Chapter 8: A Key To Power Part 1

Dr. Yang went nuts.

She probably meant to flinch back from the beardy guy, but her powersuit amplified the movement so she slammed into the wall like an old-fashioned stuntman on wires. Then she bounced back, snarling, fingers curled into claws.

Oh, crap, thought Chris, she's remembered her suit.

Sixty-five kilos of enraged paleontologist slammed into Beardy Guy. Radiator fins fanning from her back and shoulders, Dr. Yang hoisted the native up, grabbed a corner of his armor, and pulled. Metal-studded cloth ripped. The man underneath cried out.

"Dr. Yang," What was her first name? Chris had no idea. "Listen to me."

She didn't listen. The native gasped and babbled. His wild eyes fixed on Chris, as if to say, "Do something. You're the one in the powersuit."

Yeah, but so was Dr. Yang. Sans powersuit, Chris could probably bench-press his skinny boss. Now, though, Yang was exactly as strong as him, and obviously better at using that strength.

Yang tossed Beardy Guy's mangled armor on the muddy floor. "This man commanded the troops that killed Dr. Upton."

"Okay." Chris swallowed. "But you can't kill him."

"I don't know," Yang grabbed the native's face. "I think I can."

Chris tried to think. There were homicidal soldiers and barbarians all over the place. Why couldn't he be the one to punch his problems until they stopped twitching? But no, Chris had to be the weak one.

Aha.

"Hey, Beardy," he said, still looking at the native. "Repeat after me. I surrender." He put his hands up, palms out.

The old guy didn't repeat the words, but he got the idea. He put up his hands and Yang's elbows locked. Her fingers jerked away from the man's face.

The trick didn't buy Chris much time. Dr. Yang didn't swear or shout. Instead, her eyes blinked, scanned, blinked again, and the doors of the vehicle hissed open. She hoisted the native up, aiming him at the trees outside.

"Wait," said Chris, "Jesus Christ, Yang. Just slow down for a second."

"Every second we're here is another second I might die," she said. "I will not slow down. I will leave, and if you don't want to leave with me, you can follow this creature." Yang leaned back. Beardy looked like he was praying.

"Dr. Yang," said Chris, "when I said we can't leave without Andrea, I mean we aren't able to."

She squinted at him and her eyes widened as the mind behind them finally started working. "The soldier's admin privileges."

"We're stuck until we get her back in the vehicle." Chris could almost see the switch flip. Fight-or-flight mode deactivated. "So, you can put Mr. Beardy down now."

Dr. Yang blinked at the native dangling from her fist. Wrinkling her nose, she dropped him. He started bowing, and her scowl deepened. "So we must collect Ms. Herrera." She strode past Beardy and out of the Hilbert Space vehicle.

Chris hurried to catch up. "Right. So all we have to do is stay calm, tell Andrea to stop killing natives, and get all of us back in the - huh." He stopped. Looked around.

The top of the mound was deserted. Aside from the three of them and the corpses, everyone was gone.

"Where is she?" Yang spun around and said something that was probably a curse in Mandarin. "What happened to her?"

Chris heard a footstep behind him. Beardy. The craggy native scowled at the carnage. His lips pulled back from crooked, miscolored teeth. The snarl of a civilization that had yet to discover fluoride.

"Trals," he said.

***

Andrea woke up puking.

Rough hands lifted her, turned her on her side. The world rocked crazily and more vomit dribbled down her face. Whoever was holding her yelled in disgust, and someone else laughed.

Andrea opened her eyes, but the bright spots and smears of color just made her head pound. Jesus. What had she been drinking? This was to hangovers what a nuclear warhead was to a sharpened rock.

She gasped in hot, wet air. A greenhouse? A sauna? Were there any saunas in Bozeman, Montana? Were there any bars in Bozeman where it was possible to get this smashed? No. They'd left Bozeman. They'd flown away in a helicopter that was also a time machine. And Andrea was in the past.

Or a past. A past inhabited by the crazy nudist descendants of other time travelers. And she was their prisoner.

Andrea sucked in another mouthful of soggy Mesozoic atmosphere and shut her eyes again. That took care of the lights and colors. Gave her some room to think with. From slope of the surface under her, and the sloshy rocking, she was in the bottom of a canoe.

The cavemen had knocked her out with a poison dart, and now they had her - she flexed her ankles and wrists and felt hard cords - hogtied. And they'd stripped her to her underwear.

"Grripmh."

Was that supposed to be a word? It sounded like someone trying to gargle and sneeze at the same time. While being kicked hard in the chest.

"Grripmh! Opmhomupmh!" That rough hand pawed at the clean side of her face. When that didn't work, Andrea's captor gave her a slap that bounced her head off the bottom of the canoe.

Relax. Shoulders, arms, hands, legs. When she could be professional about it, Andrea slitted her eyes open and got a look at her situation.

The caveman was getting ready to slap her again. This one was taller and wirier than the one who'd gotten her poisoned, his Rasta hair-do a little shorter, and a lot blonder. He could have been a punk surfer except for the lizard-skin bandolier and loin-cloth. And the body modification. Tattooed tiger-stripes flexed over pierced eyebrows. A blond beard parted to reveal white teeth. Some of them were filed to points.

"What are you smiling at, asshole?"

The psycho-surfer sneeze-gargled some more. He held her gaze, but Andrea got the impression he wasn't talking to her. His intonation sounded like a fisherman complementing his buddy. Woo-wee, Billy-Bob, this one's a beaut. Or, since he was a caveman: Grr! You mighty hunter! You get good woman!

Surfer reached into the greasy-looking pack slung around his waist and pulled out a strip of dried meat. Took a nice chaw. Think woman good for sex? Or just stewpot?

Another voice rumbled something in reply. Think both! Ha ha ha!

This was no time to panic. Andrea squinted into the sun over Surfer's shoulder, speaking to the boss-man behind him. "My name is Andrea Herrera. I am a United States citizen and a soldier." Well, retired soldier, but she didn't need to go too deep into her fucked-up post-Econ-Peace career path. "Set me free right now, and you boys won't be in trouble."

Muttering from the boss. Grr! Let Ug see woman!

The blond ducked his head. Okay, boss. He crouched and slid backward in the canoe, expertly switching places with Andrea's captor.

So that's where her powersuit was.

The smart fabric molded itself over his wide chest, retracted radiator fins forming ridges down his tapering waist. He hadn't been able to pull the hood over his dreadlocks, which spread in a brown mane down his back. Several of the longer dreads had things braided into them. Curved claws like eagle talons. Pointed teeth. Small skulls.

The boss-caveman had added his own decorative touches to the powersuit, too. A loincloth, natch, and a big metal plate like the engraved belts they gave to wrestling champions. Scaly boots, bandolier, and some leather straps completed the ensemble. He even had eyeshadow. Black paint and irises as green as the semi-tropical canopy sliding by overhead.

"I said, set me free." Andrea slid away from him, up the side of the canoe. Surfer Dude, now paddling at the stern, grunted some kind of complaint, but the big-haired chief told him to shut up.

Bracing herself against the prow of the canoe, Andrea squirmed to her knees and straightened her back. Crouched as he was, the big chief's green eyes were almost level with hers. Andrea had to work to hold his gaze. "Stop staring at me," she demanded. "Where are we going?"

He snorted. Ug no understand. Ug no speak English, stupid.

Fuck. The one time Andrea had been abroad without her HUD-bindi and its simultaneous interpretation apps, she'd been in Mexico. She had no idea how to have a conversation with someone who couldn't understand her language.

Andrea used her chin to point downstream, rolled her eyes. "Where are we going?" she said again. "Um...¿A dónde vamos?"

He cocked his head, eyebrows raised.

Well, what did she expect him to say? Si si. Porque nosotros, cavernícolas primitivos hablamos Español.

"Where are we going?" Andrea's voice cracked. "Why the fuck did you sons of bitches strip me and where the fuck are you taking me?"

The caveman chief sighed and muttered something in his own language. Choking out caveman words, he pointed downstream, then back at Andrea, and held up two fingers.

"To my two friends? The other ones with powersuits?" She nodded at his black-clad chest. "Powersuit?"

It took a few repetitions before he got it and said, "Parrsoot." He sat up very straight, scowling, and pulled his hand down his face.

"The guy with the beard?"

"Barrlirr Ngarong fith Glos. Ngarong? Jguhrruh?" He mimed pointing something like an old-fashioned pistol. "Ngarong."

"Ngarong," said Andrea, "the commander of the hostiles. He...what?" As the caveman made grabbing gestures at the air, "He captured Larsen and Yang? They were in powersuits, how the fuck did he - "

Her captor arched an eyebrow at Andrea.

"Yeah, okay. So you guys didn't have any trouble bagging me." She smiled at him, "I'm going to kill you when I get my powersuit back. You understand that, cabrón?"

The big caveman slapped his chest and grimaced. Ug talking now! He made the signs for her people and the captain again, then put his hands over his head and blew his lips and made a damn fine impression of a helicopter taking off.

"They left in the time machine?"

He held his fist out, raised it, and, still making helicopter noises, pushed it out past Andrea's head, over the prow of the canoe. Yang, Larsen, their captor, and the time machine were all downstream. If she understood him. If he was telling the truth.

"Listen to me," Andrea pulled at the cords around her wrists, "I can help you. But first you have to let me go. Right? You'll let me go?"

The caveman cocked an eyebrow and said something low and conversational. Ug not do that. His voice deepened. No. Woman does what Ug say or Ug be angry. Then a single word in a harsh, questioning tone. Understand?

"How the fuck should I know if I understand you? I'm not sure how you expect to interrogate me, with me making up the questions and you making up the answers."

The caveman slapped his chest. He stuck his hand out as if firing the p-cannon, but of course nothing happened. He flexed in the suit, but no Smart Actin plates formed. The only bulging muscles in there were his. It was easy enough to guess his question: How Ug make magic paarsoot work?

"Biometrics." Andrea grinned. "You got the car, amigo, but not the keys."

He beat his chest again, voice hard. So give Ug key.

"It doesn't work like that. That thing," she pointed her chin at his chest, "needs to be on me," she indicated herself, "or it doesn't work." She couldn't make the p-cannon sign with her hands tied behind her back, but apparently the caveman got it.

He examined her sidelong, lips slightly pursed, eyes glowing green in the leaf-shadows sliding over his brows. He could kill her now. Tied up and powerless as Andrea was, this guy could strangle her right here in the boat.

The caveman leaned over the side of the canoe and dipped his hand in the river. Late afternoon sunlight sparkled on a curve of water droplets as he brought the hand back up. Very slowly, he brought his big wet palm to her cheek, and wiped some vomit off it.

Andrea had to work hard not to flinch back. Tied up, almost naked, head pounding, sixty-five million years from home, she was more scared than she'd ever been in her life.

He rubbed his hand down her face. Palm to fingertips, it stretched from her chin to past her hairline. He grunted, leaned back, pressed a hand to his chest, and inclined his head. It time for Ug and woman to introduce ourselves. Lips pulled back, big, white teeth gritted together, and the caveman told Andrea his name.