CHAPTER 5 
CHAPTER 5
Elliott was nervous. This was a contact mission, with a completely unknown group. He really had no idea how they’d act, and hoped Caswell was correct. People were people, right? They all ate, crapped, reproduced and needed shelter. There was that Hierarchy of Needs by someone.
He led the way, because he was the lieutenant, but he hoped they couldn’t see his knees shake. This was worse than anything he’d done.
Alexander had a huge telephoto lens, almost looking like a cannon, and scanned the settlement ahead.
“They seem to use rock bases with logs and thatch above. It’s a lot more advanced than I’d have expected. And painted hides. Pretty good artwork.”
Spencer said, “I think they found a settlement south of here, above Mazar-e-Sharif, that was built on rock foundations.”
Caswell said, “This could be that culture then.”
“It was about the time frame we think we have.”
Elliott twitched his mouth and sighed. There was less and less likelihood of this being some trick. Everything pointed to the Stone Age. That some of the troops even knew which culture it was scared him, though it was helpful.
Gina Alexander figured they were at the one mile mark from the settlement, more or less, when some natives came to meet them.
They made her uncomfortable. They were tall. She was average height for an American woman, her husband broke six feet, but all of these men were over six, closing on six and a half. They were almond skinned and almond eyed, with long, dark, kinky hair. And yes, several had dreadlocks. She shuddered. That was disgusting.
They held spears, and what looked like atl-atls, spearthrowers. They wore skirted loincloths and robes, of what was probably brain-tanned leather. One had a wolf fur cape. He was probably the head man here.
Barker moved toward him slowly, hands up and forward. She twisted slightly so her rifle was ready at hand, just in case.
The native said something, and it was a birdsong.
Not really, but it was very smooth, lyrical, tonal, full of clicks and nasals.
Barker said, “I don’t understand your words, but I greet you.” He pointed at himself. “I am Staff Sergeant Robert Barker, United States Army. I call myself ‘Bob.’” He pulled his goggles over his helmet lip and rolled them into his hand.
There was more music. They didn’t seem hostile, but they were definitely curious. One came toward her. He looked puzzled by the helmet, armor and ruck, then seemed to decide she was female. The lack of a beard might have helped.
He drew a long tube from under his robe. It was a bone, dead but fresh. He extended it toward her.
Next to her, Spencer said, “Females! Accept nothing as a gift!”
Right. Some primitive cultures might regard that as an invite to mate. She shuddered again.
The native looked puzzled, and offered it again.
Spencer extended his arm, palm up. She pointed toward it.
There was no way to read the expressions. She couldn’t tell if the man was unhappy or not, but he gave the bone over to Spencer.
Spencer took it. “Marrow in it,” he said. “I think it’s a food offering.”
Caswell said, “An offer of food is usually one of hospitality.”
“Yeah, and this is full of fat. I think that’s positive.”
He poked a finger into the broken end, pulled it out oozing blood, and sucked it.
“Thank you,” he said with a slight bow, and returned it.
The man took it with a nod that might almost be a bow in return.
“Now I need a drink,” Spencer said. He grabbed the hose of his Camelbak. That likely wasn’t something the locals would recognize, and they didn’t.
In a few moments, they were all walking toward the village, the five men chattering like birds.
“That seems easy so far,” Elliott said.
“I get the impression they’re not short of meat, fat or water,” she said. “If there’s salt around here, they’re in fine shape. They wouldn’t have a reason to fight.”
Caswell said, “Band societies tend to fight only rarely. Sometimes over borders, but rarely in large encounters. Honor challenges.”
Oglesby said, “The language. It’s very rich in phonemes. There’s a theory about that, and this seems to fit with it. Some of the African languages have two hundred phonemes, and by the time you get to South America or the Pacific, you’re down to a dozen or two. It’s as if language devolved with isolation and distance.”
Elliott said, “Well, let’s keep our distance. We’re not friends yet, just visitors.”
Gina felt better. The lieutenant had been worthless for the first couple of days, but now he was acting like a leader, and there were some good skills in this ersatz squad. They might actually survive.
One of the men whipped it out from under his loincloth and urinated, right there. She wondered if it were symbolic, but the others didn’t seem to take any particular notice and kept walking. It was just a thing to do.
There were utters of disgust from the troops.
Barker said, “That’s common among the Dene cultures, and they may be distantly related. No real modesty.”
Dalton said, “Yeah, they’ve clearly never heard the word of God.”
She rolled her eyes and replied, “Private toilets existed before Christianity. And some cultures still have public ones, even with Christian influence. Finns. Japanese.”
He didn’t have a response to that. Good.
Elliott said, “Well, he’s done, so we follow them. If anyone needs a rest break, now would be good.”
She felt a little pressure, but she wasn’t going to drop pants and squat in front of everyone. She’d find somewhere later.
“Permission to uncover, sir? Since Sergeant Barker did?” she asked.
The LT paused to think for a few moments, then said, “Yeah, I don’t see why not. Keep your helmets handy, and armor on.”
Arriving at the village was neither the huge production Sean Elliott worried it might be, nor the complete nonissue he hoped. Children came running out, shouting, then some adults. The rest waited.
Led by the hunters, they strode in. The terrain was not very defensible against animals. The huts had doors facing the central fire. There were some midden heaps and obvious workshop arrangements, but no real wall. Wolves could come right in, or bears. They didn’t seem afraid of people in this time, but perhaps the fire helped.
The kids were like kids anywhere, dancing around, reaching out hands. Hey, mister, did you bring us anything? He wasn’t sure what would pass as candy or treats here. He settled for smiling and holding out a hand for them to grasp and rub. Then he had to bat inquisitive fingers away from his weapon and gear. They didn’t seem to be trying to take anything, just curious. He felt hands tug at his ruck and had to turn and wave a boy away.
And they reeked of sweat and dead animals. There were flies, too. There hadn’t been many up on the ridges. There were here, at least around the guts and other animal processing.
It was apparent that the locals had visitors periodically, and were probably peaceful. They were unafraid of the soldiers, and some of them did no more than look up before returning to work.
The village had perhaps a dozen huts, ranging in size from pup tent to TEMPER tent. Around them, people beat leather on frames, yanked at animal guts, twisted rope, practiced with spears, knit some kind of net, probably for fishing, and lolled about.
It wasn’t civilization, but it was human settlement.
A group of four headed their way, shooing people aside. They were presumably some kind of leadership.
They were a good-looking people, tall and straight of stature, almond skin, dark, broad eyes and hair that was tightly curled but not quite afro. At least the men were. The women had plenty of butt, if you went in for that sort of thing, and ponderous breasts. Well, no bras, constantly nursing, that wasn’t unreasonable, just unfamiliar. They probably looked like that in modern A-stan, but they wore clothes.
The man in the lead spread his arms in a universal gesture, so Elliott did the same. They both smiled. The man was a little shorter, grizzled gray and wrinkled, and could be any age, just “old and worn.”
Then the man spoke and communication fell apart.
“I don’t understand your language.”
Looking quizzical, the man spoke again.
“Still don’t.”
He was patient, but Elliott shook his head and repeated himself until the man shrugged and gestured behind him. A woman had what looked like an animal skin canteen.
“Oglesby, any help?”
“I can’t quite repeat the sounds right, but they’re saying a!ka, with a click. It sounds a lot like ‘aqua.’ And they’re pointing at what looks like a bag of water.”
“Do you think that word is the same?”
“It’s a standard word in both PIE and PIA.”
“Does that mean yes?”
“Sorry, sir. It means maybe. We’re a long fucking time until then, but it’s not impossible. A handful of basic words have cognates in a lot of languages. It could also be pure coincidence and a false cognate—sounds similar and similar meaning but from a different origin.”
“Anything you can learn helps. We need a pidgin of a hundred words or so, yes?”
“A couple hundred or a thousand is better. Smart people can make it work with a couple of dozen and gestures, but we don’t have many gestures in common.”
“Do what you can.”
“I can point and ask. We’ll get nouns first.”
Their hosts were starting to look anxious. Bracing himself, Elliott accepted the bag and hefted it. It sloshed. It was the whole skin of some small animal, tied closed and treated into leather. He raised it up, watching his counterpart, who smiled and pantomimed drinking.
It smelled half rotten and tasted earthy, rotten. It wasn’t terrible; he’d drunk sulfur and iron laden water that had been as bad, but it wasn’t pleasant.
“Good sign,” Alexander said. Spencer and Caswell agreed.
Caswell said, “You don’t offer hospitality to enemies, and it’s a neutral enough gesture. Water isn’t something they’re likely to consider overly valuable, this close to the river.”
“Well, good, because it’s almost vile.” He handed it back and smiled. “Thank you,” he said. Then he pulled a sip from his Camelbak. It was a lot fresher.
They all stood around, and the native examined them. Sean politely but firmly blocked hands from his weapon and pockets. They didn’t seem to have pockets, and the idea of a pouch on clothing delighted them. One was in his thigh pockets, and he had to dance around to dissuade them. They were amused.
The chief still looked puzzled, and waved for them to follow. He paired back up with Oglesby, which he realized was a good choice, translator and commander. He checked the others had also paired, nodded, and walked across the village to the southwest side.
Regina Alexander looked around. Their houses were fairly sophisticated. They had a rock wall about two feet high at the base, then arched and lashed limbs covered with hides. Some were almost longhouses, around thirty feet by ten, about the size of an old GP Medium tent. Several were close to being tepees. They were painted with geometric and anthropomorphic designs in medium earth tones including an obvious fish and elk. She wanted photos of those, but wasn’t sure how they’d react to her pointing a camera. They’d probably have no idea what she was doing, but . . .
Everyone was dirty. Mud, blood, animal guts, tree sap, dust, debris from the leaves and branches covered them in layers. Two of the dirtiest were washing in the river, down an embankment to a stony beach.
The Paleo people looked almost Caucasian, almost East Indian, but had kinked hair, not straight. All the men had scraggly beards, which wouldn’t compare to the coarse, full beards the soldiers were getting in a hurry. Most had dreadlocks. Some women did, too, though others had cropped tresses. A few of the men had shorn patterns in their hair. They all wore breechcloths. They didn’t have much body hair.
And they were all tall. The women were six foot, the men taller. The twelve-year-olds running around were as tall as she. Or they might be younger than twelve.
They had a lot of kids, and they nursed well into walking age. The women’s breasts sagged, and had long, chewed nipples. Most women had stretch marks and hollows or sags. She’d avoided that with plenty of exercise and a considerable amount of technology.
They did have all or most of their teeth, however, and those were generally quite straight. They had large jaws and plenty of room for the teeth. It occurred to her that mutations to the contrary would likely not do well, until agriculture and modern technology came along. In that regard, modern people had devolved.
They were friendly. They were too friendly. They approached her, hands out to touch, and the smell was revolting. They didn’t bathe enough, couldn’t wash off the animal refuse, and it all turned into a disgusting stench that rolled past her. And those dreadlocks were sickening.
She stepped back and against Spencer, and held out a hand.
That gesture seemed to work. They drew back.
Friendly was good, she reflected, but it was possible to be too friendly. They obviously didn’t fight much. They had no sense of a comfort zone.
Trinidad, the Navy intel guy, said, “Okay, those two are in charge. Everyone else looks toward them.”
Spencer said, “We need more words.”
Oglesby said, “I’ll work on it. So far, I have water, hut, ground, I think I have man and woman, spear, baby and fire.” He was scribbling in a notebook as he went.
“Good start.”
The two leaders came over and waved, an obvious “come on” gesture. She looked at Spencer, who nodded, and they followed, as did the others. Another of the Paleos, a woman stepped in to lead them to a hut.
They were being shown to one of the larger lodges. Ten troops could sleep in a GP Small if they had to. This was almost twice that, so there was plenty of room for people and gear.
It was marginally more comfortable than it had first appeared. The floor was dirt, but packed. There were raised beds along the sides, of turfs and moss and tree cuttings. There were three hearths. There were several baskets and other containers.
Their host laid hands on the beds and seemed to describe their comfort. She pointed at the baskets. She pointed at firewood and charcoal left near the hearths, and the smoke holes above. Then she waved them back outside.
They gathered just out front, and Gina was really glad for a buddy. Spencer seemed like a decent guy, very smart, and able to help the lieutenant keep on track. With him and with her rifle, she felt safe enough. But it was close to sunset and would be dark soon. She really wanted company.
Spencer said, “It’s a small enough camp. Ortiz, can you and Trinidad stay with grounded gear . . . here?” he pointed at a spot between the central fire and the large hut.
“Hooah.”
“Thank you,” she said, and gratefully shrugged out of the straps. She pulled her camera bag back onto a shoulder, and popped her armor open at the hips and neck. That helped. Even a light ruck was half her body weight.
Elliott was glad of the hospitality. It wasn’t that necessary, but it was a good thing to be on friendly terms with potential neighbors. He’d already decided they wouldn’t be staying in this village for long.
The chief and his assistants were joined by two more women. He took the first by the hand, and brought her toward Elliott. There was a stifled giggle behind him. Yes, it was hilarious to see them try to gift him with a concubine or wife, but there were complications.
“Sergeant Spencer, I need help fast.” He noticed there was a bit of a crowd gathered at a distance. There were long shadows, too. It was evening.
“Yes, sir, stand by. Follow my lead.”
Spencer stood in front of him, waved a disapproving finger, and pointed at the sun.
“The sun god would not approve, sir. As your Holy Man, I must advise against this. Corporal Dalton, you come advise us also, and both women.”
Alexander joined the huddle, then the younger two. Alexander asked, “What exactly are we doing?”
Spencer said, “Faking a religion so we don’t upset our own people, and using it to justify refusing hospitality. Let’s hope it works.”
“Please,” Elliott said. “I’d rather not get involved with the locals.” He didn’t want to be party to some treaty sealed with sex. Or any contact if he could avoid it.
Dalton said, “Yeah, you’d want her bathed before being brought to your hovel. And shaved.” He smiled slightly at the joke.
Caswell rolled her eyes and muttered.
“So what’s your plan?”
Still waving his hands flamboyantly, he said, “Well, the two senior couples and your Holy Man advise against carnal contact. Now we need to explain it to them. Let’s see if I can do this.”
Spencer turned to face the chief, and started pointing.
“His most Excellency the sun, lord of all lemurs says we must not engage with females. They are most attractive, and you are most magnanimous a host to extend such hospitality. But now I must step back and make distance. I will pour a measure of aqua into my hand and drink, and I will offer you the same.”
That was utterly bizarre, but the chief was distracted by the splash of water from the Camelbak straw into Spencer’s hand, and extended his own hand when offered. He licked at the water, then drank off his hand and grinned broadly.
“A!ka arluee.”
Spencer stepped back another step, faced the sun, bowed his head and opened his hands. He then crossed them on his shoulders and stepped back.
The chief seemed confused, and went into a huddle with his own advisers. There was some back and forth, and obvious agitation that didn’t seem angry. The shrugs were universal.
The women seemed a bit miffed at being rejected. They apparently liked the idea of exotic strangers for bed.
Another woman, a girl, a young man and a teen boy brought over food. The woman had a twig basket of berries with some dried plant pods. The man had most of a smoked kid. The teen had two roasted rabbits, and the girl had a leather skin that held nuts and a pile of what appeared to be fried grubs.
Elliott asked, “Spencer, what do we do?”
“To be polite, try the grubs and decline with a bow or something. We eat the rest. If you want to avoid them entirely, I’ll make another petition to the Sun Lemur.”
“Yeah, I guess I’m the officer.” He reached in and grabbed a couple of the crunchier looking grubs. Making sure his Camelbak straw was ready, he tossed them into his mouth and chewed.
They weren’t the worst thing he’d ever tasted. Actually, he could probably eat them if he had to.
He took a swig of water and swished it while bowing, then reached for an apple. It didn’t seem to have any resident pests, but it wasn’t in great shape, having been pecked and chewed. He found a side that looked reasonably clear, and bit into it.
“Mmm. Nom.” He smiled and nodded slightly. That was understood to be affirmative.
Behind him he heard, “Hey, sir . . .”
He turned to see Devereaux flanked by a bevy of women, and Barker looking frazzled. They had hold of Devereaux’s hands and were examining his burnt-coffee skin. Barker obviously wasn’t going to hit them, and didn’t really have any other options, so he just stayed close to his buddy.
Spencer high-stepped over, hands on shoulders, and made another pronouncement to the Sun Lemur. More splashes of water went around to the Paleo women and to Devereaux.
The Paleos were persuaded that the soldiers were not going to be available for whatever trade rituals they had in mind.
“Can you explain to me, Sergeant Spencer?” he asked.
“I think Caswell has the info on that.”
He turned to her, and she said, “Sir, it’s common to be exogamous. They’re a small band. If they understand reproduction, they want outside genes. It’s also considered polite in many to offer companionship, especially if it might be cold at night, which winter here is, even if summer isn’t. And they seem fascinated by Devereaux’s skin and my hair.” She’d removed her helmet, too, and her copper hair was a tangled pile. “I don’t think either is common, since they all appear to be sort of south Asian with dark hair.”
“We don’t look like them, either.”
“No, but they’ve probably seen albinos, and may have seen proto-Europeans. And your facial structures aren’t that far off.”
Devereaux said, “I don’t mind the attention, but yeah, they need some better sanitation.”
Spencer said, “Well, we have food, we appear to have shelter. Now we need to figure something we can give them in return, and some way to swap information.”
Oglesby said, “I’m still working on nouns, making notes as I go.”
Trinidad spoke. “For exchange, we have some big knives and a couple of machetes. We could cut some brush for them.”
“I’m not sure we should show them modern tools.”
Caswell said, “Sir, they’ll figure it out soon enough if they watch us, unless we never plan to use them. And we have to have something to offer.”
“Yeah. Okay. Well, let’s ask about that large pile of limbs over there.”
It was like being in some native village in Africa. Except even in remotest Africa they would know about steel, usually about cell phones, and have some way of communicating, even if it was pidgin French or Arabic.
Oglesby was able to get across the point of chopping brush, and got an agreement. Barker, Trinidad and Spencer pulled out machetes and started chopping. The rest gathered by their gear.
The Paleos looked on. They clapped, giggled in amazement, and generally got in the way. They seemed a lot less concerned about cutting safety than anyone in the modern world. Twice Barker had to turn his back and block young men from touching the notches he was chopping.
Trinidad did better. He seemed to almost dance around, and was definitely the go-to guy with a machete. He took long, lazy swings that ended in a wrist snap that would sever right through a branch.
Spencer almost took off someone’s finger, then gave up, moved back, and tried to act as warden.
It took only a few minutes to reduce the pile to neatly stacked kindling and fuel. Elliott wasn’t sure how the natives did it, other than by breaking off what they needed. Perhaps by scoring with flint tools? Although the sticks in the fire were scorched at both ends, so maybe they just burned big chunks into smaller chunks.
In the meantime, he noticed something else. They were very friendly people.
“Sergeant Caswell, are they . . .” he had no idea how to ask.
“Yes, they’re very intimate within the group.”
That they were. They touched each other frequently, including intimate areas—buttocks and breasts, but occasionally groins. They kissed in passing. They leaned foreheads against each other. One younger couple in a tight embrace were shooed along with laughs and shouts that clearly meant, “Get a tent!”
No, the soldiers would not be comfortable here. They needed a bit of food, and a guide if possible, and information on where they could settle without disturbing this group or neighbors.
It seemed as if the lodge was theirs to use. The chief wandered off with two of the women. His advisor or deputy went back to wherever he’d come from, and the adults largely dispersed to their chores. They were obviously watching, but not that intently.
Caswell said, “The strangers have food, water, shelter and don’t need company. Without a language there’s little more to be done.”
“Good sign?”
“I’d say so. They’ve extended hospitality, don’t seem offended, and don’t regard us as a threat. This doesn’t mean that can’t change after they talk to some shaman or other, but on the whole it’s positive.”
“Okay, then let’s check into the hotel,” he said. He grabbed his ruck and carried it in.
The lodge wasn’t bad. The overhead was low; he couldn’t get above a crouch. But it seemed to have a good roof of hides over sticks. The walls were hides that could be flapped open for light or breeze, in two layers. That was pretty impressive.
On the other hand, it wasn’t symmetrical in either height or base. They’d just sort of thrown it together. But then, without measurements, shape didn’t really matter.
Spencer echoed him. “They care a lot less about symmetry than we do.”
“I’m wondering what else they do in here. You don’t build a lodge unless you expect to use it.”
Devereaux said, “Cold winters, maybe? With all three hearths burning low and everyone stuffed in, it would be quite warm.”
“That does make sense. People want privacy within the family when they can.”
Caswell said, “Some Inuit do something similar. But I wouldn’t bet on a lot of privacy. And the attention,” she took a deep breath, “is creeping me out. Badly.”
“You don’t like being an object of worship?” Dalton asked with a smile.
It was the wrong thing to say.
“No, I don’t like being an object of ‘worship’ when the only worship they have in mind is to gangbang me for hours, based on a very shallow characteristic. They’ve been grabbing and stroking my hair, trying to fondle me through armor, and violating every personal boundary I have. I get that it’s a system that works for them. It doesn’t work for me. They’re filthy, nasty, and very direct, and honestly, most modern men aren’t any different, they just have a slightly more refined approach. Don’t think I haven’t seen your glances.”
Spencer cut in with, “What can we do to help you with that?”
She sighed and shook her head. “I don’t know. But I hate it.” She turned away, trembling.
Elliott was sympathetic. Despite her gruff exterior, she was rather vulnerable, and the culture here was partly familiar, partly alien. The thought of mating with any of these people was revolting, and they had been all over her. Over both women, actually, and over Devereaux.
Being here was an admission they weren’t going home. That made it that much tougher. These were the neighbors they had, at least for the moment.
They stacked arms, laid out bedding, and set gear.
Elliott said, “We’ll need more water.”
“I don’t think they’ll stop us going to the river.”
“Good. Oglesby, you want to talk to them more. Barker, please go with him, fill the cooler.”
“Can do.”
They had met the natives. The natives were friendly. He really wasn’t sure what was next.
Ortiz said, “These beds are pretty simple. Looks like they used turf and moss, and just kept filling in as needed.”
Caswell said, “They probably sleep using animal hides, above and below. That will provide some cushion. They seem to have shaped them like a bivvy hole.”
He nodded. “Yeah, I see hip and shoulder hollows. I guess they’ll work.”
Trinidad said, “More comfortable than the truck. Especially for you tall guys.”
“No doubt about that,” Dalton agreed.
Spencer rubbed his chin. “I really need a shave, and I wonder how long our razors will last.”
Elliott said, “Yeah, the locals are scruffy, but not heavily bearded. I have a rotary razor, works on a gyroscope. I’m willing to share as long as it lasts. After that, we have blades until they run out, then we sharpen a small knife, I guess.”
Devereaux asked, “We’re not going to grow them out like Special Forces?”
Elliott grinned, but said, “I’d rather not. We want to maintain our appearance so we retain our identity. We’re not cave men. We’re U.S. Army Soldiers.”
Trinidad said, “And a Squid and an Airedale.”
Elliott said, “Yes, we’re a multiservice force, but I’m standardizing. And I appreciate the broad skill sets everyone is bringing. You’re all going to be necessary. And tonight, something I should have done already, I need to know everything you all know that might matter.”
The entrance flapped open and Barker came through, hefting a full cooler in his hands.
“I took the water off the top, upstream from any disturbance. I skimmed off some surface crud with a handful of cattail leaves. It’s as potable as we’re going to find around here.”
“Good. Thanks much.”
“No problem. If it’s okay, I’m going to change to PT shoes.” He indicated sodden boots and wet pant legs. They were dripping into the packed ground.
“Go for it.”
Barker got dry and changed. Dalton asked, “Should we see about lighting fires? Do we need to?”
“It is getting dark fast.” He noticed it now. Everything was gray, and the chill was becoming damp.
A call from outside got their attention.
The apparent chief stood near the fire, and it was built higher. Flames offered some illumination. He was waving and obviously saying something along the lines of “Come!” or “Gather!” Elliott motioned for the others to follow.
“Dalton, load and keep an eye on the gear,” he ordered.
“Hooah, sir.”
There were stones and logs around the fire, and a couple of piles of something covered in hide. It was cool, but the Paleos seemed unbothered. He found a smooth stone, probably pulled from the river, though it might be glacial, and sat. It was uneven and cold under his butt, but it was better than the ground.
With a big grin and broad gestures, the headman told a tale. Even without knowing the language, the presentation was obvious.
Elliott listened intently, knowing he’d never understand a word, but it was a beautiful language. It was tonal, singsong, with clicks and nasals and whistles in among the common vowel and consonant sounds. It didn’t seem to have a lot of words, but there was broad variety in their expression.
The audience responded, but it wasn’t formal. They talked, pointed, joked. The leader made his way around, eventually reaching the soldiers.
He put out a hand and patted Elliott on the head, then motioned him to come to the center.
Sighing slightly, Elliott stood. He had no idea what this was about, but he’d follow for now.
He was expected to speak. Everyone watched him, intently and patiently, and the leader opened his hands and stepped back.
“Okay, well, I don’t speak your language, so I’m going to use mine,” he said. “I hope you’ll show me the same courtesy I showed you. Because I really can’t do anything else.”
A couple of his troops chuckled.
“We come from a long way away and a long time away, so far we couldn’t describe to you even if we did know your language. We’re lost, we’re short on resources, and we’re very grateful for your hospitality. You don’t seem scared, and that’s good. You’ve offered far more than we need, which we declined with gracious thanks.
“I wish we could stay, but we’re too different as groups. So I’m hoping we can make our needs known in a short time, for a guide and a place to settle. I hope we’ll be good neighbors, because we are few, but so much stronger than you can imagine. So let’s be friends.
“And even though we’re new here, we will make ourselves comfortable, and hopefully learn a little from you, while teaching you a lot about the future. But either way, we plan to make it work. There are only ten of us, but we have broad knowledge and skills, and we’re American Soldiers. We do not accept defeat, even in the harshest of conditions. Thank you.”
He bowed slightly and stepped back out of the light.
There were “Hooah!”s, a couple of cheers and a whistle from his troops. He blushed. He hadn’t really intended to give a pep talk, just fill some time as his counterpart had. But if it worked, it worked. It was hardly the greatest commander’s speech ever, though it might be the best for fifteen thousand years. Or ten, at least.
The dark was less enclosing with the fire. Behind them was a curtain of black. The fire was home. He’d found that in Boy Scouts, and felt it that much more strongly now.
The chief led some odd cheering that was half whistles, half whoops and half laughs. It didn’t seem to matter what was said, just that everyone shared the fire and was hospitable.
A woman started singing. It was soft at first, and repetitive. She reached a modest volume, and others joined in. Shortly, it was a long, sonorous unison chant.
The troops sat politely, listening as the Paleos added rhythms with sticks, claps, shuffles and stomps. It had a very simple beat, and Elliott had no idea what it was supposed to express.
People wandered away bit by bit, going to their huts. Elliott waited until about half had left, then said, “Us too, soldiers. Rack out.”
They rose and headed for their assigned hall, and Oglesby turned his light on with a dim red filter.
Even that was enough to draw attention, and there were shouts. In a moment they were surrounded by excited, chattering Paleos.
Elliott moved in close to him, and Spencer slipped in along the other side.
“What do I do?” he asked, as jabbering, smelly Stone Agers grabbed at his gear, especially his light.
Spencer asked, “Mini Maglight?”
Oglesby said, “Yeah, the Surefire is too bright. This is my night light.” He kept batting hands away.
“Let them have it tonight. They’ll run the batteries down and lose interest.”
“Can we get it back?” Oglesby sounded worried. Sean didn’t blame him.
Spencer said, “Yes. I’ll make sure of it.”
“I was hoping to use it for a while before they go dead.”
“Well, you brought it out, now they’ve seen it.”
“Sorry, I slipped.”
Spencer kept his voice moderate, but his tone was urgent. “It’s fine. Now give them the goddam light.”
Oglesby surrendered it, and someone shouted gleefully, holding it aloft. It did in fact get passed back and forth, shone into people’s faces, and then the red lens came off.
“Batteries will last about a day, figure, on that LED bulb.”
Spencer waded into the party and emerged with the red lens and rubber cap. He handed them to Oglesby.
“Okay, now we sleep in the dark, unless someone lights a fire.”
It was awkward feeling around in the total darkness. Oglesby was near the back, so he made his way by touch to his sleeping bag and kit.
Up front, Spencer said, “I’m here. Alexander was just beyond me. Barker was directly across. Find your buddies and make your way through that way. I think we want a small fire, especially as we’ll need a watch anyway.”
“I’ll build it,” Barker said. “Watch needs to stay on the door side of the fire, backs to it, when not tending, so they get illumination of anyone coming in.”
Sean checked his sleeping bag wasn’t against the side, to avoid condensation. The shaped bed seemed workable, though a bit tall for him. It had hip and shoulder hollows and was lined with a couple of inches of fresh grass. That and the bag should be workable, though he figured he’d be sore in the AM.
Then he realized fatigue was beating on him and he . . .
Bob Barker woke as someone came close. It was Oglesby.
“Your turn on watch, Sergeant.”
“Got it. I’m going to roll out to their head.”
“Okay.”
He wiggled out of his bag, slipped on his boots, and tied them in a hurry, because he did need to go.
Outside the lodge was beautiful. It was cool and crisp, the moon was down, and the stars were amazing. With some rest and some nearby people, it was much easier to appreciate them.
But it reinforced that they were fucked and far from home. What in the hell had happened?
There were vague hints of gray in the east, and there was a fire tender watching the camp’s fire. Whoever that was looked up, but said nothing, so he ignored them back. Part of him would have liked to socialize, but he was needed on watch, and he couldn’t have talked to them anyway.
The locals used just a line of rocks at the west edge to mark the night latrine. He pissed over the line, felt better, and headed back to the hut.
He scratched briefly at the hide on the door, whispered, “Barker,” and crawled back in. He made his way cautiously to the fire and around, wished for a jacket, and settled for hunching in close and adding another stick to the coals.
Oglesby said, “Thanks. Nothing happened. See you in two hours.” They intended to be up at 0600, but he wasn’t sure if the natives would wait that long. He had plans.
He wasn’t sure who’d been on with Oglesby, but Caswell was on now.
“Morning,” he said, casually.
“Yeah, whatever,” she replied, sounding annoyed. Well, it was early in the morning, chilly and they were lost. So he left it at that.
It did feel a lot better to sleep on an actual bed, even if it was field conditions. The truck and the ground had not been pleasant.
There was nothing to do except watch the coals, so he let it become meditation, as the heat shimmers drifted across the broken blocks of scorched sticks. He used a twig to push stray lumps back into the glowing mound. He added occasional fuel, shoved the burned pieces into the middle and marshaled it. There was just enough heat to cut the shiver, and just enough light to show the door.
At 0600, his phone buzzed in his pocket. Others must have, too, because people started stirring.
Caswell said, “I’m hitting the latrine now, before the rest do.”
“Go.”
The locals were casual about elimination, and Barker figured he’d probably learn to be, too. A lot of civilized rules were luxuries they weren’t going to have here. He had some practice. Now it was real.
“Calm all night,” he said. “So we’re ready for the day.”
Spencer said, “Goddam, I do feel rested. Did I snore?”
“Occasionally. Sounded like a damned diesel.”
“Yeah, I do that.”
Elliott said, “I’m also good. But don’t get too comfortable. Actually, hold on, we’ll have formation in here when everyone is back.”
When everyone had returned, the LT said, “Okay, we don’t have much food, we do have a way to refill water, but it’s going to be river water. We’re going to try to get information from our hosts and observe them for a day or two tops, then find somewhere to settle ourselves. Pack up all your gear, don’t leave it for the curious.”
Spencer raised his hand for attention and said, “Not only curiosity, they’re going to have very slippery concepts of property. If you’re holding it, it’s yours. Don’t let anything go, it’s probably considered sharing or gifting. Be polite but be firm.”
Elliott nodded. “I want to leave two or three people in camp, right here, watching anything we’ve grounded. As Spencer says, polite, firm, shout for backup if needed, be creative on religious rituals, that seems to work. Good thinking, Spencer.”
“That’s SERE training, sir. From when I was a flight engineer.”
“Okay, either way, we use it. Whacking sticks if you must. I don’t want any weapon fire unless we’re being swarmed.”
“What is the plan, sir?” Trinidad asked.
Barker liked what he was hearing now. The LT had definitely come around. That was good.
He said, “I’d like to take two others and see if we can join a hunting or scouting party. Dalton, and Ortiz?”
“You want me to save the animal after you spear it?” Ortiz asked with a grin. He was a vet assistant.
“No, but you’ll be able to tell me what their butchering method is like.”
“Ah, true. Sure, I’m in.”
Elliott said, “Oglesby goes around gathering language and helping translate. Spencer is here, acting as our holy man. The rest of you I’m not sure about yet, just be ready for taskings. When you have time, tell me all those useful things I asked about.”
Devereaux said, “I can’t stress enough for you to wash hands as best you can. We have a little meat they left us, and some marrow bones, but they’re not cooked.” He pointed at a pile. “They must be a lot more resistant to bacteria than we are.”
Spencer said, “I’ll try to convince them we need cooked food. And there’s fire, so we can cook our own.”
There was movement outside. “Well, I hear them getting up themselves.”
Spencer said, “So stick close to the hut for now. Inside and right outside. Let’s see what we can do.”
Outside, there indeed was a hunting party forming. They had spears, skin bags hanging by leather thongs, and fur capes over their kilts.
Bob walked up, and Ortiz and Oglesby came with him. The apparent hunt leader was the same guy as yesterday, very tall, lean, hair in a sort of dreadlock skunk pattern with shorn areas in between.
“Good morning,” he said clearly and cheerfully. “Can we come with you?” he indicated the spear and himself.
It seemed clear enough. The leader smiled.
“We need spears,” he said, and indicated it again, and his own empty hands.
There was some singsong shouting and someone came out of a hut, looked, made some kind of gesture, then ran inside and back out with a spear. It was presented to him with some formality, and what seemed to be an admonishment to “Take care of it, it is a good spear.”
He nodded and said, “Thank you, I will.” He held it up, examined it, and put it over his shoulder as they did.
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 mounted 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 demon-strated 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.
“How many?”
The visitor repeated his hands.
“Four tens and five?” He repeated it back. That was also silly. She was a young woman, her face was smooth, her shape was juicy.
“Yes.”
“You mean seasons, not turns.”
“No, four tens and five turns.”
“She can’t be that old. Perhaps two tens five?”
“No, four tens and five.”
“She also has no mate?”
“She has mate. Home.”
“Home is very far?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“She can mate here also.”
“No. None mate here.”
They were very upsetting. Fit men, unusual women, nice-nice items, but they refused to share anything, only offer simple work.
He couldn’t make them trade and swap. That would be rude. But they were rude.
Kotlra asked, “When will you move on?” Good. Yes. If they didn’t want to trade they should go away.
“Two-three days. Four?” he waved his hands flat, which seemed to indicate that was the longest.
Well, they could tolerate these strange people for four days.
He said, “Other visitors here four days. Less strange.”
Kotlra said, “I will talk to Jenny Who Leads Fighting myself.”
Sean Elliott was trying to track everything going on around him.
Oglesby said, “Sir, did you get that?”
He said, “I think so. He wants to flirt with Caswell.” That had the potential to be bad.
“I think he means more than flirting, but I don’t think he will be violent.”
“Hopefully. Caswell!” he called. She was in front of their lodge, with children watching her from a distance.
“Sir?” she turned and looked, and saw Kotlra heading her way.
“He wants to proposition you. Please be gentle with him.”
“Understood, sir. He doesn’t know better.”
“Very gentle. We need a couple more days.” He wasn’t sure how to diplomatically ask her not to clobber the poor savage, when she had a right to by her standards, and was vocal about it.
“I’ll try, sir, but there are lines I am not going to cross.” She sounded firm, bordering on angry.
“Of course. I don’t want you to violate your rules, just don’t hurt him if you can avoid it, and keep it minimal.”
“Will do, sir.”
Kotlra had reached her, and was smiling, hands open. He stepped closer, and she turned slightly, to use her shoulder as a block.
Oglesby said, “Ah, Caswell, they, uh, do it from behind.” He sounded embarrassed even mentioning it.
She nodded, and faced back, just as Kotlra reached out and caressed her. All he got was body armor, but she visibly tensed.
He stepped back.
But he resumed, with cooing sounds, and reached out again.
She deflected his hand and said, “Nooo!” as if to a child.
He looked dejected, shrugged, and walked away.
Hopefully that was the end of that. But there were a lot of apparently single men, or mated men with open slots for more women.
Oglesby said, “I told them four days tops, sir.”
“Yeah, let’s keep that promise.”
“He mentioned some other visitors here for four days. It seems to be a good amount of time. Enough to rest, hunt, resupply, and move on.”
“Makes sense. We’ll stick to that, too.”
Alexander had her camera out. It wasn’t bothering the natives, probably because they had no idea at all what it was. He agreed with her idea. The more information they had, the better. Another local male approached her.
She was bent in a half squat, and she had a pretty good shape from that side, for an older woman, muscular and rounded. The local saw it, too, and had his hands free for action. And these people liked to touch and grope even in friendship.
Elliot was about to open his mouth, but the hand was already extended.
It never touched her. She shifted aside, turned, caught his wrist, said, “No!” sharply and shoved it aside hard enough he staggered a step. Whatever martial art she knew, she was decent.
Well, at least the locals were picking up that word, which wasn’t dissimilar from their “Ni.”
Off in the distance were shouts, and the hunting party appeared through the woods. They carried large chunks of something dead.
“Antelope!” Ortiz shouted. “A big one.” He fairly staggered under a rack of ribs, and the others carried . . . good God.
Watching them process the chunked animal was impressive, and revolting. They squeezed out the guts, leaving a pile of shit near the water’s edge. Then one of them shoved a hand inside, grabbed, pulled, and started turning them inside out.
“Sausage casings and water bags,” Barker said behind him. “Possibly gut rope as well.”
“It smells like blood and shit, and . . . rotten meat.”
“Yeah, that it does. We’ll be doing that for sausage casings and bowstrings. They like Ortiz. He sectioned it pretty thoroughly.”
“I’ve seen this animal before,” Elliot said. He kept tight control of his stomach and watched only the parts he could handle. It was unnerving to see so many guts laid out.
Barker said, “Saiga, I think.”
“How do they taste?”
Barker shrugged. “Like cow or venison, I guess.”
Ortiz knew how to help the cooks, who used a chunk of mostly clean rawhide as a prep area. Barker joined them, and Caswell and Alexander showed up with some wild onions.
Caswell said, “We’ll need to stay in touch to find edible plants, sir,” she said. “But these are good.”
They looked like tiny onions with big scallions on top, and likely were, but had a bit of garlic scent.
“Oh, shit, they have salt!” Spencer shouted. “God, yes, we need salt, eating, preparing hides, industrial use. We need that info. And it’s possible they’ll have coal.”
Trinidad asked, “Heating for winter?”
“No, I’m going to build a forge.”
“Hah. Do you know how?”
“Yes. I do.”
“Oh . . . excellent.”
That was good news, Sean thought cheerfully. A forge? Iron tools would make this a lot easier. The trucks only had a few.
The carcass bits got salted and herbed and cooked into an orgy of meat. Some was roasted, some grilled right on the coals, some on hot rocks, some in a depression in a hide, as a stew heated with rocks. That contained the blood, marrow bones and some of the organs. It looked revolting and didn’t smell much better. Elliott hoped to avoid that and eat the steaklike bits.
Other parts were completely wrapped in salt-filled leaves, probably for preservation.
Barker brought over a twig skewer of juicy meat, about medium, hot, and handed it over.
“Thank you,” Elliott said. He took it, blew on it, and cautiously bit.
That did not suck.
It was steak. It was tough and chewy, but it was definitely steak, and a decent cut. The blood, salt, fat and bits of herb made it into something quite enjoyable, even if it was a chore to chew.
Spencer had an MRE package discreetly open. One of the side items, not an entrée.
“Ah, shit,” he said.
“Spencer?”
“Yeah.” He held up the package.
In the dim light, Elliott could make out, PATRIOTIC SUGAR COOKIES. Yeah, those things, shaped like little Statues of Liberty, flags and other stuff. The last thing anyone needed to see right now.
“Should I share them? I like sugar, but goddamn.”
“Uh, is it safe?”
“Small amount of sugar and starch. They’ll like it a lot. Shouldn’t cause any problems in small quantities.”
“Go ahead.” He wanted the packet himself, but understood Spencer needed to get rid of it, and this would help with diplomacy.
Spencer said, “Hey!” and motioned the chief. He pantomimed food to mouth and handed one over.
The chief took it, nibbled, and got wide eyed. Then he made “mmm” sounds.
In a few minutes, each of the main hunters, several senior females and the shaman had one each. He broke the rest into pieces and made sure each child got a nibble.
“Now they won’t leave me alone,” he said. “All gone.” He shook the empty package, wadded it up, and stuffed it in a case on his armor.
There was no formal fireside chat this night. The locals weren’t hostile, but were cool and uninterested. Apparently, romps with passersby and gifts of stuff were how their culture worked.
“Oh, yuck,” Ortiz said.
He looked over. A woman with a toddler looked like she was kissing the child. She was. Open mouthed. He was about to utter something himself when she pulled back.
Caswell said, “Pre-chewed food.”
“Uh, I guess that makes sense, but is that common?”
“I don’t think I’ve heard of it in our time, but I’ve heard of it.”
Wow. That was messed up.
Caswell echoed his earlier thoughts. “I mentioned exogamy, and trading gifts is a staple in most cultures that have anything. You notice they don’t really seem to have a concept of personal property, beyond which hut they choose and a favorite spear or bag. They share tools, the fire, each other.”
“It sounds very socialist.”
“It is, but not in a bad way. The problem comes when someone decides to stake out more material for themselves, and justify it.”
Spencer said, “As they will. I notice the chief has access to most of the women, even as trade goods.”
“They’re not property,” she argued. “They’re willing, because they’re not seen as property. It doesn’t last, but it needs to.”
“Not our problem.”
Barker said, “LT, I have an idea on an offering.”
“Go ahead?”
“If we can get a bird, I can fletch some darts for them. They have spear throwers, but not bows. Their darts have a bit of fluff at the back for stability, but that also slows them down. Feathered darts won’t be much of an advantage, but will be an improvement.”
He thought about it. Hospitality, yes. But giving them a new technology seemed risky.
“I’m worried about affects to the timeline that might make our odds of getting back even worse.”
“I agree,” Spencer said.
Devereaux said, “I worry about staying alive now.”
“Yeah, really, how do we hide two MRAPs in the layers?” Alexander asked. “Do we slowly scrape the metal down with rocks?”
Trinidad said, “What about guns? Do we never use them to hunt? Do we take native women? Or spend the next fifty years squatting in a cave like hermits and jacking off?”
Everyone was scared, and so was he, and he under-stood it.
“Okay, Barker, do it.”
The voices continued.
“At Ease!” he snapped. “I said ‘At Ease’!”
They quieted down.
“Our hosts are staring at us. Oglesby, say something polite, we’re going to bed. You can all sit in the dark and meditate on this.”
Spencer said, “Oh, I got the MagLight back. Batteries dead. They’re uninterested anymore. I think they’re also disappointed. So, Barker, definitely do those darts.”
A sudden stabbing pain caught Sean low in the guts, overlaid with a punching sensation.
“And here come the shits,” he said, as he ran for the wall, pulling at his belt.
Oh, god, it hurt. He could feel it percolating, boiling in his belly. Sweat burst out as he pulled at his pants and twisted to get his ass over the wall.
The eruption was hot, sulfurous liquid that burned like acid. It splashed off the rocks, onto his pants, shirt, balls and thighs.
He had only a moment to wince at how disgusting it was before round two spewed out. Then he realized he was sitting on a wall used by God knew how many other people, and pissed on, and . . .
Devereaux was standing a few feet away. He didn’t need a fucking audience.
The third bout caused his stomach to flop, but he felt mostly empty, wrapped in cool darkness. He gasped, panted, and clutched at his belly. He felt nauseated, pained, dizzy. He wanted it to stop.
Devereaux handed over something white.
“Bleach wipe, sir.” He sounded completely calm and professional, and Sean appreciated it.
“Yeah. I need regular paper first. A lot of it.”
“Here.” The medic handed him a roll. He tried to be frugal, but his hands were smeared with liquid shit in short order, and he used a third of a roll, then the bleach wipe on his balls and hands.
Devereaux asked, “Do you have spare clothes?”
“One uniform. Glad I did.” He’d have to wash this one, and clean his hands again, and bathe.
“Okay. Can you walk?”
“Yes. I’ll change in the tent.”
He eased forward and upright, and waddled toward their lodge.
He did not feel particularly welcome to the Stone Age.
Jenny Caswell was scared.
It wasn’t being in the Stone Age, but that was scary enough.
She was suddenly the prize woman in the world. The natives hadn’t seen anyone like her, and her hair set them off. To the Americans, she was young, female, and that was enough, even if she wasn’t as well developed as Alexander, and she was at risk, too. The local men wanted an exotic mate, her teammates wanted someone clean and familiar. There were eight men, and a lot of men, and only two women with the exotic looks, and Alexander just seemed to disappear into the crowd. Looks had nothing to do with it. Presence was all it took. She was present.
At some point, she expected to be raped, possibly gang raped. Not within a week, but after a month or more, one of these men, or a pair, were going to decide she was their property. The LT might stop them. Spencer wouldn’t. She knew that look when she saw it.
She couldn’t live alone, and there was no way to partner up with any one of the men; that would just lead to fights and stupid male dominance shit. It was a patriarchy in microcosm.
Alexander would be second, but either way, both of them were going to be sexually assaulted, and spend a lifetime as effective sex slaves.
The only other option was to find some native man and move into this village, or another. And while they were well-built, no way. They stank, they were uninteresting socially or intellectually. She might study them as a thesis. She would not involve with any of them.
And there was no birth control. She’d be pregnant, and delivering Stone Age babies. She hadn’t ruled out childbirth, but it was definitely a “later” thing. Now it was a “now” thing.
She sat back to the fire, hunched in on herself. She’d taken first watch because she wasn’t able to sleep.
A worse thought was that she might acquiesce to being nothing but a sex toy, rather than fight it, or let the men fight over it. There was no moral persuasion she could use, no chain of command other than a very flaky LT, who was a potential threat, and a senior NCO who was a bigger potential threat.
She was not suicidal, but there was the possibility that her death would prevent a number of social battles that could kill the others. She didn’t want to go there. She could imagine that a couple of the men might, if they didn’t get what they wanted.
Spencer was on duty next to her. He evidently saw her tension, because he whispered, “Things alright? Anything you need to talk about?”
“No.”
“I think you mean, ‘yes, but not now,’” he replied. “I’m here if you need. Or let me know if you need someone else.”
“No one can help,” she said.
“Yeah, I know,” he agreed. He probably assumed she meant being lost, and that was true, too. She might discuss this with Alexander. In fact, she needed to. Spencer, though, needed to be kept at whatever emotional distance she could manage.
She noticed something and said, “Huh.”
“What?” Spencer asked.
She pointed to an item on the rock ledge of one wall. “Hollowed out stone with moss.”
“Oil lamp?” he asked.
“I think so.”
In a few moments, they had it on the hearth and lit. It burned with a sputtering, low flame with a lot of blue under the bright, but it easily doubled the available glow to that of a good nightlight.
“It’s clay,” she said as she saw it better. “Unfired ceramic.”
Spencer said, “They’re so good at some things, so clueless about others.”
She said, “I think they say exactly the same about us.”
“You’re probably correct.”
He probably didn’t even understand the risk he posed, from that position of privilege.
She did.