CHAPTER 12
Armand Devereaux found it hard to sleep late in the field. The fully darkened shelters helped. His alarm woke him at 0600, and he stretched. That was later than the usual Army roll out, earlier than planned. He wanted to shower, clean up, and keep tabs on things as people got ready.
He felt well rested and far more comfortable, knowing he wasn’t trapped and lost this time. He actually had enjoyed the previous day. Work had been light, the environment pleasant.
It was a cool morning, probably in the mid-fifties. He wanted to stay in the bag and be warm, but there were things to do. He dragged on pants and flip-flops, and crawled out of the tent with his kit. It was misty and dewy, but that was better than rain or scorching heat.
He was first for the shower. The onboard tank meant they each got a short, sanitary wash. At least the water was hot, and the curtained area worked as a good windbreak, keeping the steam in. He stepped from the shower to the vestibule and chilled at once, his skin prickling into goose bumps, until a waft of warm air took the chill off. Each section was just big enough to stand in, much like any field shower, which made efficient use of water, and apparently heating air. He dressed in a fresh uniform. The Byko-provided outfits really were comfortable, and looked correct. The ballistic resistance was a nice plus. The camp and gear were certainly above average for a field function.
Dalton was waiting a short distance away.
“Remind everyone to combat shower,” he said.
Dalton acknowledged, “Will do, Doc. Wet, soap, rinse.”
That was all they had for now, but it was certainly adequate. When they got next to a water source, however, they could have long, hot showers and even fill a tub, as long as no one was waiting.
Arnet came out shortly, even though it wasn’t 0800. The man got to work with some sort of container in the kitchen area, and grabbed some package from storage.
“Anything I can do to help?” he asked.
Arnet pointed and said, “Can you get the plates? Also, that package is condiments.”
“Got it.”
Cryder also came out, waved, and went to do something else.
Armand gathered the preparation was a combination of defrosting, rehydrating, microwave, and convection heat. It was minutes only before he smelled pancakes of some sort, fruit cocktail, and what looked like sausage links. Not bad. The pictorial directions on the balloon-like package he picked up indicated it was a beverage and he should fill the container with water and shake. He did so, and they had some sort of juice. Pineapple, mango, and guava, maybe? It smelled like good stuff.
With the plates out, Arnet started dishing out food.
Armand called, “Hurry up, we won’t bring it to you.”
SFC Spencer came over and said, “Well done, Doc. I’ll take two plates to the scientists. They’re apparently already digging in the dirt for clues.” He pointed where the two women had sample kits out. They had a table and an awning.
“That’s dedication,” Armand agreed, and handed over a plate of food. Then he grabbed another and left the pancakes off—he remembered Dr. Raven was on a no starch diet.
Dalton came up with Oglesby and Shug. Shug looked thrilled at having food ready without a hunt or fire, thanked him, and moved aside to start shoveling it in. He made lots of “mmmm” noises.
He certainly seemed happy to be back in familiar surroundings.
The captain was last, said, “Thanks, this looks good,” and walked off to eat while patrolling the perimeter and checking the ground.
Everyone ate fast. The science chicks munched between samples, and weren’t at all bothered with ladylike manners. Sheridan wrapped all hers in the pancake and chomped it, then slurped down the fruit and juice. Raven just stuffed a whole sausage in her mouth between each process, in a fashion probably not meant to be suggestive, but damn. She was overweight, but stacked. She was wearing a civilian outfit at present. That khaki field shirt stretched over her rack. The T-shirt was being tortured. She’d declined the fruit and juice, too. All she ate was meat.
She might be a bit heavy, but she had good muscle tone, and bent over, he suddenly heard Sir Mix-A-Lot. Rubens would probably have sculpted her.
She stood up and caught his glance at her breasts.
She grinned at him and said, “Yes, they’re large. It’s okay if you look. Men can’t help it.”
He felt a blush and, “Uh, ma’am…”
“It’s fine.” She smiled. “I know how big they are, and I know how biology works. Just no comments where I can hear them.”
That was fair enough. “Yes, ma’am.”
Next to her, Sheridan giggled. She was more round, less stacked, but obviously not offended, either. Well, good.
The scientists scooped, tubed, and labeled samples of several plants and the dirt. He wasn’t sure what their criteria were, but they apparently knew their job. They finished their specimens about the same time everyone finished eating.
Cryder had eaten while prepping what was obviously another drone. It was similar to the one from the night before. It was a small balloon with ducted fans, powered by both capacitor and solar array.
He did something to it, gave it a loft, and up it went, trailing that fine monofilament behind it. The wind caught it, it weathercocked and corrected, and rose quickly.
Armand noted Shug was staring in rapt fascination. He looked very confused as the drone’s surface blended to match the sky above and disappeared from view. He stared at Oglesby, who shrugged and told Shug what Armand interpreted was “That’s what it does.”
The wire seemed to be both tether and cable. Cryder had a tiny console out that was mostly screen, but took touch and voice input.
He didn’t seem to be worried about secrecy, so Armand watched without getting too close. The onboard camera had good resolution. Cryder panned and swept. The orientation shifted and turned. Then he zoomed in. Zoomed out. Repeated.
“Arnet, launch the PD.”
Arnet replied, “Willdo, Shuff.” He turned and spoke to Armand. “Can one of your element stack the dishes back in the box?”
The box section would clean the dishes and have them ready for the next meal.
That was easy. “Absolutely. Dalton, can you do that?”
“Glad to.” The man sounded happy to have a task.
Armand replied, “Thank you. I’m interested in watching, but let me take care of business.” He turned to the camp and raised his voice a bit.
“Sick call! Anyone need sick call? I’m here and available for any complaints or issues.”
There were a couple of noes and an “I’m good.” No issues. He hadn’t expected any. That was good, though he did enjoy his work. Especially without pompous surgeons harassing him.
The drone Arnet prepped was a lifting body, appeared to be as light as Styrofoam—and perhaps was—and snapped together.
While Armand watched, Captain Elliott came over.
“Thanks, Doc. What’s going on?”
“Watching the drone prep, sir,” he replied. “How’s the perimeter?”
Elliott said, “Per the cameras, lots of small animals came by. A couple of larger deerlike things may have. No predators I can tell. There seems to be that herd down there.” He pointed down the slope to a distant group of antelope. “Otherwise, complete wilderness.”
“Sounds good. Any housekeeping that needs done?”
“No, and that bothers me a bit. If we get bored we’ll get slack. There’s nothing that needs done at present, though. We’re fed, secure, bivouacked, and awaiting mission.”
“Any training we can cover?”
The captain shook his head. “I wish. We should probably start PT up again, though, once we decide where we’re going to be. We need to stay in shape, and anyone we rescue is probably going to need Army discipline.”
“We managed okay, but we got lucky. You did a great job of keeping order.” He wanted to make sure the man understood he’d been a very effective leader.
“Thanks. That was a team effort. Everyone deserved medals we can’t get.”
Armand shrugged. “That’s the Army way, sir.”
The captain agreed. “Sometimes. I still want you all to know you have my respect.”
This was much better leadership than the hospital. “That does mean a lot, sir.”
“How is your real career going?”
He shrugged and muttered, then said, “The medicine is going great. The administrative stuff can be some ballbusting bullshit. And I wish certain doctors wouldn’t assume I’m pig ignorant.”
Elliott said, “Yeah, you’ve done impressive battlefield work on the ones we could save.”
Then there’s the ones we couldn’t, so let’s change subjects, he thought.
“I didn’t want to interrupt the scientists, but now I’m curious.”
“Me too,” Elliott agreed. “Let’s ask. Ladies?”
From thirty feet away, Sheridan heard him, glanced up, and asked, “What’s up?”
They walked over together as the captain asked, “We’re curious about what data you’re gathering.”
She held up the packet in her hand and said, “Hands-on is a soil sample for comparison—bacteria, fungi, potentially viruses, and any microbial evolutionary change. We know of some, but fresh material for comparison is loads easier than decayed matter. We’ll be sampling the troops as we recover them, very important for infection control. Then, we’re both wearing weather monitors that are sampling CO2, methane, O2, particulate, ozone, and trace levels for climate research.”
Elliott said, “I’m still a bit surprised they allowed that.”
“Us too,” she said.
Raven added, “We’ll need periodic urine and fecal samples from everyone to compare to baseline. That’s for environmental study on metabolic contaminants and their effects. Don’t worry, we can take them discreetly enough from the latrine, and we only need a little. The same with anyone we recover, and possibly with the locals.” She looked carefully around as if counting people, then whispered, “And some from our hosts so we can determine as much about them as possible.”
Armand nodded and said, “As a physician, I offer any services you might need.”
“Thank you,” Raven replied with a nod. “We were not going to discuss that anywhere they might hear, and I’m leery even here. Some of their drones are tiny, and could even be in the clothes. You’ll notice I’m wearing what I brought.”
He’d wondered about that. It made sense in that context.
She raised her voice slightly. “Kate, let’s get the samples stowed. Captain, can we help do any cleanup or chores?”
Elliott said, “Cleanup is welcome, anything of ours needs to get recovered and trashed. Teardown depends on the Guardians.” He turned and raised his voice. “Cryder?”
Cryder looked over his shoulder, raised a finger for “wait,” and adjusted something. That done, he stood.
The captain asked, “What about teardown or movement?”
The tall man replied, “Teardown is simple. Looks like we’re about twenty kays from the river, and there are seval settlements. We’ll need to drive closer, then unass and walk.”
Sean Elliott laughed. “Did you say ‘unassed’?”
Cryder replied, “Yes. It’s a slang word for getting out.”
“I know the word. Where did you get it?”
“Used it long as I’ve been on duty, why?”
“Because we use the exact same word.”
Cryder laughed hard as well. “That’s very amusing,” he agreed.
He continued, “I find no evidence of electronics, nothing resembling vehicles, no chem traces of explosives. I didn’t expect any. Just a precautionary check.”
“Understood. When do we leave?”
“Soon as possible. If we drive in shifts, we can make it tonight and set camp in the morning, then have all day for meeting.”
“Okay, let’s do it.”
Striking camp took less than an hour. The bivy tents shook down and into their bags as fast as they went up. With no predators or other threats in sight, the wards came down in minutes. The vehicle assemblies folded into themselves. Once the fire was out and the latrine sump covered, the Byko wound down the drones and saddled up.
Cryder said, “We’ll rotate on driving, but Arnet and I’ll start to maximize speed. You should observe.”
“Sounds good,” Sean agreed.
The vehicles were built for four each, crowded with eleven split between them. Cryder and Sean were up front. The two scientists seemed a bit squashed in back, but neither complained. Doc stretched along the deck behind them, in front of the cargo box. The second vehicle had Arnet, Spencer, Caswell, Dalton, Oglesby, and Shug. Shug snuggled into a gap between seats and seemed comfortable enough, and he was finally used to the idea of vehicle movement.
When the US troops had done this before, they’d had three people walking as ground guides against the possibility of tumbling the overbalanced MRAPs. The Byko vehicles moved smoothly on their not-quite-track-sort-of-wheel locomotion, smoothing out all the terrain bumps and dips into rolling waves. Occasionally the dash would beep to indicate some sort of obstacle ahead, and Cryder just guided around. The display showed terrain features, and had shading and color coding for depth and texture. Sean felt he’d be able to use it given time. It was like a really good game interface.
He understood they’d only had a very rough intro in the future, but this could be important. On the other hand, so many tasks and equipment.
“Cryder, how is your military training organized?”
“In what context?”
“Selection, qualification, initial training. A rough outline.”
“Volunteers are tested for endurance and determination through an increasingly difficult series of problems. Lessons are given at each point. Then we select a specialty and study that in detail.”
“What is your specialty?”
“Crowd and scene control for major disruptive events.”
“Good choice, as it happened. And Arnet?”
“Arnet is a technical operator and maintainer. I deployed a drone for practice. Ordinarily that’s his task. He supported our vehicle through some damage last time.”
“…What does it take to damage this?”
“A stampede by !ketchethanu as the Gadorth said. Woolly rhino, as you call it.”
He nodded. “Yeah, that seems pretty rough. How is your initial entry reception?”
“Please elaborate.”
“Do you do PT, uniform issue, lots of hurry up and wait, shouting, ordering?”
The man looked confused. “Why would we shout?”
“Our instructors shout to motivate people.”
“If we weren’t motivated, we wouldn’t volunteer.”
“Right, but being motivated isn’t just enough. It has to be fast, reactive response.”
“That’s why we have tasks of increasing difficulty. Each one is a challenge.”
“How do you handle people who fail?”
“They can try until they succeed, or decide it’s not where they are suited. Many don’t like heights, even with airborne transportation in our society. Taking the vehicle and all its safety mechanisms away makes it much less comfortable.”
“It does. So, just tougher activities all the time?”
“Yes. Running, lifting, hiking, equipment, medicine, terrain orienting and crossing, building access and scaling, weapons usage and unarmed fighting. Then specialties in equipment and management.”
“Can you compare our ranks to yours?”
“Not really. Yours are harder codified. Ours are a sliding scale, I think you say.”
“I see.”
The man explained, “Arnet is in charge if we must perform maintenance. You’ll be in charge during interactions with your displacees. I’m in charge of our movement otherwise and our transitions. We have the cooperative leadership for bivwac location and schedule. Does this suit you?”
“It seems to work well. Do you know any good jokes?”
“Possibly.” Cryder said nothing for some time, concentrating on terrain, but also seemed to be in thought. He cautiously maneuvered around the edge of a herd of goats. The animals drew back, leaving space, but since the vehicle didn’t smell like a predator or make any move toward them, they didn’t flee.
Cryder maneuvered generally downward, over lips and contours, around boulders and copses of trees. The man gave his attention to steering, and Sean stayed quiet.
It was about five minutes before Cryder said, “I don’t know if this joke is appropriate in your group with mixed sexes.”
From the back, Raven said, “Go for it.”
Cryder shrugged. “What do you call a woman who can start an impeller engine with her mouth?”
The answer, obviously, was “Darling.” Sean had his mouth open when Raven cut in.
“If he can call me anything at that moment, I’m not doing it right.”
Cryder laughed. Sean followed, then the others.
Good answer.
“I’ve rarely seen you smile,” Sean said. “I’ve seen cheerful people in your time, but few jokes.”
“We joke, but not generally in public.”
“Why is that?”
“A joke’s funny because of shock factor, but everyone’s limit is different.”
“True. Some of our culture have taken that to an extreme.”
Sheridan leaned forward and said, “We call those ‘assholes.’”
Cryder chuckled.
Sean was glad. It was an unintentional test of the contractors, but they weren’t spoiled snowflakes who’d whine about soldier slang.
“By the way, rations are in the middle box,” Cryder pointed at a console. “Choose what you like.”
Sean acknowledged, “Great, as soon as I puzzle out your lettering.”
“Not that different.”
“Different enough to slow me slightly. I’ll see what I can find.”
Raven said, “I need mine starch free, or at least wheat free.”
“Cryder, can you advise?”
“It’s all wheat free. On the other, give me a sec,” he said, and turned, letting the vehicle drive itself. Well, it was probably equipped for that and the terrain was smooth enough. He leaned over the seats, stretched back, and dug in the box.
“Beef sticks with spice sauce, Siber chicken roll, chicken chowder has corn but no wheat.”
She looked relieved. “Thanks. I’ll make sure to plan ahead for tomorrow.”
In the other vehicle, Arnet followed the lead. Martin Spencer sat next to him, wondering about details. The terrain was less lush here than when they’d been in similar geography. This was a different era.
“What time frame is this?”
“Younger Dryas, as you called it.”
“Ah. Later than we were?”
“Quite some, yes.”
“When were we?” he asked, trying to sound as casual as possible.
“Thirteen thousand, two hundred ninety-one years before your calendar dating.”
Holy shit. He’d said it. Doc had been close with his guess. And damn, that was precise, but then, once they had a point established, each one should be easier, right?
“Do more points make it easier to coordinate these things?”
“Of course.”
“I didn’t want to assume.”
Arnet shrugged. “This is about as much as I know.”
Martin said, “Civilization started a few centuries before this, near as we can tell, then this cooling period stopped it dead. They seem to have had to start over again.”
Arnet almost smiled as he said, “I can’t comment even if I know about it.”
“I understand. It would be fascinating to look around, though.”
Nodding agreement, the man said, “It would. Time and energy costs don’t permit that, and there’re numerous uncertainties regarding how safe that is for the Temporality.”
Martin understood that. “Yes. Any observer might affect outcomes, to any number of degrees. Which might snowball into a disaster.”
“Correct. I don’t know at all, but our scientists are being very cautious, which I think is wise.”
That was valid. “Yeah. If you don’t know, don’t mess with it.”
“I hope they’ll be able to eventually send observers and drones back to get accurate data of all these events and natural processes.”
“Very much. That would tempt me to move to your society, if I didn’t have ties back home.” He didn’t want to continue that train of thought, either.
Arnet saved him by saying, “Anyway, let’s have lunch.”
They ate and talked while proceeding at a slow, methodical rate.
Pitching camp that afternoon was as easy. They halted on an even area next to a tiny trickle of stream, with scattered trees and rocks. Rich Dalton helped set the wards, pressing them into the ground with a heel, just like on a shovel. It was that simple. They’d sense anything approaching, sound a warning, create a shock barricade that would at least slow most fauna, and could provide illumination. Neat stuff. It didn’t seem it was that much more advanced than modern technology, though an Army unit would need a generator to power them. These fed off a large battery, and could recharge slowly from the sun, quickly from the nuke plants on the vehicles. Another package unfolded as a scaffolding with a sensor atop the second vehicle. That was the guard tower. One hose went upstream for water intake, the other downstream for discharge.
Rich asked, “How processed is the wastewater?”
Cryder assured him, “It’s sterile on discharge. Though there’s some chemical sediment. The manufactory takes minerals from it.”
Arnet followed along with Oglesby, erecting lightweight screens, struggling slightly against the gusty breeze.
Rich asked, “What are those?”
Arnet said, “One-way panels. We’ll be near invisible from the sides. In the field, we can erect them overhead.”
“Cool. That makes sense. No reason to freak out anyone finding us.”
Arnet noted, “We are leaving the downstream arc open.” He pointed to that side of the bivouac.
“Got it. Arnet, who do you guys fight?” The question had been bugging him.
The man looked up and replied, “At home? Few.”
“Okay. Riot control?” What did they do, then?
Arnet put down the sheet he held and nodded. “We train for that. We’re a cross between your military, police, and rescue contingents. There are occasional disputes over border territory, product and process control, or material resources.” He raised the sheet back up and snapped it against the wards.
That sounded familiar. “Those get violent?”
“Less often if we’re present, but yes, it has happened. The last was ten years ago.”
He was still curious. “For which nations?” He raised the next panel for Arnet to attach.
Arnet shrugged fractionally. “You wouldn’t recanize them, but in Central Europe. If you’re asking who we are fighting presently, there’s no notable conflict. We hope that continues, we’ve made responses twice in the last year to contentious events. I also participated in an Arctic rescue of some adventurers.”
“What were they doing, hiking to the pole?”
“Cycle racing.”
Rich whistled. “Yeah, that doesn’t sound like the safest thing in that environment.” He shoved a panel upright and Arnet pinned it to its neighbor.
Arnet said, “They all survived. Two needed stabilized, stasised, transported and significant recovery time.”
Rich asked, “Was that a onetime thing?” And idiots still liked to risk their lives, apparently.
“It’s a regular event. As is the Chomolungma Power Climb.”
“Chomo…?”
“The tallest mountain, northeast of here.”
“Everest? Mount Everest?” He rested the next panel on his knee, adjusted grip, and hefted.
“That sounds like the name I heard, yes. The native name is what we use.”
“Cool. Our National Guard does a lot of disaster response. Forest fires and such.” At least they had something in common.
Arnet agreed, “Those exist, rarely affect our habitations.”
He noted, “You have much better environmental control than we do.”
“Not completely, but yes. Earthquakes remain poorly predictable.”
“Volcanoes?”
The tall man barely sounded strained as he raised another screen and snapped it into position. “We avoid living on them generally, though houses built on them can resist lava, and most owners have air vehicles for evac. We did lose several patrons in one last year. They lost connection and were cut off, so the personalities failed.”
“They’re legally people, aren’t they?”
“They’re people,” Arnet assured him. “Just not entirely biological. I can’t discuss further.”
Rich had no idea how that worked. “Understood. Sorry to hear about the loss.” Were they people uploaded to the network? Or purely AI? Did they have souls with their personalities? He hoped so, but only God could say.
Arnet replied, “Thank you. We have few lethal disasters. It’s always a shock.”
There were all these things the future people were quite willing to share, and a handful that were utterly taboo.
The last tool was basically a rotary trimmer with a rolling ball to keep it at height. Arnet demonstrated with a cut around the vehicles, and a clearing for formation. He passed it off to Rich.
“Switch there, tilt to shift. Can you clear to each tent, the fire, and the obtower?”
“Sure can,” he agreed. It was larger than a weedwhacker but handled as easily. In minutes he’d cleared the areas in question, and figured they could clear more later if they remained.
With camp set, food followed quickly. Cryder had worked on that meantime, with Dr. Raven helping. There was a chicken stew, quite tasty, with carrots, onions, peas, and some other root as well as potatoes. Fresh bread was available. There was something like focaccia with chopped meat and cheese filling, some interesting herbs, and a lot of garlic. Fresh fruit. Drinks included cold water, fruit juice of several types, the alcohol ration, and something sweet like a mango soda, but not carbonated.
“Cryder, what is this juice?” Rich asked. He’d chosen a deep purple one that wasn’t grape, but was tasty.
“It’s…a cluster-type berry. Dark.”
“Blackberry? Raspberry?”
“Something like that. I don’t know which is which. It’s similar to something you had but bred and engineered to be more robust.”
“It’s good. Thanks.”
There was an informal formation around the kitchen area. They had a mix of chairs, rolled seats, and the vehicles at present. Cryder sat leaning out of Roller Two.
He said, “The drones are dark capable, I prefer to fly them by day only. I’ll start them in the morning and attempt to find habitations, then your contingent.”
The captain put in, “Thanks. I was going to ask how the timeline went. On the one hand, forty-seven days seems like plenty. On the other hand, it can get away from you quickly.” They were already through Day 2.
“We’ll start at once now we’re emplaced,” Cryder agreed.
Dr. Sheridan waved for attention and said, “We’ll need to take further samples here and as we go, of dirt, flora, fauna, and each of you, to track contamination.”
Oglesby asked, “How detailed of samples?”
“Nothing overt,” she replied. “Skin wipes will take care of most of it. Arnet has the toilet facilities programmed to test urine and feces and tag it.”
“Well, that’s a fun dinner conversation.”
She blushed faintly. “Sorry. Bugs and dirt are what we do.”
Doc snickered. “I’ve heard much, much worse at the hospital,” he offered. “There was this guy with a circular saw on his lap—”
Spencer interrupted with, “Stop now, please.” He was grinning as he said it, though.
Doc grinned back. “I was going to stop. The setup was all it took. Besides, everyone knows about plastic kneecaps. Plastic testicles, however…”
Rich cringed. Damn.
Dr. Raven said, “Serves the dumbass right. Some people shouldn’t breed.”
“Drugs may have been involved,” Doc admitted.
“Shocking. Shocked, I say.”
Cryder spoke up, “As a note, network is operational, so you have access to music and film libraries of your era, your encyclopedia courtesy of Sergeant Spencer, and some games and other stuff. Anything off limits won’t respond.”
Spencer said, “Porn and private tents. The ultimate field condition luxury.”
Rich noted a couple of people laughed a bit too loud. He didn’t try to figure out who. One was female.
Captain Elliott said, “We can sit by the fire, you can hit the sack whenever. We’re up at oh five hundred, Army style.”
Spencer groused. “I hate getting up early. So what do I do? Join the Army. Then I retire and take a job that requires me to get up early, by choice. Then back in the Army. One day I’ll learn. But today is not that day, apparently.”