seem afraid of anything. Of course, sharpened sticks were about the height of their technology. He did see those spear thrower things primitive people used, but no bows.
He was glad of the people they had. Dalton probably wasn’t much good technically, but likely a sturdy fighter, and if he could shoot, he could probably use a bow. The Air Force female, Caswell, knew something about sociology. Barker seemed to know several primitive skills. Spencer had some variety of training. They had a medic and a vet mate. It wasn’t many people, though. He was the smallest here, and the Paleos were giants. They were a solid foot taller and broader.
As long as the LT could keep his head, with Spencer advising him, he figured they’d survive, but it was going to be an entire life of field exercise, with no going home.
Which was better than being blown up.
Whatever had sent them here was apparently a fluke, or else was intended as a one-way trip by whoever had done it. It made him angry. A few feet to either side and they’d have been safe. A bit ahead or behind. Why right on top of them?
He assumed it was on purpose, aliens or something wanting to study them.
They better learn what they needed faster than he did. If there was a way home, he was going to find it. Revenge might figure in, too. Felix was very good with a knife.
Ramon Ortiz huffed along. Barker was taller, and these Stone Age bastards had legs like ostriches, and about as skinny, but goddamn they could run.
This river wasn’t the same as the one in their time. It was younger and more defined, cutting its way through the land. It was edged with trees and had bluffs and rocks.
The ten archeos ran through the growth barefoot, Barker behind and him trailing. There weren’t any paths, but it didn’t seem to bother them.
He was about to call for a break, because they’d done at least four miles at a serious clip, when they piled to a halt.
That thing was some kind of antelope, sheep, something. It was large, had horns, and was definitely a steak to be. It resembled a saiga, and might be some variant.
The natives spread out quickly, so silently it scared him. Barker sidled up to a tree and looked back, finger to lips. He nodded. He got a tree between himself and it, and stepped up to it quietly.
The beast snuffled along, big, and quite alert. It looked like no breed he knew, but was definitely a bovine.
Then in a moment of action, four spears flew in from four directions, striking it in the neck, thorax twice, and belly. Barker turned just as it gurgled and heaved his spear straight into the throat.
Realizing he was late, he took two steps and threw, his spear sticking into the mid-back, above the intestines. He hoped he hadn’t nicked them.
The beast snorted, roared and made as if to charge, head down and pawing at the ground, but it kept pawing as its rear legs collapsed, and in a few moments its pained cries quieted to breathy, blood-foamed baying, and unconsciousness with death imminent if not accomplished.
What happened next shocked and revolted him. The natives swarmed in, carefully drew out the bone-tipped spears, and started lapping blood from the wounds. Okay, he’d heard of that, but watching it was disgusting, even if there weren’t potential diseases from raw cow blood.
They waved, obviously wanting him to participate. He panicked.
Barker said, “fake it,” and bent over. He came up with blood on his lips and cheeks. Well, Ramon had been covered in worse from animals and people, so okay. He could do it.
There was a warm iron aroma to the blood, which mixed with the scents of hide, dung and dirt.
Their literal bloodlust satisfied, they moved in for some butchery. They weren’t bad, but he could do better, so he did.
He needed to be cautious. These guys swung those flint knives around like they were trading cards, swapping between two or three different ones as they cut through hide, meat, tendon. They shouted to each other, joking and
He was glad of the people they had. Dalton probably wasn’t much good technically, but likely a sturdy fighter, and if he could shoot, he could probably use a bow. The Air Force female, Caswell, knew something about sociology. Barker seemed to know several primitive skills. Spencer had some variety of training. They had a medic and a vet mate. It wasn’t many people, though. He was the smallest here, and the Paleos were giants. They were a solid foot taller and broader.
As long as the LT could keep his head, with Spencer advising him, he figured they’d survive, but it was going to be an entire life of field exercise, with no going home.
Which was better than being blown up.
Whatever had sent them here was apparently a fluke, or else was intended as a one-way trip by whoever had done it. It made him angry. A few feet to either side and they’d have been safe. A bit ahead or behind. Why right on top of them?
He assumed it was on purpose, aliens or something wanting to study them.
They better learn what they needed faster than he did. If there was a way home, he was going to find it. Revenge might figure in, too. Felix was very good with a knife.
Ramon Ortiz huffed along. Barker was taller, and these Stone Age bastards had legs like ostriches, and about as skinny, but goddamn they could run.
This river wasn’t the same as the one in their time. It was younger and more defined, cutting its way through the land. It was edged with trees and had bluffs and rocks.
The ten archeos ran through the growth barefoot, Barker behind and him trailing. There weren’t any paths, but it didn’t seem to bother them.
He was about to call for a break, because they’d done at least four miles at a serious clip, when they piled to a halt.
That thing was some kind of antelope, sheep, something. It was large, had horns, and was definitely a steak to be. It resembled a saiga, and might be some variant.
The natives spread out quickly, so silently it scared him. Barker sidled up to a tree and looked back, finger to lips. He nodded. He got a tree between himself and it, and stepped up to it quietly.
The beast snuffled along, big, and quite alert. It looked like no breed he knew, but was definitely a bovine.
Then in a moment of action, four spears flew in from four directions, striking it in the neck, thorax twice, and belly. Barker turned just as it gurgled and heaved his spear straight into the throat.
Realizing he was late, he took two steps and threw, his spear sticking into the mid-back, above the intestines. He hoped he hadn’t nicked them.
The beast snorted, roared and made as if to charge, head down and pawing at the ground, but it kept pawing as its rear legs collapsed, and in a few moments its pained cries quieted to breathy, blood-foamed baying, and unconsciousness with death imminent if not accomplished.
What happened next shocked and revolted him. The natives swarmed in, carefully drew out the bone-tipped spears, and started lapping blood from the wounds. Okay, he’d heard of that, but watching it was disgusting, even if there weren’t potential diseases from raw cow blood.
They waved, obviously wanting him to participate. He panicked.
Barker said, “fake it,” and bent over. He came up with blood on his lips and cheeks. Well, Ramon had been covered in worse from animals and people, so okay. He could do it.
There was a warm iron aroma to the blood, which mixed with the scents of hide, dung and dirt.
Their literal bloodlust satisfied, they moved in for some butchery. They weren’t bad, but he could do better, so he did.
He needed to be cautious. These guys swung those flint knives around like they were trading cards, swapping between two or three different ones as they cut through hide, meat, tendon. They shouted to each other, joking and
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