"I hate the waiting," Jesse said.
There wasn't much that he could say to that. It was something that all soldiers felt at one time or another. Not the waiting to clock out, but the waiting for that one unlucky moment that turns out to be your last.
There were soldiers all around them, some in the disposable transit fatigues, others already in uniform as Hessians, Huns, Centurions, Green Berets and Vikings. Nothing about the year 2613 seemed very real. They belonged to it, but it didn't feel like home, more like a part of some alcoholic dream. They spent another five minutes together before Lucas heard his code called over the P.A. They looked at each other, probably for the last time, and he left her sitting there, staring into her scotch and swirling the ice cubes around so that they tinkled against the glass.
* * * *
Scipio sent his archers forward, regrouped his forces and they struck again. As he had advised Jesse, Lucas went on automatic pilot, phasing out his brain and fighting like an automaton. He was drained of everything. Drained of energy, drained of spirit, drained even of fear. When he finally came out of it, he was astonished to discover that he was still alive. Scipio had won.
When the pickup squad made contact, he was still in a daze. He heard the tone inside his head—as they signaled him via his implant from somewhere close by—and he slipped away at the earliest opportunity. They tracked him and he was picked up by three men in Roman garb. He clocked back to the present, battered, weak and exhausted. He felt empty. He was back in the year 2613 and none of it felt right. The soldiers were sitting around in the departure station, waiting for their codes to be called. They were all in various modes of dress, a cross section of history on parade. Dollies shuttled around, carrying all manner of weapons and equipment. Men and women were loading up on cigarettes and coffee. Drugs were prohibited, but easily available. There was that same metronomical voice announcing codes and grid designations over the P.A. He had arrived, by chance, right back where he had started from, the Quantico Departure Station.
The snap-back hit. The old "it's-like-you-never-left" feeling. He felt vaguely disoriented with a heavy touch of deja vu. He had some time left before he was due to pick up his new tags with a new code designation or to apply for a furlough. Some time. It seemed ironic. He was now eligible for a furlough, but most soldiers never took them. What was the point? The army gave credit only for time spent on active duty and time was precious. What he wanted, just that minute, was a drink.
He crossed the giant plaza and headed for a bar. It looked familiar and well it should have; it was where he had met Jesse Fain. Feeling a bit nostalgic for the present past, he headed for a certain table in a certain booth. The same booth he had shared with Jesse. It was unoccupied, but they hadn't had time to clean it off yet. On the table was an empty ale tankard and a single glass of scotch.
The ice was almost melted.
He checked the time. It couldn't have been more than a couple of minutes since she'd left. And he had been away six months. He sat down wearily and ordered an ale and a computer terminal. Both were brought to his table almost immediately. He plugged into the line and voiced his request. There were one or two people he wanted to check up on. At the same time, he almost didn't want to know. He took a gulp of ale, then gave their names and serial numbers.
The data was quick in coming. Johnson, Robert Benjamin, s
erial number 777334-29-181-999-285-60............CS (current status) active duty Napoleonic Wars—
That was all he wanted to know. At least Bobby was still alive. So far. Some of the others weren't so lucky. Deacon Bailey was MIA, Liz Carmody was KIA, Josh McKenzie was KIA and Jesse Fain never even made it to wherever she was going. She was lost in transit, somewhere in the dead zone. Her waiting was over. He didn't have the heart to continue. He was about to turn off the terminal and have it taken away when an update flashed across the screen.
Bobby Johnson had just clocked back in.
Chapter 1
Master Sergeant Robert Benjamin Johnson sat on his duffel bag, a longbow resting across his lap. The plastic duffel, which had just been drawn from supply, made slight crackling noises as he shifted his weight upon it. Beside him was Finn Delaney, Pfc, dressed in the garb of a Saxon peasant and fast asleep on the plastic bench. Johnson heard someone call out his name and looked up to see a non-com dressed in transit fatigues threading his way through the crowd toward the bank of vending machines near which they waited. It took him a moment to recognize the man; Lucas Priest had aged.
"Lucas! Jesus Christ, you're still alive!"
"Only just barely," Priest said. They clapped their arms around each other in an awkward bear hug. "God, it's good to see you," Lucas said. "I wasn't sure I'd make it back from that last one. Nothing like a four week long forced march to prime you for facing Hannibal and his damn elephants. If it wasn't for the historical preservation regs, I'd have murdered that bastard, Scipio."
"That rough, huh?"
"Don't ask."
"I don't have to. You look all done in." He glanced at Priest's insignia. "I see you made sergeant major."
"And you've been bumped a grade or two as well. How long has it been?"
"It's been a while," said Bobby, grinning. "I haven't seen you since this morning."
They sat down to compare notes. The last time they saw each other, it had been at 0900 September 17, 2613. But that was Plus Time. Since then, Lucas had sailed with Lord Nelson, fought under General Pershing, picked up a saber scar in the Crimea and helped to kill Custer at the Little Big Horn. Now he had just clocked in from fighting in the Punic Wars and it was 1435 September 17, 2613. Lucas Priest had aged ten years. He and Johnson had been the same age five Plus Time hours ago, but now Lucas looked older. He had put in much more Minus Time. Lucas had about three days of Plus Time left to serve and Bobby had four days to go.
"It's great to see you again, Lucas," Bobby said. "I wish to hell we had time for a drink, but my code's on stand-by."
"I know," said Lucas, lifting his tags out and twirling them between two fingers. Bobby made a grab for them.
"Green 44! We've got the same departure code!"
Lucas smiled. "Well, fancy that."
"You knew!"
"Of course I knew," said Lucas. "I checked the data on you as soon as I clocked in. I told you I'd be doing it, didn't you believe me?"