“It started a firestorm in Washington. We went from being a below-the-radar science experiment to front-screen news of every webpaper in the world. There were calls to shut the program down for good, especially when it was leaked that two previous missions had failed.
“The investors panicked. The military panicked. Launch time was pushed up–new ship or not.”
I asked her if she was nuts.
“You’re telling us you knew the ship would fail and still made the jump? All you science guys knew?”
“That was the theory, but we couldn’t be sure.”
“Why did you do it? Come back with us? We grunts accepted there was no going back, but at least we thought the trip was 80 percent safe. You don’t strike me as a suicide.”
“Me neither,” Jones said.
She leaned back against a mossy log and thought for a while before answering.
“My whole career is based on this mission. I helped plan it. This morning, wandering through the forest, wading in the tide pool, seeing such vibrant life all around us, I don’t know, even if the waves had killed me, it may have been a fair exchange.
“We have really traveled back in time. Really done it. We will see and experience things that no woman or man has seen or experienced for 32,000 years. We owe it to The Team to carry on, do our best.”
Jones leaned forward. “All our equipment’s going to fail? That why the shovels and dishes broke?”
“It seems the more complicated an object is, the quicker it begins to fade away. The microscopes and most of the other lab equipment quit working two days ago.”
“Forks and spoons aren’t that complicated. What about the guns?”
I caught her grimace in the moonlight.
“I would be surprised if the firearms work even now, and we sure don’t want to try them. The chamber and barrel are two of the first components to go. They are likely to blow up in our faces.”
“Is that why we were searching so hard for flint, to make weapons?”
“All sorts of tools, including weapons. But there is some good news. A few new prototypes were included in the launch. The kayaks are new models and so are these fancy helmets and jumpsuits.”
“You said there were conspiracies, as in plural. What else do we need to know? And why didn’t ya tell the Italians about the guns?”
Jones was full of interesting questions.
“You saw those crosses on the dead back there on the beach. Either of you two wonder what that was all about? Let me ask you something, what were your impressions of Sergeant Edmunds in training?”
Mick Edmunds had been a straight-ahead kind of guy, a hard worker who saw two years of training go down the tubes when his appendix burst the day before launch. I said we weren’t friends or anything, but I felt real sorry for him to put in all the work and then miss out right at the end.
“Lucky it happened then and not now,” Jones said.
“The appendicitis was a cover story. In the final search, a Bible was found hidden within Edmunds’ possessions. This serious breach of protocol sounded alarm bells across all levels of Team leadership, but it did not delay launch. In fact, we launched an hour early. While Edmunds was still being questioned.
“That fueled rumors circulating within the science community that Edmunds was part of a group intent on taking modern Christianity back in time. Far back. Let the Christians get a jump on Buddha and Muhammad and the Jews. One particular fundamentalist group has been trying to book passage with The Team for years. To no avail, of course. The applications were denied out of hand.”
Jones grunted. “Pardon the candor, but ya sound like a conspiracy nut.”
“I prefer ‘conspiracy theorist.’ Believe me, I’ve heard it before. My associates and I were quite divided on this issue. One bald-headed paleontologist threatened to punch my lights out if I didn’t stop causing trouble which might delay launch.
“What do you two think? You saw the crosses, the odd way those three were acting. Something was fishy.”
“Stress makes people act plenty strange. Don’t make ’em infiltrators.”
We sat and chewed on those thoughts for a while. A line of clouds showed on the horizon, slowly moving our way. The botanist impressed me with her firm grasp of our situation. It did sound like the rant of a conspiracy nut, but I never once doubted her. Jones said she was “good people.” All I knew was, she didn’t seem worried, and that was more calming than any fire.
“Let’s move on to our priorities,” she said. “I’ve been thinking about our future. So far, a grand plan has eluded me, but I have some ideas. It seems like we have immediate priorities: food, shelter and defense. We also need to have long-term goals, like, what are we going to do for the rest of our lives? Both near-term and long-term affect each other.”
“How do ya mean?” Jones asked.
“OK, let’s see. Put it this way, we need to learn to crawl before we can run in this time and place. Specialist Kaikane, just off the top of your head, name one long-term priority.”
I thought for a bit, and while I was at it my stomach growled. “We should live our lives to the fullest, not cower in the dark–afraid of everything,” I said. “For me, it means basic stuff, like food cooked over a fire. I’m not big on what you call the finer things in life, but I’d hate to think we have eaten our last bread and cheese, or drunk our last glasses of wine.”
“I could go for a nice Bordeaux right now,” she said. “How about you, Jones?”
“Safety and defense. Without guns, we’re real low on the food chain. We need some firepower. Need to understand all threats and how to overcome those threats. If that’s learning to crawl, I’m with ya. How about you, Doc?” Jones asked, as the first drops of rain began to splatter down.
She cleared her throat and looked us both squarely in the eye.
“I am not here to, what did you call it, ‘cower in the dark?’ No way. I plan to live a long and rich life. There is much work to be done.
“But we have one very pressing bit of business to tend to before we start designing our future. We need to find the Italians and set them straight. They’ll probably show up here first thing tomorrow morning. If they don’t, we’re going to have to go find them. I may need your help in bringing them to heel.”
Jones rose from his seat to stretch his long arms above his head. I noticed that ferns poked through a big, round hole in the blanket where he had been sitting.
“I think we need to figure out a way to get close without being seen,” Jones said.
“You do that, corporal. And Kaikane, you keep thinking about bread, cheese and wine.”
“If it turns out we have problems with Martinelli, taking him won’t be easy. He’s a tough soldier.”
Her voice trailed off as she ducked under her tarp. “Not as tough as you, Jones, not as tough as you.”
TRANSMISSION:
Kaikane: “See anything?”
Jones: “Not much. A billion bats, a few owls and night birds on the hunt. Four sea lions hauled out on the rocks, inside the arm of the peninsula. See ’em?”
Kaikane: “Roger that.”
Jones: “You sleep?”
Kaikane: “Maybe. A few minutes. I’m OK. Go ahead, turn in. I’ve got you covered.”
Jones: “You can hear the whales as they pass by.”
Kaikane: “As they exhale?”
Jones: “Sure, you can hear their breaths. I’m talking about their songs. Heard ’em singing.”
Kaikane: “Singing?”
Jones: “You know, that high-pitched shit, sounds like balloons rubbed together.”
Kaikane: “I’ve heard recordings. There used to be plenty humpbacks wintering in the waters off Maui. Before the Big Melt.”
Jones: “Check it out for real, man. I’m turning in.”
From the log of Paul Kaikane
Recreation Specialist
Gray and gloomy, pissing down rain, our campsite is a muddy mess. It was still dark when
my guard shift ended so I settled into a soft puddle and passed out. The suit kept me warm and comfortable as I dreamed of wolves and sharks and surfing my favorite break on Maui.
Even when the world’s been turned upside down, there’s nothing like a few hours of solid sleep to make you feel better. I woke to the sound of birds pecking on a plastic table. Wiping the rain off my visor, I saw the botanist crouched under our last intact tarp, fingers flying over an antique computer.
Her helmet was off. Ringlets of wavy, coal-black hair framed an oval face deep in concentration. Chewing lightly on her lower lip, she paused for a moment to compose her thoughts. A little back and forth toss of her head as she aligned the words, then the slender fingers took flight again. Jones said something and she looked up to catch me studying her the way a country boy might admire a fine painting.
She smiled before turning to Jones.
“He’s awake. The barometer says it’s only going to rain for another hour or so, and the wind will die down by noon. Why don’t you boys take a hike and find breakfast? Consider it reconnaissance.” Her suggestion sounded a lot like an order.
I took a moment to stretch the kinks out of my neck, study the clouds and sea, then followed Jones down the muddy stairs.
“If I find a wine bar with bread and cheese, I’ll let you know,” I called over my shoulder as we trudged across the round stones of the beach.
Jones took the lead and I was happy to let him. Of all the soldiers we trained with for this mission, I can’t think of one I would rather be stuck with in a tight situation. Jones has a knack for making good decisions. He’s cool under pressure. West Point-trained and battle-tested, Jones has always been one step ahead of the game. I wouldn’t say we became close buddies in training, but we are about the same height and skill level so they paired us up pretty regular in martial arts classes.
In my book, Jones is a good guy to take the lead, or have your back.
We scrambled over fallen trees and the all-out mess along the shoreline until we found a slope gradual enough to give us hope of climbing up to the top of the ridge. The going was muddy and steep. Twice we had to turn back when game trails petered out against sheer cliffs. At the second dead end, I motioned for Jones to stop. The cliff was gray and seemed to shimmer in the rain. Smooth to my touch. Scanning the ground, we found pieces that appeared to have been flaked off. Flint. We agreed to return on the way back.
Atop the sea cliff, we knelt together in the shadows, near a thicket of thumb-sized blackberries. The rain had stopped and the air was heavy as we scanned a rolling plain dotted with animal herds. Patches of fog hung in wooded valleys and stream bottoms. Sixty deer stood feeding nearby. They would take a few bites of grass then raise up as one to scan the field–tall ears turning like radar dishes toward suspect sounds. About a half mile away, a pair of woolly rhinoceroses had a pack of wolves on their tail as they busted through the tall grass like tanks. I looked over to see Jones filling a rucksack with berries.
“These are new. Don’t eat any until we have Doc check ’em out,” he said. “Saw some vines, looked like grapes back there. Let’s finish the recon then backtrack for some of them and a few pieces of stone for her to look at.”
Walking the rim of the cliffs above our bay, we found no obvious trails down. Our ledge was under enough canopy to be invisible from above. We called the botanist on the com line and she waved a canoe paddle until we spotted the movement.
The stream feeding the waterfall was swollen, but still narrow enough to vault across with a broken tree limb. The size of the bank and wear and tear on the trees showed the little brook occasionally roared with storm water. In the shaded clutter we found several varieties of mushrooms and morels sprouting from rotting logs. Anything that looked edible was tossed into the pack.
TRANSMISSION:
Jones: “Dr. Duarte is good people.”
Kaikane: “She and Lorenzo make quite a pair.”
Jones: “Like oil and vinegar.”
Kaikane: “Like a flower and a piece of shit. I thought she was going to thump him yesterday. With a stick.”
Jones: “All I know is, she put her life on the line for me. Doubled back to save my ass when the first wave hit.”
Kaikane: “What happened?”
Jones: “Stupid mistake. Had the kayaks’ ropes looped around my wrist and couldn’t let go. Wave caught them and was pulling me down. She grabbed my other hand and held tight to a tree. Water splashing over us. Was close.”
Kaikane: “That took guts. Where were Lorenzo and Sal? Amacapane?”
Jones: “Fucking Italians ran like deer.”
Kaikane: “Good thing she was there.”
Jones: “What if you and I didn’t make it? Ya think of that? What would her life be like stuck with those three knuckleheads?”
Kaikane: “Sal’s not so bad.”
Jones: “He’ll follow Lorenzo like a puppy. We gotta protect her. You and me. Understand?”
Kaikane: “Roger that.”
From the log of Paul Kaikane
Recreation Specialist
I couldn’t say which made the botanist happier, the fruit or the flint. She hefted a two-pound flake in one hand and started shoving berries in her mouth with the other.
“Ya goin’ to test them first?” The worry in his voice sounded strange coming from Jones.
“Already did. I found both of these varieties yesterday. They scanned out OK. I’ll check the mushrooms later. The grapes are still green and not very sweet, but they do have nutrients in them. Vitamin C in particular. Maybe Kaikane could bake us a pie. Put sugar on your shopping list, Paul.”
“I would if I had something to write on.”
“Use your computers. I meant to talk to you guys. You both need to start keeping up with your daily journals.”
“Our computers went down with the ship,” I pointed out.
“Yeah, so, use the one in your kayak.”
“The kayaks have computers? Since when?”
“Wait a minute. You didn’t know your kayak had a computer? No? I wonder what else you don’t know. Were either of you briefed on the uses and capabilities of these craft?”
We shook our heads together, like deer looking for lions in the tall grass.
“Well, OK, let’s run it down from stem to stern.”
We stepped over to one of the 20-foot-long kayaks. It was easy to see when I had my helmet on, and virtually invisible when I didn’t. There were a few wavers along the edges, if you knew just where to look.
“Jones, please put on your helmet so we’re all seeing the same thing.” She sounded like a teacher. “This boat is, by far, one of the most advanced tools we brought back with us. The fact it is outfitted with older generation tools is disappointing, but most of the important features are intact.”
She pointed to a plug that screwed into the top of the bow.
“This is a water filtration system. Put seawater, urine, muddy pond water, what-have-you in here and it comes out the other end perfectly safe to drink or to use to flush wounds. Sterile. There are bladders fore and aft which will carry about 20 gallons of water.”
She moved to the middle by the seat.
“No offense to your surf skills Kaikane, riding that river was nowhere short of amazing, but you did have some help. The kayak has four gyroscopes which are designed to keep it from flipping over.”
I nearly shouted.
“I knew it had to be something. She looks like a heavy pig, but she seemed to come alive on the river. The faster we went, the more control I had. It carved better than any surfboard I ever rode.”
“Speed is the key,” she said. “The skin of this boat–no, that’s not right because it’s not a skin. The entire hull of the boat turns friction into electricity. Moving through the water, rocking back and forth, or even being dragged across an ice floe turns this baby on. You must have had those gyroscopes humming right along yesterday. Besides providing stability, they also have something to do wi
th the shark repellent system.”
I stopped her there. “Shark repellent? Like they told the Navy guys in World War II? The guys who got munched? I’ve heard claims, but never seen anything that really kept a determined shark away.”
“As far as I know, it does,” she said, looking down at the kayak. “It worked yesterday. You saw yourself, there were sharks everywhere, but none bothered us. The manufacturer claims it will deter all aquatic predators, including toothed whales, alligators, hippos and crocs.”
She stopped to grab another handful of berries. Flipping up her visor, she popped them into her mouth two at a time.
“Obviously, you are both aware of the hull’s stealth ability and its incredible durability. But it isn’t perfect. Especially the stealth feature. When the area surrounding the kayak has texture, it can sample and re-project the background almost perfectly. For instance, against a mottled landscape, without a visor, forget about seeing it. But when the background is blank, like against blue sky, white fog, or even perfectly still water, the naked eye can pick up the waver of an outline. Once the eye has it, then it gets easier to see. Without the stealth ability, we never would have been permitted to bring the ship or the kayaks back this far in time.”
“Why not?”
“Because, as far as we know, boats have not yet been invented. Same with the bow and arrow. Unless we witness natives using boat technology, we cannot introduce it to the world. We were only allowed to bring guns since they were considered too complicated to duplicate. Stealth and secrecy were the plan. Thus far, those plans have turned to guano.”
She reached into the dashboard and pushed a button to release a clunky white computer identical to the one she was banging on earlier. It looked like a cutting board, an inch thick and about a foot square.
“This computer runs the whole show. Very fast processor. Runs on solar or boat power and is touted as indestructible. As you know, we are supposed to include our computerized journals, sketches, audio, video, notes and everything else in the ‘mother’ package for our sponsors.”
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