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CHAPTER 23

Jenny was impressed by how well these vehicles handled extreme terrain. Rocks, furrows, stumps, it just rolled over or around. Nor was the ride excessively harsh.

“Any idea how the suspension works, Sergeant Spencer?” she asked, hoping for a lay answer.

From the front, he said, “Very little. It appears to be hydraulic with a long range of flexibility. Other than that I can’t say.”

“And I wouldn’t understand. But I was curious.”

“I can’t guess and Arnet won’t say.”

Arnet, driving, shrugged. “I can’t explain the details anyway.”

Spencer said, “It’s very tempting to try to stay here—I mean, in their time—to learn it all.”

“Yeah, but we’d leave our entire world behind, and families.”

He nodded with tight lips. “I’d definitely miss my kids. I’m not ready for that step yet.”

He didn’t mention missing his wife, she noticed. She would make a point of never bringing her up unless he did.

From the back, Oyo commented, “This is so much easier than walking. We walked patrol, but rode to location and back. And since we got here, it’s just been a slog every single day.”

Jenny said, “We did all our construction, hunting, everything on foot. Our vehicles were parked once we found a site.”

At the river, they stopped, and Arnet used what were obviously binoculars, while standing atop and scanning. He got back in and they rolled downstream a bit farther, twisting over rocks and riverbank.

They stopped again, he sprung easily up to the roof and scanned. Pointing, he said, “We’ll cross right there.”

“It’s pretty wide here,” Oglesby said. “And there’s a herd of aurochs.”

“Yes, that means it’s shallow.”

“Oh, right.”

Back in again and they rolled over the silty, muddy bank, down into the shallows, and across. The animals snorted and mooed and ran out of the way. One bull tried to charge and bounced off. Arnet seemed to shift controls into some equivalent of off-road low gear.

Most of the trip was an easy roll. They hit a deep spot, and the motor note changed as the wheels or whatever spun for traction, finally finding it, bumping them onto a gravel bar. Then they splashed more, revved through another channel, and across more rivulets and rock.

“Lots of glacial runoff,” Arnet commented.

“It’s still like that,” Spencer said with a nod.

“Also in our time.”

That was a minor point, but she made note of it. They weren’t too far in the future.

Near the far bank, there was one deep section where the motor howled, the truck bobbed downriver and spun forty-five degrees before the drive train caught something and rolled them up again. Shug laughed loudly, enjoying the ride without any concern.

“On the way back I’ll remember to vault that at speed,” Arnet said casually, as Jenny tried to calm her pounding pulse.

“Impressive,” Dr. Raven said. “That’s a lot of torque well applied.”

Spencer loudly proclaimed, “I have got to get me one of these!”

“For rural Missouri?” Doc asked.

“And Arkansas, yes.”

The vehicle was quite smooth over mixed terrain up to about twenty miles per hour. At faster speeds the ride got a bit bumpy, but not as bad as a HMMWV, and nothing like an MRAP.

By midday they were only a few kilometers east of the bend where Shug said his village was.

“Here we get out,” Arnet announced. He popped hatches on all sides, and the vehicle turned into an awning while they pulled out rucks and weapons and loaded up. Jenny had her regular M4, a patrol pack with CamelBak and two MREs, uniform change and supplies. The Byko fabric uniforms and hat meant no body armor or helmet was needed, which was a huge plus. Even the Army female-cut armor was a boob-squashing beetle case that made movement awkward and slow. This fabric would stop everything that would and more, and was basically a shirt. She wore an older-style vest with her magazine pouches, knife and IFAK.

Oyo was not armed. Dr. Raven was, and seemed familiar enough with an M4, so Jenny didn’t presume to ask. The older woman raised it, checked chamber and safety, checked magazines on her vest, and slung the rifle. Doc had a Byko weapon. Sergeant Spencer had his uber-AR rifle in a caliber big enough to stop charging buffalo. Oglesby had an M4. Shug had his spear. They should be able to handle any local predator and small groups of hostiles.

Arnet told Oglesby, “Have Shug lead.”

Oglesby relayed the message, Shug nodded, and took point. He strode easily across the landscape, leading them downstream and slowly away from the bank, and up.

It didn’t take long to reach the bend, long and wide as it was.

Dr. Raven pointed and said, “This is a relatively recent meander, which is why it’s still cutting into the bank. Depending on runoff and seasonal floods, this might only last a decade or a bit less.”

“Interesting,” Jenny acknowledged. She watched Raven pause and squat to take a sample of dirt in a tube that she marked as she walked, then slid into a pouch on her belt.

Sergeant Spencer said, “It’s good terrain. It won’t erode too rapidly, but they might wind up on an island if there’s too much activity. An ice dam or heavy seasonal melt upstream.”

“This bluff will all erode long before our time,” Raven agreed. “Probably within a century or two.”

There were obvious paths worn into the bank. Most were narrow and rutted from years of feet treading them down. Some were wider, where bedrock allowed. The growth had been trimmed by people with tools to make a clear passage. The tools changed over time, but the effect was the same: making nature fit human needs.

Ahead, Shug started calling. It was obviously a greeting.

Someone called back, a querying tone in their voice.

He shouted again, arms up and outspread.

A man appeared and came toward them, spear over his shoulder, but gripped short enough to swing into action. They were all in the open, and not threatening, so he seemed comfortable enough, but not easy prey.

He stopped about fifty meters out, and called a greeting.

Shug shouted back.

The contact looked confused, jogged in a bit closer, called again.

Shug replied with a nod and grin.

The man raised his spear. Then he lowered it. He closed the distance further, and stared. He looked back and forth at all of them.

Then he looked back at their escort and said, “Shug sok repa?

Shug replied, “Aka!” loudly.

Then the two were hugging and laughing.

The exchange was obviously, “Where have you been? You haven’t aged. It’s been a long time.”

Shug’s reply was clearly, “I’ve been away, the gods took me somewhere else, to these people’s land, and they finally found a way to bring me home.”

“It’s good to see you. Everyone will be excited.”

“Let’s go!”

The other man, named Gol, led the way, walking sideways to jabber at Shug as they went. The Americans followed.

At least it seemed safe enough so far. Hopefully this tribe didn’t have any sexual demands for visiting dignitaries.

As they topped a slight rise, Gol started shouting. Then he grabbed Shug by the wrist and ran.

They had to sprint to close the gap, and Caswell tried to keep visual on the rest, and on Dr. Raven, trudging along as best she could on short legs with a bad ankle.

Fortunately, the village was right there. Wood and hide huts protruded from the embankment. She could swear that muddy slide was actually used as a slide by the kids when weather allowed. There were ropes and timbers marking walkways and handholds. Farther up it flattened out. This was the low suburb, apparently. Knapping and hide processing took place here, the messy activities.

They caught up as locals gathered around. They were a mix of shocked and thrilled. There were shouts and hugs. Some started dancing and singing.

Between Oglesby, Oyo, and Arnet’s device, they had a pretty good translation of various goings-on.

Oyo was nearest Jenny and Raven and said, “His father is out hunting, will be back later and thrilled to see him. That’s his mother and siblings hugging him. Friends over there, and the umma.”

Oglesby monitored Shug. “He’s explaining again about the gods and his trip. He’s calling us friends who found him.”

Arnet simply nodded. He appeared to be listening for any words that might indicate a threat.

Along those lines, Spencer had that .338 caliber rifle of his ready for anything large. Arnet and Doc had their space guns ready, as did she and then Raven, but it all seemed fine.

It was some time before the elation died down, and Oyo had to translate that time ran differently in other parts of the world, which wasn’t at all true and would probably lead to some interesting myths, though Jenny wasn’t sure if this was the root of stories like that, or if they already existed, or just developed independently.

It probably didn’t matter.

A girl brought smoked meat and handed out strips all around. Maybe not girl. Probably an adult here, possibly sixteen or so. She seemed mannerly and aware of her role.

The umma came over to talk.

Oyo took the translation.

“He’s very happy, and thanks us for bringing Shug back. They thought him dragged off by a leopard.”

Spencer said, “He is most welcome, and we’re very glad we could help, sorry it wasn’t sooner. It took time to come back here, and the gods twisted the seasons around. We don’t know why.”

Oyo nodded and translated. She still seemed thrilled to be back in American company and eager to return.

“He wants us to eat and smoke and…visit.”

“We will be happy to eat. Some of us smoke, but some spirits deny that as a sign of purity. If I get the other, all of us are mated or are forsworn while traveling, but we are very grateful for the hospitality, and wish to offer some gifts as well, since we couldn’t make this sooner.”

Jenny understood the exogamic drives here, but it would be nice if literally every encounter didn’t have “wanna fuck?” involved.

No, she didn’t. But the Americans did have magic spear points and pot. Magic points that would work until the magic was gone, then go away.

Spencer took over the presentation. The arrow points really were colorful, symmetrical, beautifully shaped, and valuable trade goods for these societies. The pot was, she understood, stronger than the local weed. He brought out a bag of drilled stone beads. Then he brought out a half dozen larger blades with antler hilts, with pouches for sheaths to hold accessories as well.

The village was very happy with these guests, and were still chattering and delighted at Shug’s return. Good. Hopefully this time everything went smoothly.

The umma, Gora, apparently, was effusive. He also had a headdress, and pulled feathers and what appeared to be bear teeth out of it. He presented them with one of each. Jenny accepted gratefully, and asked, “May I put it in my hair?”

Oyo translated, “He says of course you may. He also has another gift and wants us to come with him.”

Spencer said, “Sure. Caswell, come along, and Oyo. Oglesby, stay with Dr. Raven.” He stood and indicated.

“Hooah.” She stuck the feather through her hair band. It was probably from a large hawk or some kind of eagle.

Arnet fell into line, casually tossing something into the weeds that was probably one of his listening bugs.

The umma and his assistant led the way, apparently trusting the strangers. That was a good thing. No one had questioned women on the walk. Even better.

Into the woods and uphill they went, then along a path to a tiny clearing.

Inside the clearing was a small island of growth.

The copse was nothing but saplings, growing very straight. They’d been pruned by stripping twigs so there was only a lush crown, which was also topped to hinder main growth. The trunks below were about two inches thick at the base including bark, and split into limbs about eight feet up. They were perfectly bred spear hafts.

Oyo translated, “He says these are their magic-and-something spear trees. He wants us each to select one for ourselves.”

Spencer said, “That’s a pretty fucking special gift in context.”

Caswell asked, “Yeah. Do we accept?”

The NCO nodded. “Absolutely. Ask him if we can do the favor of cutting them for ourselves, and the honor of cutting a fresh one for him?”

The umma was pleased with these strangers.

Spencer whipped out his folding saw, selected three saplings that looked particularly straight overall, and started sawing right at the base. If he did this cleanly, the roots should coppice and regrow within a couple of years. Good job.

The chief was very excited about the saw, pointing and gesticulating. It was very obvious he wanted one.

Spencer looked at Oyo and said, “Tell him sorry, it’s a gift from our gods and we can’t share. But we have more gifts at dinner.”

She translated, the chief seemed to accept it, and was very pleased with how smoothly the haft was cut at root and limb. He was courteous.

The trip back felt quicker, downhill to a known point. In the upper village, the senior women and some men had dinner cooking over and in the fire.

The Americans were bade sit on benches made of split logs under a woven awning. There was what might have been an invocation, then the meal was served.

The roast venison, it seemed like, was well salted; the tubers were okay once soaked in animal juice. There were small fish, roasted whole. It was all served on a scraped out split wood platter, with long slivers of twig as skewers. For dessert, the baked apples were edible if tart, though Jenny did have to use a skewer to carefully scrape out some baked bugs that had been caught unaware as their home was put in the coals. She politely declined the roasted locusts and grubs, pointing to indicate what she had was plenty.

It was amazing how she’d gone from vegetarian bordering on vegan, to anything edible. Rough conditions did that to a person.

The place was very hospitable, and it seemed Shug was required to greet everyone, sample their food, accept blessings. They were definitely close knit.

As eating concluded, Sergeant Spencer said, “It’s time for another gift.”

Oyo translated.

“We bring some of our fermented drink, some made very strong by careful boiling and freezing with the right prayers and magic. Please share, and thank you for your hospitality, and raising Shug to be a fine young man who has helped us recover our lost people here in your part of the world.”

He raised three containers of beverages, stunning ceramic jugs that would also go away in due time. The locals were very impressed with the workmanship, judging from the oohs and aahs.

He raised one jug to his lips and passed it to the umma, then the other. The first was wine, and it was received with grins and enthusiasm.

The second was rum.

The umma took a sip and clenched up at first. As in the previous encounter, he exclaimed in shock and probably thought it was poison, until the alcohol hit him. He took another careful sip, then a bigger one.

Laughing heartily, he passed it along.

Oyo, next to Jenny, said, “He says it’s magically strong and to be careful.”

“Good,” she agreed.

She took a polite pull off each when offered, and passed them back around.

Dinner was followed by dancing and singing, though the singing was more akin to animal noises, drones, and hums, accompanied by several hollow percussion instruments—gourds, bones and sticks, plus flutelike bones that were a bit out of tune, but recognizable. Several dancers wore capes of animal teeth that rustled and clattered in rhythm, while someone else did rhythmic breathing that was almost throat singing. It echoed among the huts and trees and cliff face, in a weird resonance that was hypnotic.

One man plucked a bow to generate tones, stretching it across his toes to change frequency. Another ran a bone down his while rubbing the strings.

“Damn, that’s almost a diddly stick,” Oglesby commented.

Jenny grasped what he meant. She’d never heard the term. “Oh, is that what those things are called? Yeah, it is.”

The dancers swayed rhythmically, stepping and stomping and waving batons and hides. It wasn’t quite pantomime storytelling, but it was more than just simple steps. She listened to the raspy buzz of bows and the hollow call of the bone flutes. “They use the same scale we do,” she thought out loud.

“Pentatonic A,” Oglesby identified.

“That’s a common scale, right?”

He nodded. “Very common, standard for blues.”

“And they had flutes in that scale this far back?”

Spencer said, “Possibly thirty-five-K years. I’m not surprised by them here, but it is awesome to hear them. I recorded some on my phone. Hopefully we can keep it.”

“I did, too,” Raven said. “Beginning to end. Also some of the language for the intonations. I’m having nerdgasms here.”

After a couple of hours, the performers chugged water from wooden jugs and gourds, sat back sweating, and wrapped in blankets of felted fur, or hide, breath misting.

Sergeant Spencer stood, and said, “We have one last gift for Shug, who has been a gracious guest, a help in translating with others, and a wise voice about local matters we don’t know. Shug, this is for you.” Oyo rattled it off in their language.

He brought out the gift, and Jenny raised her eyebrows. That was neat. It was a sizeable stone blade, probably six inches long and leaf shaped, attached to a long haft with very pretty wrapping and knotting, almost like Japanese sword grips. The wood was carved and burned in patterns, and there was a leather sheath with a shoulder strap. Shug tried it on, and it hung just below his ribs, in easy reach but not where it would snag easily.

The boy handled it with respect and awe.

“Thank you, Martin,” he managed in decent English.

“Thank you, Shug. Use this with our thanks and blessings. You should show them your cape.”

He nodded, grabbed his roll, opened it, and donned the fabric cloak.

There were appropriate oohs and aahs. They knew handwork had gone into it.

“We will leave in the morning. You are a fine people and we appreciate your presence. Your entertainers are wonderful.”

Oyo translated again. She was competent with the local culture, but seemed happy to be heading home. If only the rest were like her.


They rotated on watch for the night, but there didn’t seem any particular need. During her midnight to 0200 shift, Jenny sat across from the lone fire tender and patrolled the inner circle of the village, huddled in the Byko-made jacket. It was thin as a PT jacket and warm as a parka. It wasn’t yet that cold here, but low forties without activity got chilly fast. Inside the jacket, though, was quite comfortable. The local man was dressed in a pullover hoodie of what looked like goat hide. It was probably quite warm. Under that he had leggings and ankle boots. She nodded at him opposite from time to time, and he nodded back with a smile. They had only a half dozen garbled words in common, so it really wasn’t worth trying to talk. Anyway, she needed to be alert and not possibly distracted by someone who would be the obvious decoy for trouble.

But there wasn’t any.

They were served a porridge for breakfast that seemed to be flavored with grubs and a half-developed egg. She managed a spoonful to be polite, nodded, and passed it on. No one seemed eager to try it. Doc and Spencer muscled it down, Arnet was utterly emotionless, indicating it was just business, and Raven made an awful face.

Shug was dressed in something more formal, a pullover in sueded, smoked leather with a few bits of antler and shell attached. He was with his parents and siblings, from a baby of perhaps two up to adults who may have been younger than he but were now older, physiologically. The relationship was obvious, though the eldest might have had a different father.

He insisted on hugging each of the party, then making a clap in front of them. She recalled the Urushu shaman had jumped and clapped above a person’s head as a protective invocation.

She hugged him, and he seemed so young and lost again, even as he was home. She clapped and nodded back at him.

Very carefully, he said, “I will miss you, Zhenny.”

“I will miss you, Shug. I know you will grow and learn, become wise, and be of great benefit to your family and village.”

Oyo helped translate that.

“Yes,” he agreed. “Thank you.”

Dr. Raven said, “Our researchers—call them shamans for translation—are very pleased with what he has told us of his people. We will keep his name in our stories.”

When that was translated, there was a ripple through the crowd. That had definitely raised his status from “lost boy” to “worthy adventurer.”

With those finished, there were waves, and they started the trudge back to the hidden vehicle.

Right then, Arnet cupped his ear, said something fast and complicated, turned and told them, “We’re needed back at camp. Run.”

She moved to double-time with the rest, then hung back to ensure Dr. Raven would make it. The heavy woman ran at a trudge, wincing every time her bad ankle bent.

Jenny offered, “I don’t know what I can do to help.” She wanted to do something, but…

Raven replied through gritted teeth, “There’s nothing you can do, but thanks. I’ll make it.”

Her pace was decent. It was obviously taking a toll on her.

In five minutes of rough cross-country running, they were at the vehicle, and Arnet didn’t take any niceties with terrain. The vehicle bounded across hummocks and between trees, careening over rocks, and making very respectable speed. Whatever suspension it had smoothed things a bit, but the impacts were jarring and hard.


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