A Long Time Until Now (59 page)

Richard Dalton worked hard. It was cool and brisk and cloudy gray, but he was in a T-shirt anyway. He was digging a substantial hole.

Cryder, whom he guessed was the NCO of the future pair, dug across from him. The man was tireless, but not very skilled with a shovel. Rich had had months here and years before to get very good at throwing dirt.

Trinidad worked between them, scraping and smoothing the sides of the hole. They were aiming for three feet deep and eight feet across.

It actually went fairly fast. In the meantime, Barker, Spencer and Arnet split planks with axes and the froe, and ran them over some tool on the future vehicle to smooth them. Then three of the Urushu burnished the surfaces with limestone, sanding back and forth. Barker called it “Holystoning.” It was a reference to scrubbing deck timbers with stones the size of Bibles.

Three of the Neoliths, supervised by a Roman—Caius, he thought—stirred a pot of pine pitch over the fire. The pot had been made by the Roman smiths. If all went well, they’d have a tub together this evening.

There were already steam-bent planks for the inside, and rope from braided goat hair for the outside.

“This ll be bedr,” Arnet said.

“Than the original plan? Yes.”

That had called for a tub, heated rocks, and then bailing to drain. This should actually have a drainpipe, and hot water provided from the future people’s vehicle.

He wondered about that. No one had asked yet, that he knew of.

“Arnet, what should we call your people? We have the Urushu, Gadorth, Romans and Indians. We’re Americans or soldiers. So what are you?”

Arnet shrugged. “‘Minders’ works.”

“That’s a bit awkward with our usage.”

“P’trollers? Wozzies?”

“What is your country called?”

He shrugged again. “Norilly countries anymore. Alleges, Tribs. Unities. Polities.”

“We have to call you something.”

The man shrugged again and said, “Cogi works.”

“Cogi?”

“Yup.”

“Ok. Cogi it is. How are we on digging?”

He’d give them this. They might not work often, but when they did, they worked hard. The man had done a third again the digging he had.

Trinidad said, “We’re round to the line. How’s depth?” He handed over a measuring stick. Rich moved it around the perimeter a few inches at a time. It was quite even. Then Captain Elliott handed him a longer stick with a plumb line.

“It should have the same perimeter mark and distance all around.”

“Got it.” It was fascinating how simple tools could be so accurate. He moved it around, but they’d laid things out well to start with.

“We’re good,” he said.

Spencer said, “Take a break, then get ready to be sticky.”

As the Urushu finished polishing, Spencer and Barker brought the planks over and laid them in a broad sunflower around the hole. Doc brought a platter of round somethings up from the kitchen. Rich drank some water and had one of the round things. It was a treat made of a rice ball stuck together with honey. Damn, that was good. It was sticky and filling and he drank more water, then sucked his fingers clean.

Spencer said, “Okay, I’m going to be in the hole with Ortiz. Trinidad hands the boards down. We lay everything out and then caulk in between with rope soaked in pitch, and assemble fast before it cools. We have extra pieces, because if we screw up, it’s hammer and prybar time. The reinforcing planks go in the middle, the rope goes around the outside. I nail the planks in place. We caulk the bottom.” He pointed at a limb with a hole bored through it. “Drain pipe goes under here, we fill around it with cement, drill a hole, then caulk the joint.”

Elliott, looking on, said, “Simple, right?”

“On PowerPoint, yes. Any final suggestions, sir?”

Elliott said, “Go ahead.”

It got messy.

Barker and Spencer rolled the large floor next to the hole. It looked like a giant round shield, reinforced with crosspieces that fit into a tamped and shaped hollow.

Then came the first rope, and skins around the outside. They started standing the shaped planks inside it, braced against the floor. Rich held four of them in place, as others were set at cardinal points and the base rope tied. Then the top rope followed, and other vertical planks.

Some slipped sideways, some out of alignment, and Spencer let out with a stream of profanity that Rich had never heard from him. The man didn’t swear much, but apparently knew how. Some of that was impressive.

With much shifting, cursing and beating, it took on at least an oval. Then the inside boards were forced into place, though they weren’t quite round. They stretched the shape until gaps appeared.

“Good, it’s tight.”

“I see huge holes.”

“Yes, but it’s tight against the ropes. Brief break.”

But although he said “break,” Spencer walked around with the hammer, tapping stuff into alignment. He muttered and squinted as he went.

“Okay, next. Doc, you’re up.”

Doc stuck a stick into the rope, much like a tourniquet, and started twisting.

“Easy!” Spencer said. “The rope won’t take that much force. Just keep tension on it.”

He and Barker walked around tapping with hammers. Some in, some sideways, some down. It seemed to be much like when they did metalwork. Fraction by fraction, the tub came together like a broad half barrel. Doc kept taking up tension, and the gaps disappeared. The inside supports creaked and shifted into an almost perfect circle, with more tapping.

“Okay . . . let’s wrap it up. How’s that glue coming?”

Barker took a look and consulted with the cookers.

“Better be soon. It’s getting thick.”

“Okay, let’s do it.” He grabbed one end of a rope as Alexander took the coil and started winding it around the upper band. Three windings left them with a few feet left over, that Spencer tied into a knot and drew tight.

“Paint it!” he said.

The iron pot of bubbling pitch was carried over between lift sticks, and the crew started painting the cracks and ropes. Their brushes were made of willow, hammered with rocks until it split into fibrous ends.

Hot sap splashed around, sticking to everyone and everything. The ropes soaked it up when hot, then were coated with more. Each joint got a layer, reinforced by stuffing fleece into the gap. Then the whole assembly was tilted over, with much straining of muscles, so the floor and the edge could be covered.

Then it was time to roll it into the hole. That took Spencer, Barker, Arnet, Cryder, Rich, Caswell almost underneath, Caius and two of the Urushu. It slipped as it reached the edge at a tangent.

Caswell shouted, “Woah! Woah!” and backed up the side fast, dislodging dirt as she went.

It slid down into place, and Rich avoided splinters from the well-fitted wood, but his hands were sticky and cracking with hardened pitch. He wasn’t sure how that would come off, except through wear.

“Okay, we’ve got it in. It should be ready for our first hot tubbing tomorrow.”

It was already almost dark.

Spencer said, “Much as I hate to, I’m going to drain a cup of diesel for people to use to clean the tar off. Use it sparingly. Then you’ll have to clean with soap to get rid of that. Oglesby, explain to the ancients this is a magic potion that can clean or burn. They must use it in small amounts only by direction. The Romans are probably familiar with naphtha.”

“Hooah.”

They had a hot tub. They had a fucking
hot tub
! Rich felt for a moment they could do anything, then reined in the pride. God hadn’t sent them here to show off. This was a good thing to have, and they’d earned it, but they were subservient to God and the world, not any kind of masters.

Ramon was ready for the hot tub. He’d had a cup of Spencer’s wine, steak, and berries with cream. It was a bit chill, and perfect for a hot soak.

The dome was lit by a hanging lamp that Arnet brought along. It was a glowing globe, better than the flashlights they’d had to use for so long. A hose ran under the scraped skin lodge cover and into the tub, and wisps of vapor hinted at heat. Another hose ran back out to the future vehicle, which had more and more useful gadgets aboard every time they needed something. It was fascinating how tools changed the productivity, for a tiny society.

There was a small arc of tent to crouch and squat in, and protruding sticks from the frame were used as clothes hooks.

“Speech!” Dalton said.

Spencer shrugged. “This was sort of my idea, sort of Bob’s, and everyone worked on it. It will have medical uses, hygiene uses, and social uses. Let’s plunge our bodies in the water of decadence.”

He started peeling off his clothes. He bumped into Dalton and the LT next to him.

They’d all seen each other in various stages of nakedness, but this was a little more. They caught on limbs and giggled as they tried to make it work. Ramon stripped to underwear, then as Spencer and Barker plunged feetfirst into the tub there was suddenly a bit more room, he dropped his shorts and slid in.

Hot water. He was sitting in hot water. It had that tingly burn under his balls. Even the shower hadn’t come close to this. It was amazing, almost too hot, and stung his skin, then evened out. He gasped, and his face started sweating.

Caswell looked quite nervous and small as she climbed down in. That was some serious bush, and it matched her hair. The Urushu had a lot less body hair. He wondered what genetics were behind that. That kept him from noticing her lean build and hips too much.

Cryder was powerfully built and very male. Arnet . . . he wasn’t hermaphroditic, but was very androgynous. Ramon had never seen a build like that. Slim, soft, but obviously muscular. It was creepy.

Then Alexander slipped out of her pants and stepped over. She didn’t seem bothered at all.

She was obviously a mother, with some stretch marks and a little belly fat, but in pretty toned shape on the whole, better than he’d thought she was, when she’d bulged through her PTs. Did she shave? Or electrolysis? Because she was still very smooth. And those tetas . . . she couldn’t be forty-five, because those looked very natural, and spectacular.

He was very glad to be sitting under water.

“Oh, even having hot showers, this is fantastic,” she said, and dunked her head for a moment, before running her hands over her hair.

It was fantastic, even without naked chicas to look at.

All the American men and Trinidad were very carefully not looking at each other, and not looking at the women. They looked at the curving roof, the struts, the water surface.

Cryder said, “Feels great. Tanks.”

“Thanks for the help with the pump and tools. That made all the difference.”

“Wooz. Why staring?”

Yes, they were all looking at him, rather than make eye contact with each other.

Alexander said, “Look, tits!” and rose up enough to bring them out of the water, then shimmied her torso. “I have tits! Look at them!”

Ramon broke into hysterical laughter with everyone else.

“And some of you are hung like stud horses, and some like stud gophers,” she said. “Deal with it.”

Spencer said, “Nice tits. Pass the wine.”

And just like that, they were friends again. Though Caswell still looked a little shy, but she was smiling.

Maybe she’d relax some day. She was cute, and very useful. Alexander was lush and smooth, if older. She had some skills, too. Though he’d probably have to marry a local girl.

Dalton said, “Everyone please remember, there is no farting and no coming in the hot tub.”

Spencer said, “If this was San Francisco, a young man like you could do both at once.”

Everyone howled. Man, that was rough.

The water was hot. It swirled around him, and he tried to ignore all the other feet and hands. Realistically, this would fit six people, not eleven. Everyone wanted to try it, though.

Elliott said, “So, hot tub and shower. We have some tools. Next year we might have wind-powered electricity, too, and maybe engine fuel.”

“No business talk in the hot tub, either,” Caswell said.

Oglesby said, “She’s afraid we’ll want her to turn it into a giant stew pot.”

“I’d be cooking you,” she snapped, pointing her finger but grinning. “Boiled asshole stew!”

The Cogi seemed a bit put off, but didn’t flinch. They sat touching and didn’t seem bothered by it. Ramon was bothered by Dalton against one side of him and Trinidad on the other.

“I’m good for now,” he said. “It’s been tested. I’ll wait for more room to stretch out.”

He pushed himself up, then realized everyone could see him hanging there when they turned to pay attention to him.

It was cold all over as he climbed out. Even with the bodies and the dome there wasn’t enough heat to compensate. He watched steam roll off his skin, and then his breath fogged up.

It was no worse than an Army shower point. He just hadn’t had even that luxury in a year.

The gravel kept his feet as clean as could be expected. He toweled fast and pulled on undies, then wrapped the towel over his shoulder and worked on pants, squatting under the dank goathide roof.

“I’ll relieve Doc so he can come down.”

And despite the chill, he felt clean, really clean, for the first time in a year and a half.

“Sergeant Spencer, Sergeant Barker, your hot tub is fucking awesome.”

“Thank you!” they both said, with raised wine mugs.

He stepped out into the air.

“Hey, Doc, let me grab a jacket and you can go tubbing.”

“Awesome, man.”

“How’s it look?”

“Quiet and clear.”

Behind him, Caswell said, “I’ll join you. I’m good for now.” She had dressed fast and was tying her hair back with a leather cord.

“Warm enough?”

She said, “The water was great. The air is cold. You’re all silly.”

He said, “We can take turns from now on, unless a couple wants to use it together.”

She cocked her head and replied, “I can’t see Dalton coming out of the closet.”

“No, but Oglesby might.”

Was she actually cracking jokes? The serious feminist and political correctness girl?

“Are we going to let the others use it?” he asked.