A Long Time Until Now (10 page)

The spear was interesting. It was cut from a thin sapling, barked, then shaved smooth. The skinny end was down, the fat end carved into a tang and imounted with a thin bone that was held on with pine pitch. The bone was cut and ground at an angle, to give it a point like a syringe. It was probably very effective, and balanced for short-range throwing.

They had a chuckle over Ortiz’s 5'6" height, then handed him another spear. It looked as if they got it from one of the youths.

“I thank you for this,” he said, as he hefted it for feel.

Good. It was important to treat the locals with respect, and it
was
kind of awesome to be among their tribe, with their handmade tools.

Felix Trinidad hung out with Oglesby. The lieutenant seemed to have missed him completely. For an Intelligence Specialist, that was a feature, not a bug.

In his estimation, these people didn’t fight much. The wall around the camp was mostly brush, some rock, and appeared to be a result of clearing the area and throwing away non-waste debris. Sewage went into the latrine pile, or the river in daytime, and waste food went into the river or over the wall to the vermin.

So their sanitation was marginal, and they faced no threats that could cross a two-foot wall.

Likely, the wolves and other large predators didn’t like the smell. It was pretty ripe. More so than villages in modern A-stan usually were.

The people were friendly and curious. The chief came over and Oglesby managed to greet him with some word or other. Then the touching began again.

The girl was probably about twelve, pubescent, and wearing little. The boy wore a minimal breech cloth. Most here wore little. They had kilts and capes for the evening, and he wondered what they did in winter. Their technology was crude. They weren’t dressed even as well as poor villagers back home.

No, it was “good enough.” It kept them warm, fed and dry. That’s all they needed.

He kept gently pushing hands away. They seemed to grasp what his pouches were, and they wanted whatever was inside. He took to adding “No!” as he detached groping fingers, just as he’d say to a child.

That got him thinking about Isabel. His sister’s class had been sending regular boxes of treats. Now what? And would he ever see her again?

Eventually they understood, and stayed back about three feet, in a circle. Most were children, but one was an adult male, probably twenty or so, and one female, age indeterminate, but probably no more than twenty-five, if she squeezed out babies regularly.

They were all curious, and cheerful, and didn’t seem afraid of anything. Of course, sharpened sticks were about the height of their technology. He did see those spear thrower things primitive people used, but no bows.

He was glad of the people they had. Dalton probably wasn’t much good technically, but likely a sturdy fighter, and if he could shoot, he could probably use a bow. The Air Force female, Caswell, knew something about sociology. Barker seemed to know several primitive skills. Spencer had some variety of training. They had a medic and a vet mate. It wasn’t many people, though. He was the smallest here, and the Paleos were giants. They were a solid foot taller and broader.

As long as the LT could keep his head, with Spencer advising him, he figured they’d survive, but it was going to be an entire life of field exercise, with no going home.

Which was better than being blown up.

Whatever had sent them here was apparently a fluke, or else was intended as a one-way trip by whoever had done it. It made him angry. A few feet to either side and they’d have been safe. A bit ahead or behind. Why right on top of them?

He assumed it was on purpose, aliens or something wanting to study them.

They better learn what they needed faster than he did. If there was a way home, he was going to find it. Revenge might figure in, too. Felix was very good with a knife.

Ramon Ortiz huffed along. Barker was taller, and these Stone Age bastards had legs like ostriches, and about as skinny, but
goddamn
they could run.

This river wasn’t the same as the one in their time. It was younger and more defined, cutting its way through the land. It was edged with trees and had bluffs and rocks.

The ten archeos ran through the growth barefoot, Barker behind and him trailing. There weren’t any paths, but it didn’t seem to bother them.

He was about to call for a break, because they’d done at least four miles at a serious clip, when they piled to a halt.

That thing was some kind of antelope, sheep, something. It was large, had horns, and was definitely a steak to be. It resembled a saiga, and might be some variant.

The natives spread out quickly, so silently it scared him. Barker sidled up to a tree and looked back, finger to lips. He nodded. He got a tree between himself and it, and stepped up to it quietly.

The beast snuffled along, big, and quite alert. It looked like no breed he knew, but was definitely a bovine.

Then in a moment of action, four spears flew in from four directions, striking it in the neck, thorax twice, and belly. Barker turned just as it gurgled and heaved his spear straight into the throat.

Realizing he was late, he took two steps and threw, his spear sticking into the mid-back, above the intestines. He hoped he hadn’t nicked them.

The beast snorted, roared and made as if to charge, head down and pawing at the ground, but it kept pawing as its rear legs collapsed, and in a few moments its pained cries quieted to breathy, blood-foamed baying, and unconsciousness with death imminent if not accomplished.

What happened next shocked and revolted him. The natives swarmed in, carefully drew out the bone-tipped spears, and started lapping blood from the wounds. Okay, he’d heard of that, but watching it was disgusting, even if there weren’t potential diseases from raw cow blood.

They waved, obviously wanting him to participate. He panicked.

Barker said, “fake it,” and bent over. He came up with blood on his lips and cheeks. Well, Ramon had been covered in worse from animals and people, so okay. He could do it.

There was a warm iron aroma to the blood, which mixed with the scents of hide, dung and dirt.

Their literal bloodlust satisfied, they moved in for some butchery. They weren’t bad, but he could do better, so he did.

He needed to be cautious. These guys swung those flint knives around like they were trading cards, swapping between two or three different ones as they cut through hide, meat, tendon. They shouted to each other, joking and poking.

Once situated over the left foreleg, he drew out his Ka-Bar and started cutting. They seemed to understand it was a knife, a lot larger than theirs, and sharp, and didn’t get in the way.

“Don’t let them get hold of it,” Barker said.

“Yeah, they’ll keep it.”

“Or get hurt, or both.”

But the hunters seemed reasonably polite. They let him cut flesh. When he pulled out the saw on his Gerber tool to cut the joint, there were obvious ooh and aah sounds, but still no one got in the way. They seemed to recognize he knew his way around a carcass.

It was exciting, bewildering and creepy to be chopping up a feral cow amongst these people. He kept saying “Africa” to himself, but he knew it wasn’t Africa. Even the remotest Africans knew about steel knives. This . . .

He cut through ligament and had the leg loose. He held it up for whoever would take it, and someone did, hefting it like a barbell and shouting in triumph.

He went to work on the next leg, as Barker did one of the rear ones. Then he got filthy and covered in blood and grease hacking open the sternum and working up to the throat.

He was bloodied to the elbows by the time he got the cavity well open, and someone snatched the liver almost before he finished cutting it, the blood vessels discharging a gush of undrained fluid, dark and thick. Then he had the guts cut, and someone took those, draping them over and around his shoulders like a steaming gray snake.

He assumed those would get used as lashing or something. This was creepy.

He had to hack at the head and between the vertebrae. He wondered if they ate brains, and they did so right there, raw and steaming, followed by the eyeballs, and he almost vomited. Someone offered him a handful of gooey, dripping brains and he held up his hands for “no” and crossed himself. He hoped they’d see it as a spiritual gesture and
Madre de Dios
, he needed it.

Barker peeled skin back from muscle, and cut off a section of rib and filet. In a half hour, the entire beast was sectioned up and ready to carry back to the village. He took a full rack of ribs, which the natives apparently considered a low cut, and was quite happy. They could have the organs and brains. Ribs suited him fine. He was drenched in blood, goo, ichor and a little bit of shit. He hoped the troops appreciated the food. He’d worked for it.

Ashmi Wise didn’t know what to make of the visitors.

They had two women and eight men, so they acted like a hunting party, not settlers. Settlers would be couples with children. But they had no spears. They worked eagerly, but mostly at camp chores, like the old and young. They politely refused comfort. They wore lots of fancy robes and carried many items, so they were wealthy. They had at least two leaders and two shamans. They spoke no words.

“They must be from very far away not to know any words,” he said to Kotlra Far Eye, who squatted in front of him at his hut.

Kotlra said, “I think so. Brali!kny’s Band is a Moon west, by the Cold Sea, and they speak words. The visitors’ speaker shaman says they are from the far west, even farther than that, two hands of that distance.”

“That is a long walk. How long have they been walking?”

“I couldn’t understand. He does not yet have enough words. They are not like those other people we saw.”

“No. They had finely crafted sticks and stones, and small wolves.”

“These have no sticks, but very fine items.” Kotlra pointed at the ones in sight, wearing lots of nice-nice things.

Ashmi said, “I wonder what the items are. They don’t like to touch or share.”

“They are strange, but friendly, but also rude.” Kotlra stood and stretched.

“But they have items, yet seem poor. No spears. No dried food. Yet they have nice-nice bedding.”

Kotlra nodded, “It looked like rolled up hides, of very soft leather.”

“Yes. No one has seen anything like it.”

“They are short and pale, as if ill. But they are not ill. They all have the same short hair, as if they have no need to style.”

Ashmi said, “The women are beautiful. Even if pale. The one has the red hair the ancient ones were said to have. I would like to see her shape under the robes.” He gestured with his hands. “I think she is juicy.” He would need to ask his longest mate about the new woman.

“She is,” Kotlra grinned. The one man has very dark skin, and then two look almost normal, but even smaller than the rest.”

“It is as if they are not the same people. They don’t even look like people, really.” People came in all sizes and shades, but not anything like these. They almost looked ill, but were very healthy and well fed.

“Tell me again about their camp,” Ashmi asked. He turned a bit to get the sun out of his eyes.

Kotlra pointed and signed. “It is east, not west, a quarter-morning hike. Their lodges looked like great insects, standing on legs. I could see underneath and through them. The sides opened like wings and they climbed inside. They are taller than our lodges, but about as long and wide. They had two.”

“What were they made of?”

“I don’t know. They looked like stone. But they were too big to have been moved.”

Curious. “Strange. Could you guess when they were built?”

“I don’t know. How is the one doing with his words?”

“He learns fast, and makes marks on something like bark with leaves in it.” Ashmi had been impressed. The marks were not painting, but meant something.

“What else has he said?”

“I couldn’t say the leader’s name, it is silly sounding. He is titled Ell Tee. That means a leader of a band.”

“What is the speaker shaman’s name?”

“He is Dan Who Knows Speaking. But he doesn’t know much speaking. He is learning.”

Kotlra pointed, “Here he comes, with Ell Tee.”

“Greetings, Dan Knows Speaking and Ell Tee.”

The visitor replied, “Greetings, Ashmi and Kotlra. We have water.”

“Yes. Your water skins are nice clever. You should give us one.”

“Our spirit, the Sun Animal, refuse.”

“You should pray to him more, or find a better spirit.” Why would they pray to a spirit who wouldn't help them?

“We work more? Wood, stone, hide, water?”

Why would they want to work so much? They were not children or old. There were two hunting, that was good.

“No work for now. All is done. Who is the female with fire hair?” He had to point and shrug to be understood.

Dan Who Knows Speaking gave a name that sounded silly, and then said, “She is Jenny Who Leads . . . no word.”

“Tell about the word.”

“Fix . . . trouble . . . people.”

Trouble-fixer was a silly saying. “She is also a shaman?”

“No. People, trouble, hit, stop them.” He demonstrated a punch and a grab.

“Why you stop fighting when they have problem must fix?”

The short man shrugged. “Jenny Who Leads Fighting.”

“Why she lead fighting if she stop fighting? You make no sense.”

“Words behind words . . . broken.”

“You make no sense,” Ashmi told him.

Dan shrugged again.

“How your people trade mates?” Ashmi made a hugging gesture.

“No, no, Jenny not . . . mate?”

“Why not female mate?”

“Her spirit, no.”

“Your spirits very trouble. You want find others. Who is other female?”

“Regina Leads . . .” he made motions of drawing.

“Marking?”

“Yes. Regina Leads Marking.”

“How many seasons is she?”

“Seasons? Sun?” he waved his hand along the sun’s path.

“Yes, sun turns. Nine seasons.”

“Sun turns, she,” he held up fingers. Ten and ten and ten and ten and five.