A Long Time Until Now (71 page)

Caswell said, “I’m going to use ‘Dobby’ anyway.” She seemed more relaxed than she’d been the entire time they’d been gone. Well, he probably was, too. She was positively giddy, though. Was she drunk?

House said, “I can respond to any number of referents. Can you explain ‘Dobby’?”

Barker said, “She can. In the meantime, what else is there to do? Entertainment?”

He noticed the wall now showed a broad forest panning past, as if from a slow aircraft at low altitude. It was rather pretty, but not as raw or wild as he remembered, and certainly not to where they’d just been.

“There are limited numbers of video and sound performances from your era. Movies, I believe you called them. No direct access to information sources is allowed.”

Gina asked, “Can you make sure we don’t overeat? There is a lot of food here, and you keep bringing more.”

“The system now optimizes your intake based on activity level and metabolism.”

Gina said, “My metabolism has problems. I was taking medication for it until I ran out. Can you account for that?”

“I have the scans Cryder took. You will momentarily be provided with a cocktail to raise your levels to optimal. It will take several days to achieve full effect.”

“Oh. Thank you.” She had that sad-relieved look again. He felt really sorry for her, with her entire system breaking down. His stomach hurt like hell, but her brain didn’t work.

Caswell said, “I’m a vegetarian by ethical choice. What meal choices do I have?”

“I can provide almost anything. Is your ethical concern about the death of animals?”

“That, and resources consumed to produce it.”

God, he thought she was over that. She’d had to kill enough rodents and birds to protect her vegetable patch. Dead was dead.

House said, “The meat is grown in tanks. The bodies do not have central nervous systems and are never technically alive by our standards.”

“Oh,” she said again. “Very well, then.”

Trinidad asked, “How long are we staying here?”

“I do not have that information. Hypothetically, you may be here for the rest of your lives, if there is no way to send you home. In such case, you will have more access to our society, and we hope you will find it more comfortable than the distant past. It is possible the scientists will be able to send you home to your own time, or . . .” House’s voice suddenly changed tone, becoming less friendly and more automated. “I am not authorized to speculate on other outcomes.”

Dalton said, “We want to go home. No matter how cool it is here, we want to go home.” His eyes were damp and his ragged voice held back a sob.

“I perceive you may wish to rest or meditate in private. Your couches can move anywhere in the room you wish, and privacy screens can be raised on request. If you speak, I will hear you and respond if I believe you are addressing me, or if your cognitive function indicates so. Otherwise, I will be unaware of you except in an emergency. I understand privacy is important in your society.”

And what did that say about their society? Did every building have one of these? Were they networked? Did the entire planet have access to everyone else’s thoughts, not just words?

Elliott asked, “Given our arrival time here and the day cycle when we left the past, what is the approximate local time for us?”

“It is approximately oh three thirty-seven your subjective time.”

Fuck, had they been here that long? It had been noonish when they popped through. But yes, they’d eaten, jawed, eaten some more . . .

Elliott winced. “Crap. Would it help to be on the local cycle?”

“It is not necessary.”

“Can you wake us all at oh eight hundred?”

“I can and will.”

Barker asked, “Can you provide anything to help us sleep?” He’d been hitting the coffee, too.

“I can provide a nontoxic somnatic gas into your private areas. It will have a scent you find pleasant, and has none of the side effects you call a hangover.”

Elliott said, “Then we’ll do that.”

“I comply. Will you please explain your hierarchy? I recognize your rank structure but understand it may have changed during your displacement.”

Martin said, “It’s looser than it should be. The captain is in charge of plans. I am the senior NCO and in charge of implementation. I had more experience in the areas of history and disasters, but now we’re all pretty well versed in it.”

“You are the acting top sergeant, I deduce.”

“Acting first sergeant, yes.”

“I understand. If you will take your couches and find a comfortable location each, I will help you sleep and wake you in four hours, twenty-three minutes. You should find yourselves fully rested.”

Gina Alexander closed her eyes, then opened them. She didn’t feel sleepy at all.

House said, “Are you awake?”

“Yes.” She was, quite comfortably, with no aches, no fatigue. Whatever they’d dosed her with had worked.

“I will have breakfast ready shortly.”

“What time is it?”

“Oh eight oh-two, by your clock.”

“I was asleep?”

“You were asleep, and had three full REM cycles. Do you feel poorly?”

“No, I feel fantastic. It’s the best sleep I’ve had in years.” Oh, yes, that had been good. She felt wonderful . . . healthy.

She started weeping.

“May I help?”

She rattled off, as she had so many times in the last decade, “I don’t sleep well. It’s my thyroid, my brain chemistry, and various feedback loops. I never sleep a full night. I’m always tired, cranky, have trouble tracking.” She paused for a deep breath. “This is the first time in a decade or more. And I know it can’t last after I leave.”

“I will relay the information to our medical staff. I cannot speak for them, but I will inform them.”

“Thanks. Can you open the door so I can get breakfast?”

“Yes. I have cleaned and duplicated your PT uniforms, if you’d like to change. The others have done so.”

“Yes, thank you.”

She always felt self conscious in PTs, because she wasn’t nearly as lean and buff as the others. Some of that was age, some thyroid, some joints. But her face was youthful and she was constantly mistaken for a thirty-year-old, only her body was clearly a damaged forty-four. She stood out and was shy about it.

But, PTs were a lot more comfortable than ACUs, and she wanted food.

The walls shimmered and disappeared, and she saw the table, piled with bacon, pancakes, fruit and breads. The smell was amazing. And she wanted pancakes so much, but even without the months of an enforced paleo diet, she knew she shouldn’t. Watching Martin near puke had been scary.

One pancake. And definitely scrambled eggs.

“Morning, Alexander,” Spencer said.

“Good morning, Sergeant. Sorry I’m last.”

“By a whole two minutes. No problem.”

“Any news?”

Elliott said, “Nothing from our hosts, but we’re going to do some exercise in a while, and they say they want to debrief us. I’ve already told them we will only discuss incidents in the past, not our own time. I figure you understand protocols on how to talk.”

“I’ve done public affairs and intel, so yes, I know what I shouldn’t say.” And she was still hanging onto the phone and memory sticks, in her clothes. Could she get those home intact? Were they going home?

Bacon first, ask questions later. And a pancake with maple syrup that tasted real.

The future was tragic in its utopia.

Of course, Cryder and Arnet were soldiers too, so there was a military in the future, which implied other militaries or lots of unrest. So it wasn’t utopia.

Though anyone from the Paleolithic would gladly have moved to Rome, Viking Scandinavia, or twenty-first century America and had no complaints.

The pancake was delicious. She felt a buzz from it and the real maple syrup. She craved more, a whole stack, because she hadn’t had any wheat at all in two years. She also knew it would make her horribly sick, with Martin’s example of yesterday, and that it would wreck her metabolism and her weight.

She stuck to bacon, ham, and fluffy scrambled eggs, with a large mug of dark, bittersweet, very rich and savory chocolate.

“Alexander, are you with us?” she heard, and snapped to.

“Uh, yes, sir,” she said. “I zoned for a moment.”

She blushed and realized it had been several minutes, staring into the mug, eating her food, while the others had been talking. She recalled voices, but not what was said.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I missed it.”

Elliott said, “I said we should stay together, not get out of sight of each other for any debriefing or interrogation and not discuss anything we’re unsure of. Check with me first.”

“Of course, sir.”

“Please paraphrase it back.”

She blushed again. “Stay in sight of each other, don’t discuss anything questionable without asking you.”

“Correct.”

He continued without comment.

“Okay, so until we know what else is going on, we stay here, together. Prepare to be bored if necessary.”

Martin said, “What about House? He may have entertainment options.”

House said, “I can show you any surviving entertainment from before your era, or landscapes. There are also reconstructed board games available.”

Before anyone could respond, House spoke again.

“There are visitors outside. Are you amenable to receiving guests?”

They looked around at each other.

“Yes.”

“Very well, please stand by.”

Sean Elliott looked around. There was no sign of a door, but three people appeared within the wall and walked toward them.

Alexander said, “Oh, that’s fantastic.”

He assumed she meant the androgynous . . . woman? wearing feathers, because he was looking at the naked chick.

She was easily 6'4", and allowing for hips to match the height, she was absolutely stunning. She had dark, lustrous green hair, in a comb held up by static, perhaps. She had eyebrows but not a single other hair below them. High cheeks, green eyes, fantastic muscle tone, and no, nothing resembling a bra, unless it was invisible. Her tits were defying gravity. And the rest of her . . .

Okay, she wasn’t totally naked. She was wearing shoes, if you could call those pads under her feet shoes. They were like bootliners, in a green to match her eyes and hair. And she had geometric paint on her belly, around her nipples, around her throat, also in shades of blue, green and yellow.

He looked away, throat tight, and realized Alexander was looking at the feathers. Yes, they looked real, and to be skin mounted, but at least they covered most of the person’s figure. And did they have a gender? It was impossible to tell. Either a slender man or a fairly buff woman.

Alexander asked, “Are the feathers real?”

Everyone had gathered around now, a polite, respectful distance away. And now he noticed the man. He wore shorts, and had muscles like an Olympic swimmer. He was hairless except for eyebrows and a bizarre haircut that made him look like he was wearing a cap.

The person in feathers said, “They are real, but they are not grown from me. They are grown on flesh in a lab and are held on with a mucilage.”

“Does a device do the dressing?”

The person paused. Hell, he was going with “her.”

“Yes, my servant mod assembled them for me. It doesn’t take long.”

Then the naked woman said, “I apologize. It is clear my presentation is surprising. Stand by.”

A moment later she shimmered and turned blue to the neck, appearing to wear a skintight suit that then softened slightly around her groin and nipples. She was almost as dressed as a stripper now.

She said, “Should we take seats?”

The house produced three more seats, and everyone chose a place and sat. Chairs materialized under them again. It was disturbing how fast they’d gotten used to that. If they did go home, he half expected to sit and fall because he’d forget to grab a chair physically.

“I am Researcher Twine. This is Researcher Ruj and Assistant Zep,” she said, pointing at the man and the woman in feathers. “I have all your names, and I am glad to make your acquaintance.”

“Do we call you Researcher, or Ms, or something else?”

She said, “My chosen name is Alexian. Lex or Twine is fine.” Her expression . . . yes, she was a scientist, and they were her subjects. She was placid and aloof.

Mr. Ruj said, “Please call me Ed.”

The last said, “I am Larilee. Lar informally. Glad to meet.”

He wanted to clear the rules up front.

“Can we ask you questions?” he asked Twine.

“You can certainly ask, but we are limited in what we can answer.”

“I assume little about this time? That we can ask?”

“Yes,” she said. “It’s a policy, it doesn’t have to make sense.”

“I would assume you’re worried about changing the time stream.”

She shrugged, shoulders rolling and breasts shifting. “That would make sense, except your recent excursion doesn’t seem to have affected anything. And the speculative literature of your era explored most of the things we have now. So without detailed knowledge, it won’t matter. Can those Romans duplicate your vehicle’s ignition? Or even its engine?”

Ed Ruj said, “We don’t believe any temporal matrix is at risk.”

“Can you tell us what year this is?” He hid behind a glass of juice for a moment. Strawberry juice. It was sweet and delicious.

Lar Zep said, “It is not terribly far. We are all from within a general timeframe in history.”

“Within a thousand years or so, then?” He realy wanted to know.

“That will suffice for comfort, and we cannot confirm.”

Moving on, he asked, “What do you research?”

Ed Ruj said, “In this context, yourselves. The opportunity to talk first hand to people from before . . . from the past is thrilling.”

“Before what?”

“Many things, that we can’t discuss.” He shifted nervously.

Trindidad asked, “Is everyone in your society Caucasian?”

They looked at each other for a moment, and their expressions suggested they were reading screens in front of their eyes.

“No. However, we do not consider skin color a differentiator, and in fact, people often choose any number of . . . natural or artificial shades.”