A Long Time Until Now (19 page)

He manipulated the ribs into rough position. They’d heal, and be ugly, but shouldn’t get in the way of the pleural sac.

He wiped down the wound area and applied a Hyfin Chest Seal. Then he wrapped the chest with Ace bandages, moving them carefully under the man to minimize movement.

“He will need to stay here a couple of days, and not be moved a lot. I’ll need to use a magic needle to treat the lung every few minutes.”

They seemed to accept that, after lots of back and forth, and gestures.

Spencer asked, “Can we haul him into the tepee?”

“If we’re careful, yes. How many caretakers can they leave, LT?”

Elliott’s face moved as he thought, and replied, “One.”

“Sounds good. I’ll need to stay with him and monitor.”

“Okay. We can handle one up and one injured.”

Oglesby said, “Sir, they’re offering to bring us food or help in some other way. I took the liberty of explaining the treatment a bit.”

Elliott asked, “What did you say?”

“That the horn had damaged his lung, and it was necessary to get the lung back to shape so it could heal.”

“They got that?”

Oglesby said, “Sure. They’ve killed enough animals to know what lungs are. They just aren’t clear on how they work exactly, or what to do when damaged.”

“Ah. Well, tell them we’d welcome food. Do they need help with the kill?”

“Yes, they’d like to leave meat here, and go for the rest. Then they’ll send a runner to their village.”

Spencer said, “Alright. Everyone remain armed in Condition Two, and keep control of your stuff. Oglesby, stress to them the tepee is a spirit place, and no possessions can be removed or borrowed inside.”

The bleeding was controlled; it looked as if the man’s breathing would recover, and he’d live, though he was moaning in pain as he regained full consciousness. There was no feeling like that of saving another man’s life. Armand smiled.

“Okay,” he said. “Four people, roll the poncho as an emergency stretcher, and carefully take him inside.”

The next morning Oglan, the hunter, was much improved. He nibbled on some meat and drank a little broth. He coughed a few times and writhed in pain when he did, but smiled afterward.

The Paleos looked very confused as the soldiers brushed teeth. They understood there were so many gadgets, but really had no clue what most were, nor even about their bases. They didn’t recognize the vehicles as anything other than odd huts, but kept staring at them.

Spencer wondered if they could keep the natives around a bit longer. They were happy to haul logs, raise them up and help set them. They figured out a shovel in short order, and understood axes, as a much larger version of their own clubs and hand axes. In an afternoon, another fifteen feet of palisade went up.

“This thing keeps lions and wolves out?” one had asked through Oglesby.

“Yes.” It would also keep people away, but he wasn’t going to say that.

“You should give us the stick that chops trees.”

“I’m afraid we can’t. We need both of them.”

“Will Arman Healer heal others?”

“Yes. But not everyone can be helped. It also takes the support of the spirits.”

“You should know the best spirits, with all the fine things you have developed.”

Dalton said, “We do. Our God can do all, but He does what is best for all, which isn’t always best for one.”

Oglesby had translated it automatically before Martin could say anything. He felt a buzz of worry.

He said, “Careful, son. The no proselytizing rule applies here, too.”

“Hey, they asked, Sergeant. I can only witness what I know.”

“Yeah, and if the Oglan guy dies, you’ve just told them that our super spirits don’t care about them. Not an auspicious start to the church you want to build.” The man meant well, but there were political and diplomatic things to consider, and he was too damned eager to talk about his god.

Dalton twisted his mouth. “Okay, I’ll wait until he’s better.”

“At least.”

A man named Isria, asked, “Will this stop !Katchathaynu?”

Oglesby looked as confused as Spencer.

“What is that?” Oglesby asked for them.

The man held a hand in front of his nose, another in front of his forehead, with first finger extended.

“Woolly rhinos,” Martin said. “Yes, it should stop Kachat-hainew. They will think it’s a cliff and go around.”

He hoped Oglesby was learning from this. Lots of talking was going on.

A five minute attempt at chopping brush into firewood ended when one of the natives gashed himself with a machete. The man wrapped a leather strip around it, and Martin helped him limp into the tepee, so Devereaux could stitch him up.

“Yeah, a couple of sutures to hold it and I’ll wash it clean with water.” Spencer sent Dalton to get water boiled from the fire, though the water in the mountain brook was surprisingly clear and clean.

“How’s the other guy?”

“Lucky. The horn was blunt and didn’t pierce his lung. Though the pneumothorax would likely have killed him, or at least crippled him.”

“Glad he’s going to make it.”

“Yeah, well, I expect they’ll want sick call now.”

“As long as they exchange labor, I think we can work out a deal.”

“We should teach them how to make soap.”

“They know that ash and fat cleans the crud off their hands, and they wash in the river in summer.”

“I’d like them to use more of it.”

Martin figured where that was going.

“Especially the women?”

“PREEcisely.” Devereaux grinned.

Martin said, “That’s probably coming eventually.”

“Yeah. Life with two chicks you can’t touch is not much of a life.” Devereaux rolled his eyes.

“Seeing as I’m missing my wife, my sons and my daughter, I’m all sympathy, dude.”

“Yeah. Sorry about that, Sergeant.” Doc did look genuinely sad on his behalf.

He leaned out the door, grabbed a stick and heaved it at the horizon, watched it spin, tumble and drop.

“Hell, it’s not your fault. But . . . I mean, they’re not missing me, because they haven’t been born yet. Except I’m not going home. So they’ll think I’m dead in a blast, or worse, MIA. I’ll never know what happens to them, except it hasn’t happened yet. And I promised Andrew I’d teach him to drive next year. So much for that.”

Then he was tense and flushed again. It had been a month, and that wasn’t long enough to come to terms with something that was worse than death in many ways.

“Well, I miss Mama. My father and I were never close, and he left after they split. We talk now and then, but he’s not significant. I guess that makes me the lucky one here. But my mother’s going to need a caretaker eventually, and it won’t be me.”

His patient winced and hissed as he pulled a suture tight.

“Sorry. Okay, let me clean it and we’ll be done.”

The native man certainly didn’t understand the words, but the tone and the washing carried the message. He smiled as Devereaux bound the leather strip back around his leg.

“Tell Oglesby I’ll need to pull those sutures in a week. And could someone bring me a bite? Even goat?”

“Can do. And you’re in luck. They had chunks of cow. So we’re having steak. They also brought some salt.”

“Who’s cooking?”

“Barker and Caswell.”

“I think I love them. In a fraternal fashion.”

They were both thinking a lot more than fraternally about Caswell, and she was a problem.

Martin helped the man out the doorway, and he walked gingerly but steadily. It wasn’t a crippling gash, but fairly deep, and he’d better keep it clean. He reeked of sweat, but seemed fairly kempt otherwise. His hair was tied back in a ponytail and had obviously been brushed.

Devereaux said, “Oglesby, tell him we need to take the sutures out in a week, and to change the bandage for a clean one twice a day. Stress it has to be well rinsed and dried between uses. The bandage, I mean.”

“Got it.”

He wandered to the outside fire, where, judging by the smell, Barker and Caswell had herbs and salt and something else and meat.

“Hey, Devereaux would like a snack.”

“Of course,” Barker said, and peeled off a thin piece of tough but juicy looking steak. “But you keep your hands off until dinner.”

“Yeah, I know.”

Caswell was lashing together two quite comfortable-looking chairs, or at least the frames. They’d need leather or woven seat sections. She was working on another, using straight sections of branch, leather thong and a knife.

“Those look good.”

“They’ll look better with footstools and woven seats. And I may be able to make a rocker.”

“Oh, hell yes.”

They were doing it. They were building stuff from the 1800s. They’d never get home, but they would manage to survive comfortably.

“How goes the garden?”

She waved at the tilled spot she’d scraped out with the E-tool.

“Well, I’ve planted everything I can identify, and it’s real late in the season. It’s mostly to get practice. I’ll plant more rows of each next year. The LT and Sergeant Barker think we can put in field tile and irrigation on the other side. So each year we’ll have tenderer, sweeter fruit and veggies, and eventually a few nut and apple trees. But, sir, understand that’s a project that will take decades or centuries. We’ll never see it.”

She’d said, “sir.” She’d slipped into Air Force lingo.

He said, “It’s a start for us. The next generation will carry on.”

“Which next generation is that?”

“Yeah, I realize it’s not going to be ours. Probably adopted.”

She said, “That’s an entirely different level of diplomacy, sir. It may not work.”

“Well, we’re going to try. It’s all we can do.”

He watched her lashing a T joint, which seemed to be socketed as well. It was likely she could bore a hole afterward and set in a pin. It was amazing how fast that skill had gone from an historical hypothetical to something they did easily. Bore a hole, hammer in a twig as a dowel.

“I do wonder,” he said, “if we’ve affected some timeline and the vehicles will get excavated at some point in the future. Or if they’ll remain hidden somewhere for a long time. Or destroyed. Or maybe we’re in an alternate timeline.”

Between yanks on the leather thong, she shrugged.

“No way to know, sir. It’s all possible, I guess.”

She was a problem. She was skilled, yes. She was a useful shot, yes. Practical enough. Her vegetarianism got dumped in a moment once they were in trouble. But she had an abrasive personality, and that very strong liberal arts streak that was at odds with both her practicality and often with reality. She didn’t like reality, and wanted it not to be.

She was quite good looking, which meant pretty damned hot by deployment standards, which meant the hottest piece of ass in this particular universe. It was obvious to Martin she wasn’t interested, and he didn’t blame her, but damn, she looked good bent over in the stream. Gina Alexander was nice enough, and looked a lot younger than she actually was, but Caswell, damn. And if he felt it, then the young bucks felt it. If she hinted at availability, they’d fight. Then there were the Paleos . . .

They really did need some liaison with the native women, except that required another layer of diplomacy, safety, birth control, and delicate negotiations. And then they’d likely expect kids. In fact, they’d been begging for them.

Not this year. That needed to be understood.

“Important formation tonight, spread the word.”

“Roger. And make sure no one shows anything modern around the Paleos.”

“Oh, crap, you’re right.”

Yeah. Nonfunctional stuff was just stuff. A lit iPod or flashlight was magic.

The word got spread and the balance of the hunting party came back with more meat. They jabbered and groped at each other, then most of them left, leaving three caretakers for whatever the injured guy’s name was. Elliott had conceded on that when they worked so industriously.

The steak was very chewy, but it was steak, Regina decided. Now she knew what aurochs tasted like. It tasted like chewy, stringy, under-aged steak. Still, it wasn’t goat.

She was glad she and Caswell had their own hut. The tepee was going to be snug with four extra bodies. She’d also need to tell the watch to make sure the Paleos didn’t go exploring. She was not interested in being seduced.

Home was gone, this was home now, like a permanent military barracks crossed with a college dorm, until the kids grew up.

Caswell was not a great hoochmate. She had all these theories, some of which Gina agreed with. But she took everything to a logical conclusion that came down to blaming white males, or white people in general, without regard to the fact that she herself was about the whitest person here.

Elliott stood, stepped into the firelight and said, “Keep eating, but I’m going to cover a few things. This is for us, Oglesby, so don’t translate.”

“Got it. They’ve started to grasp a handful of words. Nouns, affirmatives, negatives.”

“Roger that. Okay, the palisade is coming along, and we’ll thank our friends for that in a bit. We’re getting more variety of food. We’re working on individual shelters though I’m leery of spreading out too much, or of concentrating in one tent. There really isn’t a good answer. Sergeant Caswell has made two really nice chairs this week, and I’m hoping she’ll make more. Then we can use leather for some stools. It’s nice not to sit on the ground or rocks.

“Wear whatever is appropriate for the weather and work. There’s no Uniform of the Day. If PTs work for you, wear them, just keep in mind they’re not as durable. Part of me would prefer you not mix uniforms, but if it’s necessary, I won’t complain.

“We have enough power for devices at present, but only two flashlights can be recharged, so the rest of you will have to rely on phones to get around at night, and not in front of our neighbors, yet. We do have rechargeable batteries we can use in another light.

“We have a lot of work ahead of us, but be proud of what we’ve done so far. We’re making good progress on everything, and it’ll get easier as we continue to acclimate, and learn as we go.

“The important thing for tonight is a social issue. I know some of you are interested in closer relations with the locals, for both extra labor, and social interaction, including the women.”