CHAPTER 7
Sean was very pleased with how smoothly this was going with a hand-selected element of professionals. No layabouts, no one rushing up with fast food, no one hungover or half out of uniform. God, it was great.
The floating egg that approached on the ground was obviously a bus. It settled, the side opened, and Sean saw there actually was a seam for the door, it was just very fine. It made sense that their engineering was better and allowed tighter tolerances.
He stepped in and up, and the seats were almost couches. The control console had no driver, but it did have a seat for one. He took the seat behind that, sat down, and sank into it.
“Wow,” he said. He’d been in expensive recliners that weren’t as comfortable. It wasn’t overly large, though. A lot larger than commercial airliner or bus, as far as the seat went, but the footprint wasn’t excessive.
The troops came in, followed by the scientists. Everyone had the same pleased response he did.
Arnet and Cryder came up last. Arnet flopped into the driver’s seat and said, “Port,” and the vehicle started moving, while rising slightly off the ground. It did feel like an air cushion.
After that, though, Arnet turned to face the rest.
“We’re going to a separate site for training. It’s in the wilderness about fifty kilometers from here. It’s a range spefically for weapons and wilderness training.”
“Do we need the latter?” Doc asked.
Arnet actually laughed. “No, course not. But we’ll look at some stuff and try the weapons.”
“Sweet!” Caswell let out. “I do want to try yours.”
They quickly reached what was apparently a heliport, and those looked like sci-fi helicopters.
The bus slowed and stopped. Arnet stood, the door opened, and Cryder went straight out to the aircraft.
Sean tried to stand up and thought he was trapped. He tensed for a moment before he realized the seat was just that soft and encompassing. He changed posture, pushed, and came right out.
As he debarked, he realized the bus had been about as silent as the Cogi military vehicle.
The aircraft wasn’t quite as appointed as the bus. It obviously was meant for efficiency and mass savings. Still, it was far better than a C-130. He sat in a seat facing forward, with a port next to him.
This craft made some noise as they lifted. It moved on ducted fans, but he had no idea of the power source. If it was anything like the vehicle the Cogi had in the Paleolithic, they’d spoken of several years of onboard power, which implied nuclear or something even more sophisticated.
They lifted on a short roll, rose fast enough he could feel the G, and leveled out. Everyone was glued to the ports, watching the liftoff.
Once in the air, he had a glimpse of the tech village, which was on a broad plain with islands of forest, and some sort of lake to the west. A large one. They were heading south, and he could see a river off to the southeast.
About as fast as they reached cruise, they started the descent. Really, at any kind of aircraft speed, it wasn’t a long flight. He timed it at under six minutes on his watch.
The terrain below was now all forest, with occasional clearings. The one they were landing in was a rise in the terrain, not really a hill.
The forward velocity shed and turned into a downward vector, then slowed and they settled to the ground. Within seconds, the two Cogi had the hatch open and were around back, where they opened that part of the shell and started pulling out crates. Behind that was a big cargo hatch that would almost split the craft in two.
Arnet pointed as he pulled gear. “We’ll take an armament each, and two vehicles with support equipment. We can plan on supplemental food, premade food, and plenty of power this time. We’ll have what we call field conditions, not what the Romans call.”
“Sounds good.” Damn, it was clean out here. Beautiful sky, air fresher than the mountains of Montana. Not a sound or sight of another human being.
Cryder said, “For now, this is a good starting point. We’ll run a target down the range.”
He dropped a device that quite literally ran down the range, planted wires in the ground, and erected itself into a target.
He held up the amorphous object with a grip that they knew was a weapon.
“This is the Arm-9. It sets as single projo, adjusts from prox thirteen to eight thou newtmers.”
Spencer said, “Wait, let me see if I’ve got that. One projectile. Muzzle energy anywhere between thirteen and eight thousand newton meters. Which…hold on…nine to six thousand foot-pounds.”
“I guess,” Cryder said. “Your first part was correct. Dunno your measurements.”
Dr. Raven said, “Yeah, that’s correct for conversion. Damn. So it can go from pellet rifle to elephant gun. Nice.”
Cryder nodded and resumed. “Point at target, grip, press here, focus, and weapon adjusts.” It flowed into a more linear shape.
“Squeeze.”
There was a crack of a supersonic bullet, but no muzzle blast. The target registered a hit by changing color from white to red and rolling over. Then it stood back up.
“There’re other settings, we’ll just use this. Try.”
He thrust it at Sean.
Sean grabbed it reflexively, tried not to look intimidated, and did as he’d been shown. He raised the weapon, gripped and pressed, and it shifted. He kept hold of it as it writhed, trying to avoid dropping it. He didn’t like his guns to squirm.
It settled out, but didn’t look quite right.
“No, not that. Press a bit higher.”
He did so, and it lengthened more.
“That’s it.”
He pointed at the target, found a sight channel, aimed and squeezed.
It banged like a blank, thumped mildly against his shoulder, and the target reacted.
“Again?” he asked.
“Certainly.”
He fired again, then one more.
Arnet said, “We’ll do more later. Next.”
Dalton stepped up, and after a few seconds’ familiarization very smoothly raised and shot. The target reacted, bounced, and reset. Really, it seemed like a very instinctive, intuitive weapon.
Caswell stepped up and placed four shots, as fast as the target could reset. She’d always been very effective with a rifle.
Oglesby took it next. He hefted it, raised it, gripped, squeezed, and it morphed. That wasn’t it. He started over. He got it the second time, and shot, though not quite as centered as the rest. Arnet and Cryder nodded. Arnet said, “Good enough.”
Sean asked, “Do you ladies want to try?”
“Duh,” Raven said. She stepped forward.
Oglesby handed her the weapon.
Raven hefted the device, looked very professionally scientific, shifted her stance, and it melted into gun form.
Crack, crack, crack.
The target tumbled and reset between each. The color splash indicated solid hits.
“Oh, I like it,” she said and giggled cheerfully. “This would go great next to my Krieghoff .375 double.”
Jesus. Sean had an idea what a Krieghoff double rifle cost. She certainly was well paid.
Sheridan took over, and the weapon flowed instantly into shape. Her shooting was so-so, but she had no trouble at all with the mechanism.
Doc was as effective. It looked like the younger and techy types had better instincts for it.
Spencer stepped up last, took the device from Doc. It flowed back to neutral again. He got into a good stance, raised the weapon, and shifted his grip.
It stretched and formed into something thick barreled and vicious looking.
“HALT! Not that!” Cryder snapped.
“Roger,” Spencer agreed. He lowered it, raised it, gripped again.
This time it half flowed into shape, then stopped.
Sighing, he lowered it, shifted his grip, raised it again. This time it shaped into something squarer and boxier.
Arnet said, “I don’t think that’s anything. It’s sort of halfway.”
Spencer nodded with some frustration, shook his hands, raised the weapon again.
Nothing happened at all.
No one laughed. They’d all felt the interface and knew it was based on specific touch.
“Is there a button or something I can press instead?”
Arnet took the weapon, said, “Right there.” He pressed and it shifted into form.
Spencer nodded and sighed again, took it in hand, pressed, and got the first shape again.
“Argh,” he muttered.
Again, and once more.
Martin Spencer picked up the device again, and thought hard about a rifle. He tried to grip it the right way, and it shifted slightly, then stopped, solid.
“Still not working,” he said. It was really fucking aggravating. It was like gaming. The kids just grabbed it and went. He shoved and pulled and twisted and nothing happened.
Cryder said, “You should put yourself in the mindset of shooting.”
“I’m doing that!”
He sighed, relaxed, tried to clear his mind. He saw the target, estimated range, raised the device, shouldered and cheeked and thought about the shot, and the trigger squeeze…
It shifted, morphed, and turned into a…something. But not a weapon.
Giving up, he said, “Look, this isn’t working. Can you print me some guns based on developments in my era? We’ll take them along for backup if space allows. Otherwise, I guess I make do without.”
Cryder said, “We can produce them. I assume you meant using whatever tech is appropriate, not printing specifically.”
“Yes. I want these. Hold on.” He got his phone out and struggled through that. Gadgets were really not his thing. He liked simple devices. He plugged in a memory stick. He copied technical data packages for an AR-10, and a DRD Kivaari in .338 Lapua Magnum to the memory stick, then added a .45-caliber Glock Model 30. He brought the AR-10 up on screen.
“Can you do that?” he asked.
“Easily,” Cryder assured him. “You should keep working on the proj, though.”
“I will. I just want things I know will work if I’m in a hurry and tense.”
The man nodded and didn’t criticize. “Reasonable,” he agreed.
Elliott asked, “So how does the stun setting work?”
“It causes unconsciousness for a range of time.”
The commander followed with, “Right, but what does it feel like?”
“Oh, like this.” Cryder raised the weapon, and it morphed.
Elliott said, “Wai—”
Martin didn’t like the grin on the man’s face, and turned. He was two steps into a sprint when…
Shaking his head, he woke up from a nap. Oh, right. Stunned. Felt like a nap. Awake. His boots were tangled across each other and in the weeds, and his face was in a clump of grass. His wrist ached slightly.
“Motherfucker. Was that a joke?” He pushed himself to a sitting position.
“Your commander asked what it was like. Now you all know.”
“How long?”
“About four minutes.”
He was moderately pissed. That wasn’t cool at all. Elliott looked both embarrassed and angry. The rest all looked angry.
Raven looked as if she was devising some neurotoxin to slip to Cryder and cause him to collapse into convulsions.
“Don’t you test nonlethal weapons for effect, for understanding?”
“We do a test with tear gas. I guess some police test their electrical weapons.”
“As I deduced. You’re all unharmed and recovered quickly.”
Yeah. This was a different culture, and the test was logical, but he didn’t like that approach at all.
He stood up carefully, and felt okay. The side effects weren’t terrible, but the ground seemed to sway a bit.
He followed the Cogi back to the aircraft for the vehicles, and swapped a glance with Elliott, and then with Raven. Yeah, they were all thinking it.
The vehicles by contrast were not only easy to drive, they had a typically military illustrated manual. One was accessible on the vehicle’s computer system. The other was printed on untearable pages.
“Who does the vehicle respond to?” Dalton asked.
Arnet said, “All of us are authorized users. It will not respond to any locals or other Americans.”
“Good.”
“Let me show you the basic operation.” He leaned in through the door and pointed. “This is the start button. I think you are familiar with the manual controls of steering, brake, and throttle control.”
Martin said, “Those are mostly familiar. Though we use a wheel, not a tiller.”
“A wheel is available for road, and you can adjust the steering ratio here or by voice command, so as to prevent over- or understeer.”
“I like it.”
“This is the camouflige and color control for the skin.”
Martin corrected with, “Camouflage, or just camo.”
“Thank you. It’s unlikely anything we encounter can damage the vehicle.”
“How unlikely?”
“One of those charging rhinos or a mammoth might damage the suspension. A large enough rock will damage the shell. None of your group’s weapons will affect it, though the launched grenades might degrade the wheels.”
“Okay.”
So it was stronger than a WWII tank, the size of a HMMWV, and looked like a futuristic SUV.
They each took a turn driving around the clearing, then across and back, with Arnet in the second seat as instructor.
Martin had no issues this time and felt reassured. The vehicle was simpler and more familiar. He steered, gassed, braked. The details of how it worked could wait.
Once they all had a vehicle run, Arnet gave a quick lecture on the accessories.
“Roller One has the shower, sink, and commode setup. This is slightly more elaborate than what we had last time. It also has the onboard manufactory for producing materials. Roller Two has more elaborate fabrication facilities and a portable kitchen. Both can sleep four in the seats and two in the bed, but we will also have individual shelters for the field.”
“Will we still need to hunt?”
The man said, “If you wish fresh meat, you can hunt. It’s capable of furnishing basic nutrient biscuits, cookpiling some basic meals, and we’ll take reconstituted rations as well.”
Well. He said, “This certainly sounds much more comfortable than last time.”
Arnet assured him, “You did impressively well last time, even without our equipment.”
Doc asked, “This can produce medicine and chemicals like last time?”
The man nodded. “Yes, that is a standard feature.”
“Good.”
It was a hell of a feature, too. Toss mineral-rich rocks in the back, along with organic material, and it could produce basic medications, liquor, medical alcohol, certain food, fuel. Every field maintenance unit should have that.
Cryder took over for the next class.
Rich Dalton was enjoying the show so far. No formation BS, no slackers late for formation, no mandatory fun. Just professionals gathering for a class. The gear was top notch, too. He was still annoyed at being stunned, though. That was crap.
Cryder reached into the vehicle and pulled out another item. “These are individual shelters. Pull here, twist like this, and shake.”
It turned into a bivvy bag with overhead cover. It even had ties that looked like they turned it into a hammock.
Arnet pointed at the fittings. “Fasten down or tie to a tree. It will insulate to minus forty-five degrees, and can cool effectively up to forty degrees. The capacitor will need to be charged after five days. Shade can lengthen that to seven.”
Rich blurted, “Damn, that’s impressive. And padded?”
“Not as well as a bed, but it should be plenty for you.”
He knew how comfortable a bed here was. That should be fine.
“Also, it adds additional barrier factor. It will stop your personal arms while expanded. When compressed, it is worn on the front of the harness and will stop your lighter support weapons.”
“Holy crap!” he exclaimed.
He suddenly understood the harnesses the Cogi wore. All their gear attached to it, all served at least two purposes, and minimized weight. They’d solved the power issue as well. He remembered these two guys had survived for nine months, apparently comfortably, with the gear in their vehicle, before they’d come looking for the Americans.
Cryder explained the harness, which was different from MOLLE gear, but analogous. All the fabric offered some level of ballistic protection. They had insertable plates for both pockets in the uniform, and the load harness.
Captain Elliott said, “If I get these numbers right, these will stop a fifty cal. You’ll probably be knocked sprawling, but it won’t penetrate, and will disperse the impact all over.”
That was impressive, too. “Damn.”
Next were night-vision devices that were also daytime magnifiers, like the AN/PVS the snipers used. They went over the eyes basically like shades, though were a bit thicker. Far less bulky than US-issue NODS, however.
“This enhances automatically for low light. You can press here to switch to thermal imagery, or combine both with the onboard process to provide best mix.”
There were knives and machetes available, or they could bring their own. Cryder handed each of them an analog to a modern cell phone, with similar controls, to use as in-unit communication in the field.
“I guess we don’t have to worry about anyone cracking our signal back then.”
Cryder agreed, “Right. Though these are encrypted.”
He continued, “As last time, we will have tethered recon. We will also have deployable drones. I plan to take extra, within our mass capacity, to ensure adequate resources.”
“Definitely those.”
The man pointed at his fingers. “Yes, but they must be balanced with rations, supplies for the recuperees, onboard water capacity, fuel and ammunition, and other support gear.”
“Well, I’ll work with whatever you can bring and be happy.” He would. They already had better equipment than he’d ever had in the field.
“We will return to the facility and end for the day. Can you assist in stowing gear?” He looked directly at Rich.
“Absolutely.”
They were wearing headsets that wrapped very lightly around the ears, weighed no more than earrings, and apparently included a directional mic.
“Comms, Arnet, broad, test to element.”
His voice was perfectly clear in Rich’s ears, starting with “Arnet.”
The captain said, “Comms, Elliott, responding, audio is perfect. How do you receive?”
“Also perfect. Just talk when you need it, and preface with ‘Comms’ as you did. It is reasonably good at determining intent. Identify yourself, then address whom you wish. It correctly interpreted ‘responding’ to me. Did anyone else hear it?”
Dalton shook his head. “Negative.” The rest concurred.
“It works that directly from your end. The explanation is more complex.”
Amalie Raven was tired when they returned to the village and their dorm. Shug sat in front of a screen showing a documentary of lions stalking gazelles. He turned, smiled, waved, and said something that House loosely translated as “I have watched pictures. It is interesting.”
“I bet.” It was good he had something to do. She’d been worried for him. There was no reason to train him in anything technical, and good reasons to not let him see anything outside his era.
She was actually surprised at how much she’d been allowed to see so far. It was a good thing they apparently hadn’t checked her history and seen her other PhD. Nor all her secondary training in aerospace engineering. She was absolutely the last person they wanted to see their gadgets up close. Which was, of course, why she was here. She found the biology at least as interesting, but the US’s interests were far more in the tech.
That also left her a moral quandary on what she should actually pass on if she found anything of interest. Though first she’d have to theorize the functions she’d seen. That was going to take time, and had to be entirely mental. She dare not put any notes on paper or device. Numbers, possibly. Text, not at all.
The soldiers thought their mission was important, and it was. However, their secondary mission was to support her while she dug into future tech and the biology of both past and future. They couldn’t be informed, either.
She wished she drank, and was glad she couldn’t.