and gestured upstream with both hands.
Dan said, “We are very pleased at that greeting.” He did want to be polite, as much as he wanted to GTFO.
Ghitra asked, “Shiny spirits will go with you?”
“Yes, all us from elsewhere. Americans, Romans, Mughals, Cogi, Gadorth. We all go.”
“Have your spirits said you come again?”
“They have not.”
Ytuvo said, “We hope so.”
“So we,” he lied. They were wonderful people, but he wanted out of here.
Pointing at the pile behind himself, Ghitra asked, “Can share gifts before you go?”
“We can. We have more woven cloth for you, and the rest of the fine salt.” He pointed at the leather buckets and rolled fabric near the tepee. “Those are for Urushu to use and enjoy.”
“That is very good. You leave the magic axes you made?”
“Those we must take. The Urushu will learn that, too. Not your children, but eventually your children’s children’s children will be known as some of the finest makers. This area of the world is where many things were first discovered and created.” Actually, India, but close enough. And this area did have some firsts.
“You know this? Your shaman say so?” Ghitra pointed at Spencer and Caswell.
“Our speakers tell of it, with the magic markings. We are so many generations ahead.”
“You said that before and it makes no sense.”
Dan said, “The spirits say you will know it in time.”
“We very glad your spirits take you back.”
“They did not send us here anger. They Cogi’s spirits said we should learn things.”
“Spirits can do great things.”
“They can.”
“I wish you may stay, Dan Knows Speaking.” Uhk!i’s eyes were wet.
“I wish I may stay, too,” he lied a
gain. They were a very hospitable people.
“We crafted sleeping hide for each you.”
Uhk!i took one from the pile and unrolled it. It was quilted, thick, and very soft.
Dan ran his hands over it. The leather was buttery, the fur thick, and turned in on itself almost into a bag, but loosely stitched to make a quilt. The other two took one to each of them.
Elliott said, “Admire them quick and roll them up. We’ll need to stow them.”
“That is fine work, Uhk!i. Please thank your mates.”
“We will. You are gracious with salt and the cord-net.”
“I hope we will be comfortable. We must leave now.”
“Of course.”
Then they were hugging. Each of the Urushu had to hug the Americans, pat the women’s bellies, and rub shoulders.
Uhk!i stepped forward again, jumped in the air, and clapped his hands over Dan’s head.
“Travel of safe. I will miss you, friend.”
“And I you.” He really would. He wanted to go home, but he would miss them.
“We’re done, sir,” he said. His voice cracked.
Elliott nodded. “Saddle up!”
Gina Alexander was scared, watching the Cogi depart in their vehicle. They were heading to the Roman camps to spread the news and get them moving in a hurry. From what she knew of Roman military ops, that wouldn’t take long. The Cogi armor should be proof against anything the Romans had. One good demo of weapons and instructions should do it, especially with Cryder speaking Latin.
It was just that with them gone, the soldiers had only a map. It wasn’t that the Cogi’s presence made the recovery more likely, but what if something went wrong? They were the only ones who had a way to communicate. There were myths or theories about burying messages for the future, but those didn’t seem likely.
Gods, she was dragging this morning. Every night was half sleepless. Every day lethargic.
She remembered when they arrived here . . .
No, she didn’t. It was two years ago. They’d . . .
She remembered the Urushu village, vaguely. A long lodge. The Romans had it now. Did the Gadorth have it in between? It must be in the logs, but she couldn’t remember.
Her memory holes were increasing. She could recall when prompted, but access to the information didn’t work.