Read Online A Long Time Until Now by Michael Z. Williamson - Free Book Online Page A

with a completely unknown group. He really had no idea how they’d act, and hoped Caswell was correct. People were people, right? They all ate, crapped, reproduced and needed shelter. There was that Hierarchy of Needs by someone.
    He led the way, because he was the lieutenant, but he hoped they couldn’t see his knees shake. This was worse than anything he’d done.
    Alexander had a huge telephoto lens, almost looking like a cannon, and scanned the settlement ahead.
    “They seem to use rock bases with logs and thatch above. It’s a lot more advanced than I’d have expected. And painted hides. Pretty good artwork.”
    Spencer said, “I think they found a settlement south of here, above Mazar-e-Sharif, that was built on rock foundations.”
    Caswell said, “This could be that culture then.”
    “It was about the time frame we think we have.”
    Elliott twitched his mouth and sighed. There was less and less likelihood of this being some trick. Everything pointed to the Stone Age. That some of the troops even knew which culture it was scared him, though it was helpful.

    Gina Alexander figured they were at the one mile mark from the settlement, more or less, when some natives came to meet them.
    They made her uncomfortable. They were tall. She was average height for an American woman, her husband broke six feet, but all of these men were over six, closing on six and a half. They were almond skinned and almond eyed, with long, dark, kinky hair. And yes, several had dreadlocks. She shuddered. That was disgusting.
    They held spears, and what looked like atl-atls, spearthrowers. They wore skirted loincloths and robes, of what was probably brain-tanned leather. One had a wolf fur cape. He was probably the head man here.
    Barker moved toward him slowly, hands up and forward. She twisted slightly so her rifle was ready at hand, just in case.
    The native said something, and it was a birdsong.
    Not really, but it was very smooth, lyrical, tonal, full of clicks and nasals.
    Barker said, “I don’t understand your words, but I greet you.” He pointed at himself. “I am Staff Sergeant Robert Barker, United States Army. I call myself ‘Bob.’” He pulled his goggles over his helmet lip and rolled them into his hand.
    There was more music. They didn’t seem hostile, but they were definitely curious. One came toward her. He looked puzzled by the helmet, armor and ruck, then seemed to decide she was female. The lack of a beard might have helped.
    He drew a long tube from under his robe. It was a bone, dead but fresh. He extended it toward her.
    Next to her, Spencer said, “ Females! Accept nothing as a gift!”
    Right. Some primitive cultures might regard that as an invite to mate. She shuddered again.
    The native looked puzzled, and offered it again.
    Spencer extended his arm, palm up. She pointed toward it.
    There was no way to read the expressions. She couldn’t tell if the man was unhappy or not, but he gave the bone over to Spencer.
    Spencer took it. “Marrow in it,” he said. “I think it’s a food offering.”
    Caswell said, “An offer of food is usually one of hospitality.”
    “Yeah, and this is full of fat. I think that’s positive.”
    He poked a finger into the broken end, pulled it out oozing blood, and sucked it.
    “Thank you,” he said with a slight bow, and returned it.
    The man took it with a nod that might almost be a bow in return.
    “Now I need a drink,” Spencer said. He grabbed the hose of his Camelbak. That likely wasn’t something the locals would recognize, and they didn’t.
    In a few moments, they were all walking toward the village, the five men chattering like birds.
    “That seems easy so far,” Elliott said.
    “I get the impression they’re not short of meat, fat or water,” she said. “If there’s salt around here, they’re in fine shape. They wouldn’t have a reason to fight.”
    Caswell said, “Band societies tend to fight only rarely. Sometimes over borders, but rarely in