CHAPTER 26
Dan Oglesby wasn’t worried about the outcome of any battle. The Byko ray guns and an AR-10 would definitely stop anything the Paleos wanted to do. At the same time, he knew they should avoid doing that. Time constraints and wish to contact as little as possible made any relations very difficult. Time constraints and lack of relations made dealing with the locals nearly impossible.
He and Spencer each had a side of Dr. Raven, who was wincing as she stumped along, making decent time given her shape and height. But unless they could get to a run, they weren’t going to outpace the party behind them, who were moving at a fast lope.
Then they started what was obviously a loud, angry battle cry.
Spencer reported, “Under three hundred meters.”
Raven said, “We’re not going to make the vehicle. We’ll have to fight.”
Cryder replied, “Understood, but I want to get as close as we can, and have open terrain.”
They jogged carefully over even ground, slowed and stepped where it was slick, rocky, or full of roots.
Elliott announced, “Slope ahead, straight down to the vehicle.”
Spencer said, “They’re about a hundred meters, in arrow range and almost in spear range, don’t wait much longer.”
To punctuate that, a couple of shafts dropped and stuck in the ground.
Cryder slapped the handle on the dolly, and it continued straight ahead, carefully choosing where to put its wiry legs. He turned, raised his weapon, and it emitted an audible zzap.
Then he shot twice more.
The charging party dove for cover. That gave time to get onto the grassy slope and make better time.
The Paleos paused, apparently checked that their casualties were still breathing, then formed back up and resumed their pursuit.
Dr. Raven growled as she forced her ankle straight and adjusted her gait to keep moving. He had to respect her endurance. She was pretty fit under the surface fat. He remembered her hefting gear in camp. She’d done well.
Right then another volley of shafts arrived. One hit his back and bounced off, feeling like someone poking with a stick.
It was good to know the arrows couldn’t penetrate the clothing. Their heads and faces were still exposed, though, and even if the armor could handle clubbing, once they were on the ground they were far more exposed to any kind of attack—stabs to the face, smashings, even fire.
The hostiles were getting close.
He quipped, “Think we can bribe them?”
Dr. Raven replied, “Probably only with a sacrifice.”
“That was my guess, too, dammit.”
Spencer said, “They’ve been after us for half the distance to the truck. I expect they’re going to chase us the whole way.”
Raven spoke through gritted teeth. “This is as fast as I can move. My ankle is tearing.”
Cryder shook his head. “We could’ve fixed that in our time.”
She replied softly and sadly, “I know…and at the time I didn’t think to ask. I’m sorry.”
“We will when we return. For now, you lead and make best speed. We’ll follow.”
She muttered, “It would be easier if we weren’t hauling all this crap.”
“If needs be, I can slag it all.”
The captain said, “If we can take it, we should. Unless you have enough imagery to completely fake them.”
“It’s not just that.”
“Okay, keep stunning, we’ll keep humping.”
Cryder zapped another, but the rest went to ground fast this time. They were quick learners. Elliott took a shot, too.
The pursuit was numerous. Elliott was reasonably accurate, but if you winged a man with a stun weapon, he literally walked it off and kept coming. Near misses didn’t do anything at all. Energy cracked softly, like potent static charges, but moving shooter to moving target meant the hit probability was low. Nor could Spencer help, even if he was probably a better shot. He had no talent at all with the Byko weapons.
Elliott bagged one, who tumbled into the dirt. One of the rear guard ran up to him, checked him briefly, and shouted what was clearly “He’s just sleeping!”
The other pursuers had been lagging behind. Hearing this, they renewed their pace.
Spencer said, “They run like Kenyans. Barefoot, all day.”
Dan noted, “And are lighter over obstacles.”
Martin Spencer said, “Apparently they’re aware of the limitations of nonlethal force.”
Elliott made eye contact. “Are you asking for permission for lethal force?”
“Sir, I am. I think a bit of hydrostatic shock will change their attitudes. And I’ve got thin cannelure soft points in this. It’s messier and louder than the ray guns.” He waved the AR-10 for emphasis.
“Yeah. As few as possible. We want them to stop.”
“Hooah!”
Martin turned, unslung his rifle, lined up the sights on that one near a tree, just coming out of cover and moving at a sprint.
“Tough shit, dude,” he muttered, and squeezed the trigger.
The rifle cracked loudly, even with the suppressor, but remained very stable, in case he needed a follow-up shot.
The bullet hit the man center mass, tearing through his hide, him, and out the back. He bent over on himself. There was a visible moment when his consciousness left his lifeless body, and the corpse sprawled teeth-first into the growth, his head flopping loosely as blood and matter gouted out his back.
The others definitely slowed their pace, stared and considered as they reached him, but then they continued forward, still whooping and shouting.
Martin carefully lined the sights up on a second one, raised them and considered if he could get a head shot in, and did so.
The man’s skull split and shattered like a melon. The corpse flopped in and piled up, shoulders to the ground, ass in the air, then fell over sideways.
The rest of the pursuit stopped.
It not only stopped, they all dove for hard cover with creditable alacrity. In two seconds they were all invisible.
“Let’s move while we can, sir,” he suggested. “They may decide to continue.”
“Yup, leg it.”
They ran at Raven’s best pace for another minute.
Cryder advised, “The vehicle is just ahead.”
It suddenly unmasked and was visible, the hatches and doors all swinging open. And wasn’t that perfectly normal civilian feature very useful on a military truck.
Cryder tossed his load into the back, made a “gimme” motion with his hands, and took everyone else’s gear as they came up. Raven was in obvious agony, favoring one leg, wincing and with wet eyelashes, which weren’t from the mist. She handed over her share and near collapsed.
Cryder put a hand under her arm, steadied her easily and got her into the rear seat.
The captain started unslinging rifles from people and tossing them in the back. Martin came up last, jumpy and keeping an eye out for sneaky hostiles. He shoved in next to Raven.
The vehicle moved slowly at first, since they were still in scrub. That was relative, though. Every bump threw them at the roof.
“We can get clear for certain,” he said. “But the track we’re leaving is easy to follow. They might.”
“If they do, we’ll respond,” Cryder assured him. He handed back a vial. “Raven, drink this.”
She gasped for breath and chugged the potion.
“Thanks,” she mumbled as she finished. She drew in more air, and seemed to have some idea of recovery breathing from martial arts. He figured she’d be fine in a bit.
He asked, “So it’s a sacred cave. How the hell did they get let in to deposit their weapons?”
Raven said, “Possibly as gifts to the spirits, possibly disposing of contamination to the purity of society. Those are common elements in these situations. I’m more concerned about the angry pursuit.”
He was concerned about the nature of the sacred cave. It wasn’t a cheerful place.
Elliott asked, “Cryder, can you mass-stun an area?”
The man replied, “Takes a lot of energy. Think of the volume of space being treated.”
“Yeah, right.”
He continued, “Then, unfocused, it’s a weaker effect, so inverted square of that.”
“So no, not an option.”
He shook his head. “Not feasibly, not with this.” He held up his weapon.
Elliott said, “The problem is, we’re slow enough they can follow. They’re doing interrupted sprints.”
“Do you want to shoot more of them?”
Elliott shook his head. “I’d prefer not, since it didn’t work. Obviously we violated the spirits badly. I wouldn’t be surprised if that was the home of the gods.”
“Given that cave art…” Raven hinted.
Martin said, “Yeah, let’s just not pursue that thought. Cryder, can you move faster?”
“On this terrain, I’m doing as well as possible. Once we’re out of the trees, I can speed up.”
“Right.” He had to drive around the trees. The pursuers had to do less dodging on foot, and could follow the vehicle’s wipe through the undergrowth.
He reached the meadow they’d traversed on the way in, and gunned the power plant. It was like riding a paint shaker. Then it was like off-roading on sand dunes. Then it almost leveled out. They were briefly doing near 80 KM/H, 50 MPH when Martin checked the display.
A couple of klicks later they slowed for more woods.
Hamilton finally spoke again.
“They will probably follow. I expect they can see us, or have sent runners to high points to watch.”
Martin said, “They are absolutely going to follow us. Last time, we got along with all the locals and none of the displacees. This time, we’ve pissed off all the locals except Shug’s.” Though given the quickness necessary for their mission, he didn’t see a nonviolent outcome.
It sucked having such a high-tech vehicle that was limited by terrain features.
Cryder said, “Should’ve brought heavier weapon.”
Elliott asked, “It’s not aboard?”
“Di’n’t anticip fer a cave.”
Oglesby told him, “Your accent is slipping.”
“I had no expectation to need it. Once we saw they had guards on-site, I should have figured.”
They had a really good lead, and had broken contact, but he was sure they’d follow.
“Got a plan?”
“Yes, one I really didn’t want to use.” He pointed as they entered thicker trees.
Arnet stood atop a platform raised from the second vehicle. He manned what was obviously the equivalent of a pintle-mounted weapon.
Cryder rapid-fired something in what didn’t even sound like their mangled English, but did sound like a cross between German and Russian.
Arnet started shooting, and there were loud slapping sounds. The targets were hundreds of meters away, and barely visible in the terrain.
The weapon seemed to shoot force-field spheres. Wherever they struck, debris erupted and blew. The lead pursuer dodged the first round. The second one hit him like a giant invisible medicine ball and tossed him ten feet.
The mass scattered, but still pursued. They definitely hadn’t liked the reception, but they were determined. Tossing them around wasn’t having enough of an effect.
A moment later, though, one of them shouted in pain, though nothing was visible.
Ah. Arnet has switched to that neurological weapon.
“They definitely think that’s the work of gods or wizards.”
“I am both,” Arnet called down, and laughed heartily. “They left.”
Cryder looked around, grinning. “We’ll need to reinforce the wards.”
Eyebrows raised, Elliott asked, “Who’s in charge back at camp?”
“Lieutenant Devereaux.”
Doc? With only a couple of backups?
Elliott said, “I trust him, but is that enough?”
“Arnet armed Dalton, and took precautions.”
“Okay.”
When they got back to camp, it became apparent what those precautions were. All the recoverees were inside a second set of wards, looking variously pissed off and depressed.
Man, this was just getting suckier by the minute.
They made it back in good time. Once the camp was within view he started looking. Nothing was on fire, nor anyone trussed or dead.
“Looks okay so far, sir,” he commented.
Elliott agreed. “Doc can handle command.”
“I have no doubt about Doc,” he said. “Eight on four, though, could be a problem.”
From the rear, Oglesby said, “It looks good.”
Sean Elliott wasn’t really sure how to address this, but Cryder did arrange for steak dinners from the cargo supply, along with some good reconstituted potatoes, gravy, and something that seemed like broccoli but almost flowery. There was additional rum, too, and some sort of mousse for dessert. It helped a little, but the troops were definitely looking like they had second thoughts, and little Kita gave them stares that indicated she understood there was tension and hostility.
He made notes in his phone, ate dinner in between, and then consulted with the others. He called formation for his own element up at the CQ.
First thing, “Doc, well done, and thanks.”
The man grinned a yard of teeth. “You’re welcome, sir, but it was easy enough. Wards, and Dalton was armed.”
“I’ll thank him later, and also privately. It’s not something to rub their faces in. How were they?”
“No trouble, between wards, collars, and eight of them being able to follow orders.”
“Good. Sucks about the collars, but they’ve been a handful.”
Sergeant Spencer said, “Being fair, they’ve acclimated here and are struggling. It’s almost like making fresh recruits fit in again. Especially given what we know of how these early peoples had much more laid-back societies.”
“I know.” He nodded. “I want to be fair, but they also have to comply.”
Caswell said, “They’re going to take time. I’m having trouble imagining how fucked up they are, even knowing how we were.”
Damn. She didn’t swear often. She was serious.
“Dr. Raven, Arnet says he can treat your ankles.”
“Yes, sir. I’m going to see him before dinner.”
“Now is fine if you wish. This next bit is military oriented.”
“Thanks,” she said, and stumped over to the reparked vehicles, with their awning roughly placed.
He continued, “With this done, I think we can now see about following up with this other element. As much information as we can get, but especially date, location, and exact numbers.”
Cryder said, “They’ll have to understand we’ll make another trip for them.”
“What’s your accuracy going to be? Five years? Six months?”
“With established parameters and transference presence, I understand it will be within weeks at worst.”
“Then, given the hostile attitudes here—not that I blame them at this point—we need to locate these others and unass to the departure point.”
Cryder noted, “We have thirty days, three of them movement. I’d like two days to fully set our position for extraction. That leaves twenty-five days of filling in time.”
“It seems like plenty, but something will eat into it.”
He made a few notes on his tablet phone, looked up, and addressed his three seniors and Dr. Sheridan.
“What’s our presentation for this other displaced element? Sergeant Spencer?”
“Assuming they’re Germanic, firm, polite, armed, with some sort of small gift to offer, and up front that we can take them home.”
Cryder asked, “Armed for show or defense? That is, do we want to appear to be armed by their manner? Or just in case?”
“Some of each is ideal. The captain should have a sword. It doesn’t need to be functional, but it should be dressy enough to show he’s a man of means. Any metal we can wear will show status—iron, gold, silver, bronze.”
“It’ll be real. Do you have a style?”
“Yeah, it’s on my stick.”
Oglesby asked, “What about language? Old English? Old German?”
“I have a partial gloss from throughout that time frame—again, assuming that’s what they are, sight unseen. It would be Germanic, but might be Old Norse or a predecessor, Old Germanic, proto-English, and I have no idea how to pronounce these, just a gloss.”
Oglesby said, “Show me what you have and I’ll do my best.”
“Will do.”
Sean asked, “Do we take women?”
“I would not take women.” Spencer said, then explained, “They will very much want to talk man-to-man. Women’s status in several of those is unique. They’re above women in a lot of contemporary cultures, but they are still women, and have a parallel structure, not equal.”
Caswell said, “There’s that one very documented find of a female with a military burial.”
“Yeah. One.”
She said, “No, I’m agreeing with you. There’s one. Which means there may be others, but we’ve only found a single one.”
“Right. That’s the significance.”
Next question. “Okay. Do we need armor?”
Spencer replied, “Not really. Most of them wore quilted gambesons, possibly some leather or chain sections to reinforce it—and I mean chain, like the stuff we drag vehicles with, not mail. Mail would be very rare, and not at all expected or necessary. If they were traders or raiders, they’re traveling light.”
“Got it. Bows? Spears?”
The NCO nodded. “They probably do. We can take the same if you like, but I’m thinking status, and if there’s any kind of violence we show them god weapons, since we have the means.”
“Got it. Any further details?”
“We march when close, keep good formation order. That will indicate we’re professional warriors. We’ll have good gear as well. They’ll recognize our status, and then we can treat as equals.”
“Noted. Anything else we can do about language?”
Cryder said, “Our system can recognize words and phrases with time. That means we have to have them talking, and we must have referents.”
“Alright. Will we have drones?”
The man smiled. “Of course.”
Sean considered and ordered, “The party will be myself, Sergeant Spencer, Doc in case we need him, Sergeant Oglesby, and Sergeant Dalton. Remaining here, Sergeant Caswell will be in charge of the camp. Which Guardians are coming?”
“I will,” Arnet said. “Cryder will maintain our presence.”
“Got it. The scientists remain here. I will impress on Lieutenant Cole that until he’s properly reintegrated, Caswell is in charge, but he is, of course, in charge of his element for work details, PT, and such.”
Spencer asked, “Are we planning to stun or kill if we have to?”
Arnet said, “Stun.”
Sean said, “Right. You better do that. I’m not sure if we can go beyond just shoot with your weapons, if stressed.”
“I can’t,” Spencer said with a frown. “But if I need to shoot, Eugene here will make them notice.” He slapped the AR-10 on the rack next to him.
“If it gets to that, sure. Okay, I’ll write it up for our records.”
Rich Dalton checked his gear over for the morning. It was cold but clear now, and would be freezing by morning. His tent was sealed with the heater on low, and that was an amazing bit of kit. Everything was in order, but he was always meticulous about it. He’d seen too many junior enlisted scramble for something they forgot at the last minute. It was unprofessional, and even worse in a leader.
The steak for dinner was tender and quite good. The vegetables were reconstituted and he could just barely taste the difference, now that he knew what to taste for.
The dinner conversation was muted, and more and more, the two elements were distinct. Having slave collars installed couldn’t help. As he was one of the troops who recovered the deserters, they weren’t ever going to be on good terms. All the discussion with Lozano was probably a loss. Even the ones who didn’t like him obviously felt a rift between groups.
After dinner, he took a walk around to gauge people’s morale states. Sergeant Spencer was a bit shaky again, but no worse than he often was previously. The captain was obviously flustered from recovering the gear that was now stowed in the second vehicle. Oglesby seemed okay. Dr. Raven had that focus that said she was very bothered and hiding. She also looked irritated.
He approached slowly, in full view.
When she leaned back from her screen and faced his way, he spoke.
“Dr. Raven, how are you doing?”
She twisted her neck. “Still buried in work. Though my ankles are a bit better.”
“I’m glad Arnet can help you. They did wonders for one of our troops.”
The woman nodded and replied, “Sergeant Alexander. I’ve read her file. We have a couple of related issues, but mine are better managed with my background. Still, I’m going to take their offer.”
“Excellent. How are you and Dr. Sheridan doing with the data?” The other scientist was still down at the fireplace, talking to Caswell about some game or other.
She shrugged. “It is what it is. It’s going slow. I’d almost work faster alone.” She turned back and resumed typing.
There was a definite undertone of dislike there.
Rich said, “I guess I got the wrong impression. I kinda thought you two were friends.”
She turned and gave him a look of pure disgust.
“No. I can just barely work with her professionally. I don’t like her. She’s not my type intellectually. Nor are most people, period.”
“Intellectually?”
“She’s stupid.”
Wha? He wondered where that came from, and his thought vocalized, “…She’s a PhD.”
Raven scowled and said, “Brighter than average, but still stupid. I’ve been rerunning experiments to suit her when I know the answer is right.”
“I just…you’re both…I mean, highly educated.”
She stopped typing and stared at him. “Education doesn’t make you smart. If you learn the correct things, index, and use them, they can make a smart person more effective. It doesn’t matter how much education you give a rock.”
“She’s smarter than a rock.”
She shook her head. “Not much, by my scale.” She faced the screen again, though was still talking as she typed.
Raven didn’t at all sound like she was boasting. She was stating a casual fact.
“How do you measure it?”
With a shrug, and while typing data, she replied, “Oh, I’m sure she’s borderline gifted or a bit more on a baselined IQ test, but as I said, what you do with the information determines how effective you are. She can’t be decisive, blathers on about feminist dialectic and TV, and even in her own field she’s not familiar with several major experiments.”
“And you?”
She paused and looked at him. She did have very pretty eyes, and they bored right through him. “Dude, I break IQ tests. They don’t go that high. The only reason I have a boyfriend at all is because he’s about as smart, and knows how to be rational as well.”
He realized she’d been typing a technical paper while holding a completely separate conversation. Holy crap.
“Geniuses aren’t rational?”
“People excel at finding ways to convince themselves their prejudices are true. Consider you and these genetic markers.”
“I’m just trying to stick with my faith.”
“And on this matter, and anything else to do with science, your faith isn’t even wrong. It’s just not relevant. You’re theoretically very smart, but you can’t drop your mystical beliefs even when facts are stacked up in front of you.”
He didn’t want to argue, but she was wrong. “That’s not how faith works.”
“No, but it is how science, reason, and reality work. Speaking of which…”
“Sorry. I’ll let you work.”
She said, “Look, we’re on the same side, okay? Just don’t expect me to ever like religion, ever be comfortable with it, or even acknowledge it.”
He asked, “Do you have a picture of your boyfriend?”
“Why?”
“Just curious.”
Sighing, she pulled out her phone, swiped and held it up. It was a professional portrait shot.
The man shown was older than she, probably mid-fifties. Fit, though, with a military bearing, clean-cut hair, and strongly handsome. He’d damned near make a recruiting poster if he was younger. He had muscular arms around a gorgeous, dark-haired little girl. Their daughter, he guessed.
She said, “You expected a fat nerd, didn’t you?”
Damn, she could read him like a book.
He evaded that question.
“Cute kid.”
She smiled. “Thank you. Keri is my entire world. I won’t be able to have another. Medical issues. I always hate being away.”
He switched subjects back. “How did you meet?”
“He was in the Army, intel. Then he went to school and worked for the Navy on propulsion. Now he consults and reviews documents for publication. We met online when I was just starting college. Mutual friends. I gave him links and info on some biology aspects of the machine applications he was looking at.”
“How long have you been together?”
“We started getting together at conferences, but we didn’t live together until after his wife died. Cancer.”
“Sorry to hear that,” he said automatically. “Wait, you got together, but…”
“She knew. We were friends.”
Broken moral compass. Brilliant, but separated from the rules that made society work.
Her voice cut through. “I didn’t ask for your approval, and you shouldn’t presume to voice it.”
Again. She did it again.
“As long as he likes you as much as you do him,” he said, diplomatically.
“He does,” she replied. “And my tongue.”
Whaa?
For just a moment, her eyes smoldered and she smiled.
He realized she was completely toying with him. He’d irritated her, and she was getting back by making him uncomfortable.
He wondered for a moment, but he was pretty sure she was being entirely truthful.
She was terrifyingly smart. And fat or not, she was strong even by male standards.
Holy Father, you keep giving me lessons to learn from, and I’m trying. But if it pleases you, can you slow them down just a little so I can try to keep up?