CHAPTER 5
Eight hours later, Sean Elliott had arranged for food to be delivered to the building, and everyone had eaten and gathered back in the conference room.
Lieutenant Armand “Doc” Devereaux had arrived, and was actually a doctor now. He looked wired and sipped a Red Bull. He was still tall, lanky, and seemed very aware of goings-on.
The OCP uniforms the two scientists wore were civilian purchase. He didn’t think the regular sizes went quite that high. The women weren’t huge by civilian norms, but they were definitely fat by Army standards. Sheridan tugged at her sleeves uncomfortably, but they both seemed okay otherwise. Their uniforms had branch tapes reading CONTRACTOR rather than US ARMY.
Spencer seemed to have gotten some sleep and food. He looked a lot better now. Good. He’d been worried at the man’s initial presentation.
Oglesby showed up with Shug.
“Greeting, Shug,” Sean said, hoping he remembered properly.
Apparently it was close enough. Shug smiled and chattered something. He didn’t look at all comfortable in a uniform with boots. He also wore a CONTRACTOR tape.
Oglesby interceded, likely telling him no one else knew more than a word or two, and even those would be barely the same language.
Cryder arrived in a tan uniform that could be that of a dozen elements. It probably wasn’t his native uniform, but that might arouse curiosity. In sand-colored tactical, he was just some dude on base, and could easily pass as Scandinavian. No one would question that.
Though he did have an MP following him around, probably to keep tabs on him.
Other than Sean and Oglesby, the others hadn’t been reintroduced yet.
Dalton immediately spoke up.
“Cryder! Good to see you. How have things been?”
“Good to see you, Rich. Apart from our current issue, things have been well.” The tall man shook hands all around. Caswell was friendly enough. Doc straightforward. Spencer seemed a bit reserved. Apparently the scientists had met Cryder, and they just nodded to each other.
Colonel Findlay arrived with a dolly of coffee. It was amusingly cool to be served by a colonel, but the only reason was to maximize OPSEC. They’d spoken to almost no one outside this building. The American contingent was decreasing by the day. The German support element hadn’t been told at all.
“We have a breakfast buffet down the hall, and then a bus to take you to the K-span we’re using as a transfer point.”
The food aromas were present as soon as they turned the corner in the hall. Once through the door, Sean could see scrambled eggs that were actually cooked properly, sausage, biscuits and gravy, bacon, ham, hash browns, several types of bread, pancakes, waffles, cereal, and fruit. There were coffee, juices, milk. It was decent quality, and plentiful. No servers, of course.
He sipped coffee while the enlisted piled food. He waited for Spencer, nudged Doc to go next to last. Then he filled his own plate with eggs with ham and hash browns with a side of biscuits and gravy. He poured some tomato juice and sat down. Since it was to be the last American food for a while, he enjoyed it as much as circumstances allowed. It did require pepper.
Shug took a bit of each, seemed to adore bacon and rye bread, and went back for more.
Findlay spoke.
“Please keep eating. We’ll bus you over in about an hour. The gear the scientists asked for is ready. Mr. Cryder says his people will provide all the field gear you need.”
Cryder stood and took over.
“We have better gear, and fit to the mission. The less we transit here, the easier and safer it will be. You know our era is safe. We’ll load up before we go back.”
Fair enough.
Raven said, “Some of our equipment is specifically…tuned, you could say, to our needs. I don’t know if yours will be as effective for us.”
“If you can bring schematics, we can produce a clone or possibly an upgrade.”
Sean heard her mutter something that started with “Obnoxious asshole” as she zipped open her backpack, grabbed a laptop, and apparently started looking for files. She nudged her counterpart, Sheridan, who also grabbed a tablet and started getting data.
Everyone else seemed fine for now. Not necessarily trusting, of course, but accepting. The Cogi did have good kit.
Everyone got their fill of breakfast and a lot of coffee. They mostly gathered their leftovers and plates back up, and Dalton took it upon himself to lead a cleaning detail.
Then the MP said, “Transport inbound,” and everyone grabbed gear and walked briskly to the door. Sean left last, making sure everything was accounted for.
Out in the warm, dusty morning, the bus was a standard small coach as used all over the theater. Sean idly wondered who contracted them. Probably some local company. It would be ridiculous to fly them in, but hey, it was the military, maybe they did. It wasn’t important, and they needed to minimize discussions with outsiders, so he sat quietly as they drove a quarter mile or so.
The K-span structure was well secured, sort of. The same MP unlocked the door. There was another NCO inside. She was an SFC who checked everyone’s IDs carefully against their picture, and against an access list.
They had come in the only door. That is, the side and rear doors had heavy timbers over them, bolted to the structure.
Other than the small entryway and office, the building was a shell. Several ECUs blew cold air in one side. The floor was locked runway matting. Sean knew the Air Force was trying to reclaim all that, and it was going to be a bitch to remove it from under the walls, but that wasn’t his problem.
There was a painted area that apparently was for transfer. Cryder led them over, unslung his ruck, and sat on it.
As he approached, Sean saw the marking was—
“A pentagram,” Dalton said.
Raven and Sheridan giggled. Spencer snorted. Caswell rolled her eyes.
Dalton continued, “I really, really don’t like that.”
Cryder said, “One o’ your technal people painted it. Shape has no significance for transfer, only central marking point here.” He indicated it. “We found this building on a map and it was a good test. I transitioned approx twelve cemeters high, no scouring or other damage to the ground. Did damage two vehicles in here, and greatly surprised your mechanics.”
That explained the flooring. He’d arrived in vehicle maintenance. Sean wondered how that was kept quiet.
Dalton seemed nervous, but walked over and sat with his gear.
Sheridan said, “Technically, it’s a pentacle, not a pentagram. Christians used both symbols, even for Sir Gawain, and in Amiens Cathedral, among others.”
That did seem to help. Sean wasn’t very religious, and this obviously was a joke, but it was really uncool to make a presentation that was going to offend or concern people to no point.
Shug made an odd gesture, but waited patiently, then moved where Cryder pointed.
“Make yourselves ready,” Cryder said.
“Go ahead,” Sean replied. He looked around at his people and the two technicians. Given the previous experience, he was nervous. The first trip had displaced them 13,000 years or so. The return trip got them within six months. This time the Cogi had been spot on coming back, and both trips forward had been correct.
Cryder said, “It is time ticked for three minutes and nine seconds from now.”
They waited. They were reasonably comfortable, but everyone looked nervous. Doc and Spencer gripped their bags. Caswell jittered slightly. The two scientists looked excited—Raven nibbled a knuckle, Sheridan rubbed her hands. Dalton seemed to be praying. Shug kept looking around, with Oglesby keeping a grip on the boy’s field harness.
Sean was nervous. Last time hadn’t been planned, and the return had been less than precise. This time—
BANG!
They were in the Cogi hangar they’d arrived in last time, on a flat white painted surface with markings that looked like a landing pad.
This time they fell about three inches to the floor, just like stepping off a curb. He wobbled slightly and regained his footing.
“Welcome, soldiers,” he heard.
It was Researcher Alexian Twine from their last visit. She was as tall and elegant as he remembered, wearing what was almost a lab coat over a turtleneck that fit her very well. And she was holding an animal on a harness.
Caswell said, “It’s Cal!”
It was the caracal they’d rescued from an injured foot and almost tamed to hang around the camp. He’d followed them to their departure point from the past, and been kept here in the Cogi future.
Cal slunk down out of Twine’s arms, came over, and put his paws against Caswell’s waist.
“Come here, big fella!” she said, and picked him up to her shoulder.
Sean said, “Hello, Dr. Twine. I didn’t expect to see you again.”
“Nor I you,” she said. “Welcome back. We have your same quarters ready, though you will have slightly more access to things here. You understand we must limit the information you get.”
She was certainly courteous.
“Yes, but this seems like a more secure trip.”
“We hope it will be. I see your element has changed.”
“Yes, ma’am. Sergeant Alexander does not feel up to it. Sergeant Ortiz is running his family’s ranch. Petty Officer Trinidad is occupied with family matters. Sergeant Barker is running the joint business he owns with Sergeant Spencer.”
“Obviously, there are other obligations besides us. I fully understand. And you have new people.”
“Yes, these are doctors Raven and Sheridan. They are biologists, along to study…” He realized he wasn’t entirely sure what they did.
Dr. Sheridan said, “We’re here to study genotypes of edible flora and the local human population, and potentially of domesticable species. Our other concern is the study of communicable disease vectors, both for historical data expansion and for potential medical development.”
“I see,” Twine replied. Her expression was carefully neutral. Sean gathered she wasn’t thrilled with professional scientists along.
She continued, “And I note you did recover the displacee we identified. A single one?”
He said, “Only one that we know of. This is Shug of River Bend, as best we can translate.”
“Shug,” she said with a nod.
The boy extended his hand to shake, and she did so. He managed to say, “I am please to meet you.”
Introductions apparently done, she said, “Then let’s proceed to the lodging.” She gestured for them to follow her.
As she led, she said, “Can you tell me more about Trinidad, Alexander, Ortiz, or Barker?”
Spencer said, “Bob and I opened a survival training school. He stayed back to run things. I guess as much as it freaked me out, I really wanted to see this again. Gina is really not emotionally up to the trip. She declined, but sends her wishes.”
That was a polite lie, Sean noted. Gina Alexander hadn’t said anything. Her husband had made it clear it was “Hell, no.” Though she’d be unhappy at missing the cat. Eh. Minor matter.
He added, “Felix is recently married and didn’t want to disrupt his family, given the situations in the Philippines. He’s trying to move Stateside, but his wife’s family has concerns. As far as Ortiz, he’s the senior adult on his family’s ranch. He’s handling livestock.”
Raven was wincing, acting like a severe headache, as she said, “Ma’am, to expand more, I’m a forensic paleobiologist. We’re concerned about potential contamination, but also how earlier diet and environmental factors affected the human metabolism. Dr. Sheridan covers the other end—the evolution of cultivated preagricultural plants, and feral animal nutritional factors.”
“Very well,” Twine said with a nod. She didn’t seem pleased, but not outright bothered. “I think we can work something out with that. I believe I understand the details of your friends. Please relay my well wishes when you talk to them again. Shuff Cryder, I’ll need your input with my council, and I can assist with your leadership.”
“Got n thank,” he said, reverting to their dialect.
“Here we are,” Twine said. “You remember how things work, and the patron will help you.”
The dwelling was a large dome, creamy white, with indistinct borders that became distinct as one approached or interacted with them.
“Thank you very much,” Sean said. “We hope to get to things soon.”
Sean tested. “Good morning, House.”
The local AI or whatever replied, “Good afternoon, Captain Elliott. May I call you Sean again?”
“Of course you may. We have two new members.”
“Cryder informed me of doctors Raven and Sheridan. May I call you Amalie and Katherine?”
“Please.”
“Sure. Or Kate.”
He said, “House can provide food, entertainment, privacy screens, help sleeping or waking. Basically a sci-fi butler. Anything at all that you want, he can provide.”
This needed to be tested.
Amalie Raven said, “I would like a coffee, medium roast, a quarter liter, with thirty grams of goat butter, please. Also, anything you have equivalent to ibuprofen. I have a headache from the transfer.” Gods, did she have a headache. There must have been a pressure change, and the demon with the pitchfork was stabbing her right temple.
The butler replied, “I will provide the coffee at once. I have what you would call a Turkish blend that is full-bodied and less bitter when not sweetened. I can provide ibuprofen in ten minutes, or I have a vasodilator that will work faster.”
Well, the…entity hadn’t stuttered at the request.
“I’m leery,” she said. “I have a complicated metabolism and a lot of allergies. That’s why I went into biology.”
“Please wait a moment,” House said.
Twenty seconds later, she heard, “Ma’am?” and turned.
“Yes?” There was a young man in lab coat and pants holding a small kit.
“Greetings. I am a physician. If you will let me scan you, I can determine which limits to impose on the patron.”
“Please,” she said. That was quick.
The doctor placed a clamp on her hand. It was firm, but not painful, and apparently read the dermis or through it.
“Interesting,” the doctor said. “Yes, you do have a complicated set of limitations, but I think we can work around them.” He tapped, swiped, and waved at his device. “I have instructed the patron, and the recommended vasodilator should work for you. We also may have a long-term treatment to reduce your headaches, if you’re interested.”
Oh, did they? “Very. Thank you.”
She’d wanted Mars. Her physical condition made being an astronaut impossible. She decided this was a close second.
The coffee arrived on the table next to her, almost as if teleported. She picked it up and took a sip.
Oh, damn, that was good. Definitely full body, creamy, strong, but not sharp, just the right bitterness to offset the butter.
“Very nice,” she said to House. She leaned back against her chair and closed her eyes. The room darkened slightly, and she squinted. It was a local effect, a shadow over her.
“You are welcome,” he replied. “The medication is in the coffee, and the caffeine will assist in delivery. Interpreting your need, I pushed the caffeine up about thirty percent.”
“I can feel it already,” she said. It was a rush of cool clarity into the throbbing mass of her brain. “Can I move here?” she joked.
“I am not able to discuss that matter.”
“I was joking. But thank you. I’m better faster than I ever have been.”
The soldiers seemed to know what they wanted, and were digging in. The younger ones ate in a way that made her jealous. Pie would be great, but her wheat and sugar-sensitive Natchez metabolism didn’t allow it. And, she realized, even if they had a workaround, she didn’t dare let herself get hooked on sweets. She had to go back to the land of starch and sugar.
However…
“House, I would like a strip steak, seasoned with salt, pepper, and garlic, grilled medium rare, with steamed and buttered broccoli and lots of sauteed mushrooms.”
“I will deliver that in ten minutes,” the House replied.
“Thank you very much.”
“You are welcome, Dr. Raven.”
This wasn’t Mars. But it might suffice.
Dan took it upon himself to show Shug around. He went first to the bathroom, and said, “House, show us the opaque walls and facilities.”
“Certainly, Dan. Here is your wall.” The air thickened and turned translucent, then solid. Shug reached out and touched it. His expression said he understood. It wasn’t air, wasn’t solid, but worked as a screen.
“This is for waste. This is for washing. This is for hand washing. These people have our same manner, to wash every time after waste, and before eating. The spirits here demand it.”
“I will, Dan.”
“Please use your words for each, so the…servant can know them.” He pointed at shower, sink, toilet, as Shug said the words. “Vuweh, lowey, kloa.”
“Now we are here you can undo the clothes you don’t want.”
“Thank you,” he replied in English. Then he switched to his own speech. “I will not boot.” It was obviously far more inflected and nuanced, but those were the key words Dan could grasp.
“I know how you feel.” He helped the kid unlace the boots and pull them off. Shug sighed and wiggled his toes. And damn, those were impressive callouses.
That done, he led the boy back out.
“These are for sitting. You can lie down on them, and ask for it to be dark to sleep. House, can you demonstrate?”
The chair reclined, the air thickened, and light dimmed. After a few moments it lightened again.
Shug nodded.
“Tell him your word.”
“Zesamay.”
Then it was to the central table.
“Food comes from here. We will help you, but you can always ask for pictures and point. Shoreyga?”
“Shrega,” Shug agreed.
“Do you have that, House?” Dan asked.
“I do. I can hear similarities to the language of the Urushu. I do not hear similarities to the Gadorth. I can’t speculate further.”
“Good. Please help him when we’re not available.”
“Of course. I deduce his diet will also be high fat and protein, limited starch.”
“Correct.”
Martin Spencer noted Oglesby helping the poor kid, who was metaphorically a speech-challenged toddler. Shug couldn’t have any comprehension of most of the technology around him. Even a wheel wasn’t really a normal part of his environment. He was holding up with dignity and courage, though.
Martin forced himself to stop after the one slice of apple pie. He could eat this stuff all day. It was crisp, tartly sweet, very flaky, and would command a high price in a twenty-first-century restaurant. He weighed enough as it was, even not being accountable to Army standards anymore.
He sat down to relax, since the captain hadn’t given any specific orders yet, and everyone was in the same space. He did keep an eye out, though.
Caswell was cautiously talking to the two scientists. Doc and Dalton were sort of hanging out. Elliott, like he, was watching everyone. Cal strutted around checking on the humans’ doings, and waiting for snacks, probably.
Twine returned a few minutes later.
“I have good news,” she announced, as she walked into the central meeting area, between the couches and chairs.
“Yes?” Elliott prompted.
“Our leadership has agreed to you having limited access to the rest of this facility.”
“Other parts of the building?”
“Sorry, my English is inexact. This facility has multiple buildings and over ten thousand people. Perhaps ‘research village’ is closer.”
Raven looked interested at once, as did Sheridan.
“This entire community is a research center?” Sheridan asked.
“Yes. I can try to elaborate more. We don’t have nations as you think of them. Nor do we have corporations. We have…interest groups, who trade their product to others in a network.”
“So there’s no money?” Dalton asked.
“Oh, there’s money, but not in the cash tokens you were already phasing out. Each patron, and the network, keeps track of a person’s exchange. The cic—common interest community—has its own net worth, which it distributes to members based on their productivity and interest.”
Martin said, “So, citizens are also employees and stockholders? Kuwait was doing that.”
“Let me see…” She appeared to consult a reference in air, and probably was. “Yes, that’s a simplified variation that is adequate to explain the concept.”
Caswell asked, “What if you don’t like the cic you’re in?”
“You can apply and negotiate to join another. Just as you would change jobs or which state or nation you lived in.”
“But they are specialized?”
“To a degree. Bykostan and Bykop, the operating leadership, is primarily a technology research operation, in physics, chemistry, astronomy, medicine and now temporality. We do produce engineering output, but also trade the raw knowledge for productivity. But we produce food, art, material goods of our own as well.”
“Ah.”
“Anyway, of necessity, this temporal research facility is remote, for both security and safety. You are welcome outside, but you must remain within twenty kilometers for now. If you are allowed access your patron will know. If not, you will be informed. The personnel have been informed of your status, and there are subjects you won’t be allowed to hear or see.”
“Fair enough.”
She made a gesture that commanded attention, hand across with a finger wave. “I must caution you that anyone might be studying you. There are designated researchers, as you have met before. There will also be any number of people interested in everything you do. You are not required to interact with anyone you don’t feel comfortable with, and the patron can tell you a person’s status and relevance. Authorized researchers will identify themselves to you.”
Sheridan asked, “How can they observe our natural behavior if we’re aware of them?”
She gave a single shake of her head. “Oh, there’s enough of that information. If they’re studying you, it’s your reactions to other things around you, and your learning and interaction process, which wouldn’t be significantly affected. I’m socsci, but not that area. At this juncture, I’m acting as host, not case worker.”
Martin asked, “What is there to see?”
She turned back to him. “Only a small amount of our culture, not as much as you’d find in the capital or one of the ports. But there are restaurants, some art and music, gardening and architecture. I expect you’ll get invites to parties. Those are likely to be taxing or overwhelming. I would suggest a personal escort as well as the patron.”
He asked, “Is the patron going to follow all of us?”
House interjected, “My personality can matricise to follow each of you, and share information between each of my parts. I am not truly a single personality, nor multiple, but more of a gestaltic sensory interface with a personality behind it.”
“Well, we must check that out,” Martin agreed.
“For science!” Raven added.
“For science, indeed.”
Twine said, “The rest of the day is free. Tomorrow, Shuff Cryder and Gajin Arnot will familiarize you with equipment.”
House said, “Dr. Raven, your steak is ready. I also have one for Shug, and the BLT for Sergeant Dalton.”
Martin said, “And even the quarters aren’t bad, as far as hotels go.”
Raven already had steak in her mouth, and was cutting the rest up fast. Damn, could she work a knife. Probably a useful skill in a bio lab. The cat was already demanding a piece, and she scratched his ears and fed him a sliver that he snapped down.
She looked very happy. Shug, though, picked his up in his fingers and took a bite, and his expression suggested he really was in the spirit world. His eyes lit up, he made a universal “Mmmm” sound, and proceeded to chew and swallow, and go straight for the next bite.
Dalton’s response was only, “They do make a damned good BLT here.”
Researcher Twine had left with a polite nod that was not quite a bow. They were alone except for the…patron, which monitored everything. Martin wanted to warn people of that, and realized it should have been brought up ahead of time.
So he said it.
“House hears literally every whisper. If you invoke him, he’ll respond. Otherwise, he won’t, but everything is still archived for later reference if needed, and I’m going to assume their scientists watch it like we would a zoo.”
Sheridan added, “Or like an anthropological study.”
That was a nicer term for the same thing, he thought. “Exactly. It’s polite not to invoke by name unless you need something, and much more comfortable to just relax and get on with things. Though I still find some discussions to be sensitive and personal around recording devices.”
He hoped he’d done that right. He’d phrased it as concern about personal privacy, without actually stating it was a massive COMSEC and OPSEC risk to say anything here.