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CHAPTER 2

Shug was very unsure of the clothes they’d provided him with. The leggings met and covered his lower parts, and hung around his waist, all as one piece, not tied together. The tunic was shaped and covered his arms, too, but it wasn’t really cold enough to need anything long. Still, if that’s what they wore here, he’d do as they said. The fastener for the leggings was like a flat, round toggle. Clever.

He was thirsty, but there was no water. He looked around the hut. It had walls of perfectly cut stone, a floor of one solid piece of very flat stone. It looked like limestone, but was completely plain and unlayered. The bed rose on sticks, but they were fastened into the stone with pegs he couldn’t dislodge. The mattress had a finely woven cover that was soft and warm enough. There was a depression that from the smell was used for waste. He used it, and urine ran down. He wasn’t sure if he was supposed to scoop out turds later, or if they’d bring some basket for that. There was a shelf with a depression that could hold water, or animals for sacrifice, or a small fire, but nothing like those was about.

There was a sound at the cover. Shug turned as it moved aside, and one of the men brought in a tray. He placed it down and left.

Shug went over. That seemed to be food, though he didn’t recognize most of it. That was rice, though it was pale and short, but tasted okay. There were large seeds of some kind in it, rather bland. Then he realized it was spicy, like garlic but sharper. He grabbed the tall bowl that had water in it and gulped it down. That helped.

There was a scoop made of some pure white, very thin bone that he could use for picking up the rest. That was good, too.

The vegetables were okay. They weren’t quite roasted, but were cooked and still warm. The other things…they were fluffy, and sweet. Very sweet. They didn’t taste like honey or berries, but very sweet.

He really wanted more water, though.

Tentatively, he slapped on the cover. A few minutes later, the man came to the opening.

His tone made it obvious he was asking what Shug wanted. Shug raised the water bowl and pointed at it. The man pointed behind Shug, toward the shelf. There was no water there. He pointed at the bowl again. The man pointed behind him again.

Sighing, Shug spread his hands and shook his head. “I don’t see any water,” he said, though no one so far understood speech.

The man sighed back, shouted at someone who shouted back, then rattled something and the cover moved open again.

The man reached out his hand, and Shug assumed he wanted the water bowl. He let the man take it.

Taking two steps, the man grabbed a protrusion above the bowl-shelf, and pulled. Water started flowing from a stem beneath it.

“Ohh!” Shug exclaimed, nodded, and said, “Thank you!”

The man nodded back, apparently at least somewhat pleased at helping resolve the problem.

After two more bowls of water, Shug felt a lot better. They were keeping him here, but offered food, water, and shelter. He assumed there were reasons not to go about, either taboos or danger. So he’d wait patiently for their Elders to discuss things and decide what to do.


Daniel Oglesby had a lot of time to think aboard the planes.

He wasn’t on the military rotator, or a transport, or even a civilian charter. This was a military executive jet. From Pittsburgh to Andrews Air Force Base near DC, onto this. The three other passengers were officers, a general, and two colonels. They nodded briefly if they passed him on the way to the lavatory, and otherwise ignored him and he them. He was in civvies, per the orders emailed to him. His rank wasn’t apparent.

The seats were spacious, at least, and reclined a good amount. The E-6 flight attendant kept him fed and watered, and he had a shot of rum to help him sleep for part of it.

“Let me know if you need anything else, Sergeant,” she said. She was cute enough, but they were on duty and no porn fantasy of the Mile High Club was possible. Food and drink was enough. It was a painful flight. He watched some bits of movie and TV, skipping from feed to feed. The whining roar of the jets changed tone. They were descending.

They stopped in Germany to refuel and change crew, and the officers debarked. No one else boarded. The new flight attendant was male, as efficient, less interesting.

From there they flew to Kuwait, and he managed some sleep across the seats. In between zoneouts and unconsciousness, he had moments of lucid thought to think about the destination.

What had been said was that they had to follow up on his deployment and needed his linguistic skills. What was unsaid was that the only linguistic skill he had that wasn’t readily available in country was the language of the Urushu. If they were flying him fast and secretly to A-stan it implied they had one of the Urushu. How had that happened? Another time displacement? That seemed to be the only rational answer.

He didn’t like that answer. If another error in time had occurred, others might. Had those damned Cogi screwed up again? Or someone else?

From Kuwait City they flew to Bagram. He staggered from the plane, grabbed his duffel and ruck, and they had a godawful Chinook ready for him. He hoped it wasn’t just the one bird making the trip, was relieved to see several others and various troops and civvie crew.

“Welcome, Mr. Oglesby,” the flight engineer said.

He nodded back. “Hi, thanks. You know where we’re going?”

“Yes. Mazar-i-Sharif.”

“Good. This is the first I knew, actually.”

“Now that’s classified.” The man grinned. “There’s sandwiches and soda in the cooler, and water. Help yourself.”

“Thanks.” A regular sandwich would be a nice change. Ham and cheese on wheat with tomato, lettuce, and mustard. He thought about a Ripit, and stuck with water.

The crew was grubby, bearded, and looked well experienced.

The engineer said, “If anything hits the fan, there’s a spare weapon.” He pointed at an M4 on a rack.

“Roger that. How’s the route?”

“Quiet for months. Shouldn’t be a problem.”

“Good. I’m going to try to zone until we get there.”

“Sounds good.”

That also meant he wouldn’t have to talk. He grabbed ear protection, stuck the plugs in, and leaned back on the webbing.

He slept harder than he intended. He felt some pokes and corners and shakes, but that was just how these craft were. Then the shaking picked up.

“You okay, sir?” one of them asked.

“Yeah. Thanks. We there?”

“Yup. Enjoy your stay.” That was tinged with sarcasm.

An MP met him at the ramp, shook hands, said, “Welcome, Sergeant Oglesby. I’m Sergeant John Gilead. Follow me.”

They certainly were keeping good track of him, from home all the way here.

Most of the base was German Bundeswehr. The US presence was increasingly diminishing. They didn’t talk to anyone not American.

The building was a typical semi-secure facility. They were manually let in, ID checked, signed in, and then Gilead led him down a hall.

Ahead he saw a familiar face.

“General McClare,” he said. “Good to see you again, sir.” Actually, it wasn’t at all good to see the man, but he had no personal issue with him and he wanted to be courteous.

“And you, Sergeant Oglesby. Do you prefer Dan or Daniel?”

“Either is fine, sir.”

“Well, Dan, do you have a guess why you’re here?”

“I can only think of one reason, sir.”

“You’re probably correct.”

“More time issues?”

“A boy, we think from the past. No one can find any language he speaks. This is his gear.”

A stone-tipped spear, a stone knife, a pouch with several colorful stones, and a couple of bits of bone. That was probably a breechcloth. He wasn’t going to touch that. That was a shoulder drape.

“I’ll try, but the language I learned only fits one very small area and time.”

“You’re all we’ve got. This way.”

He followed to a locked door. Inside was a standard interrogation room.

Daniel stepped into the room and saw a very wary-looking boy in a standard set of pajamas. The boy was skinny, dark, had straight hair with a few tangles, and prominent cheeks. He was against the back wall, facing an MP, ready to fight but not starting anything. As Dan entered, the kid shifted to face them both. Then he saw the general and his escort and retreated into the corner. Likely, he’d been dragged where they needed him and he was worried about more manhandling.

He couldn’t blame the troops for not having any idea how to handle this. Hell, the locals were different enough. This kid was an alien, and there was no guessing if Dan had any way to communicate.

McClare said, “I can watch on video. Jeffords, Sergeant Wylie, out.” He indicated the door, his escort nodded and opened it, the SP joined them, and they left.

That might help.

Dan reached into his bag and pulled a beef stick out. He held it up.

Vest’k?” he said carefully in Urushu.

Wes’k?” the boy queried back.

Dan nodded. “Food.” He proffered the stick again.

The boy walked over, took it with a grunt, and stepped back against the wall. He started chewing, widened his eyes, and mumbled “Soge” around a mouthful. Similar to Urushu “’xok,” for “tasty.”

He spoke a related language or dialect, or possibly one changed with time, but was it earlier or later?

Very slowly and with gestures, Dan tried his best to phrase the language.

“Our hunters not know-see your people. Confused.” Finger to head. “You they bring here.” He pointed. “I am Dan Who Speaks.”

The boy looked at him, looked down, finished chewing the beef stick, and said, “I name Shug.”

“Shug. Sit?” Dan asked, pointing at the other chair. He sat in the one marked for him.

The boy came over and carefully sat, legs pulled up, like a lonely school student.

Jesus, the poor kid was here alone, in an entire world of things he couldn’t even recognize. How to even approach that?

Well, being friendly was the first step.

“How are you?”

“Confused. Spirit world very different.”

“Not spirit world,” Dan said. “Far away. Different people. Still day world.”

“Not spirit world?”

“You fine. We’re people, too.”

“Go home?”

“I don’t know, Shug. We don’t know how people move magically.”

“Home by river.”

“I think I’ve been to river. It’s not river near here.”

Overhead, the general spoke over the PA. “Find out where he’s from.”

“I’ll get there, sir.”

And, of course, that spooked the kid and he had to reassure him it was just an echo through a hole.

Two hours later, Dan and Shug were doing better. Shug explained some problems with his cell, and Dan told him how to hose down the toilet. He made the boy a chart with pictures of a drumstick, a drop of water, and a star to indicate he wanted to talk to someone. He could point to them for the MPs.

He knew quite a bit about the boy’s culture, which wasn’t terribly dissimilar from the Urushu’s, but Shug had never heard of that group. Shug knew how to use a bow and spear, and quite a bit about his spirits, who traveled between worlds.

Dan kept at it, with his own fatigue eating him, being reassuring. He got a plastic cup and poured water into it, in lieu of a bottle.

The kid relaxed as the discussion went on. Dan found out about game, the village size, their neighbors. He made copious notes, and Shug seemed aware the markings were some kind of record keeping. When the boy pointed curiously, Dan grabbed another notepad, and showed him how to hold a pencil. On the boy went, scribbling happily, making rough figures and possible tribal marks.

After another hour, Dan was passing out where he sat. He let the boy finish talking about his cousin’s spear technique, and got a word in.

“Shug, I need go. I see tomorrow you.”

“I see tomorrow Dan. Thank you helping.”

“You debt.”

Dan rose, walked to the door, and waited to be let out.

In the anteroom, the general was waiting.

“How did it go, Dan? I gather you were able to communicate with him.”

“Somewhat. He’s got a different dialect, changed by time or distance or both.”

The general looked relieved. “Still, it’s progress. So where is he from?”

He shouldn’t be surprised at that question, but he was.

Dan burst out, “How the hell would he know? Sir? He mentions a river, the mountains, and a stream. That’s the limits of his world.”

The general nodded in comprehension.

“Do you have any idea when? From talking to him?”

“He speaks a vaguely similar language. I was able to puzzle it out. So I’d say he’s from within a few hundred years and miles of where we were. I get the impression he’s later. He mentioned spirit visitors and great beasts, which could be our vehicles, but he wasn’t sure where or when or what exactly, just that it had happened a long time ago. And of course, that might be some other myth entirely. He could be talking about mammoths.”

“Does he know anything?” The general sounded exasperated.

“He was doing a rite of passage as a solo hunter, a few miles from his village. He knows how to hunt and track. He can make some tools, cook some food, find or make shelter. That’s about as much as he needs to know. He knows lots of basic stuff we largely don’t know. Nothing about modern tech. Not even agriculture, though they do worship certain plants and keep the demon weeds away from them.”

The general sighed. “I agree that’s important for scientists to know. It doesn’t give me any clues on disposition. He’s going to have to stay here for now.”

Dan said, “Yes, sir. I would like to keep meeting with him.”

“Yes, you will. Is he going to be okay in those quarters?”

“He’d like more time outside, but he’s fine with the bed, water, a toilet now that he knows what one is; you won’t have that problem anymore. He has some food choices, and I think you need to limit his starches.”

“What does he eat?”

“Meat, mostly. Organ meats as well. A little salt, roasted meat, that’s all. Seasonal fruit, but keep the quantities small. Wild rice cakes and acorn pancakes work. From what I recall, and discussions we had, rice might be okay. Wheat and corn are completely out. He won’t like beans. Avoid modern hot peppers. The food for Hajjis is not going to work for him.”

General McClare turned to his aide. “Did you get that?”

The aide nodded.

“Okay, Oglesby. Do please meet with him daily and see what you can find out. I really wish I could assign an interrogator to assist, but we’ve got to keep this close. There are specific things, though. I’ll get a list.”

“Sir, I spent a couple of years back then. I know what to ask. If there’s any way to have SFC Spencer come along, he had a really good background on the era and could help.”

“I’ll have him contacted. Thank you.”

Just then, someone shouted, “Shit, General! This way. We have another…anomaly.”

McClare strode off and moved to a jog. Dan followed along, figuring they’d send him away if they had a reason to. Anyway, he hadn’t been assigned a billet yet.

Across the packed sand and concrete, into a large K-span, and there was a familiar bare depression in the ground.

Next to it, in a dull gray uniform, was a man he recognized.

“Hello, Cryder,” he greeted.

It was the Cogi officer from the far future.


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Framed