The gap year, p.7
The Gap Year, page 7
“Hey sure, not a problem.” Anna stuck her hand into the fur nearby, and immediately yanked it back out again. “Ew! You’re all slobbery!”
“I was trying to bite the burr out.” Indy looked away again, sounding miserable.
“Sorry.” Now Anna felt like a jerk. “It’s not your fault, I was just surprised. Hold on a sec though, I’ve got an idea.” She tapped her phone, the fab went ding!, and a moment later Anna held a king-sized slicker brush. She dug around for a few moments in Indy’s wet fur with her fingers, finding the offending burr and teasing it out. Then she used the brush to groom the tangles out of the hair nearby. “There we go,” Anna said. She patted the area, still a little hesitant. “Good as new!”
“Could you do the other side too?” Indy asked. “I hate to admit it, but Leitus was right. And I can’t reach back there very well without any grooming-drones to help out.” She looked down.
“I got you.” Anna transferred the brush to the other hand and started working. “Girls have to look out for each other.”
Indy gave her a look of gratitude and shook out her ruff when Anna was done. “Luckily for both of us, there are no burrs under my tail,” she said with a hint of her usual sass.
Anna laughed and packed away the brush, some of the tension that had grown between them over the past few days dissipating. The two of them huddled companionably over her phone for a few minutes, trying to work out what foods two travelers in ancient Greece might plausibly have been carrying with them and which of those were fabbable. They hit a lot of dead ends without a network connection, but by this time Alixa and Indy’s collar had deciphered a few more sets of fab plans, two of which contained food items they could draw from. They fabbed a few of them, making crude changes here and there to try to make the packaging seem more Greek, and reclaimed some of Indy’s earlier supplies to make room in her saddlebags. Then they packed up their new food and returned to the cottage.
Helene and Iole noticed Anna’s new clothes right away, but thankfully didn’t ask any difficult questions about why she hadn’t dressed like a Greek before. Leitus did give Anna an approving nod when he saw that Indy’s fur had been brushed out, and all three of the Greeks looked on expectantly as Anna unloaded Indy’s saddlebags. The fab had produced two thick, oval loaves of bread, a small clay jug of brined olives, another jug of olive oil, a crumbly white cheese wrapped in cloth, some chili powder and salt in a tiny jar, two hard smoked sausages, and two small jugs of wine whose stoppers were sealed with wax. The chili powder had been Indy’s idea. We’ve traveled from far away, right? Who’s to say where this came from? Anna had been pretty sure chilies were originally from Mexico, but she let it slide. More unseasoned food didn’t sound good to her either. Iole helped set everything out on the table alongside the usual porridge, looking like she hadn’t seen that much at once for quite a while.
Helene’s eyes lit when she saw the wine jugs. She rose and went with halting steps to the cupboard, where she took out a large jug and four small, shallow pottery cups. Judging from the layer of dust on them, they hadn’t seen much use lately. Leitus rose to help her. Apparently, the jug was heavy even when empty.
After rinsing the dust off the vessels with water from the big storage jar in the corner, Leitus set the jug on the table and arrayed the four cups around it. He looked at Anna and gestured at one of the wine jugs. “Would you mind if I served it out?”
“Sure, go ahead.” Anna realized at that moment that she had no idea how ancient Greeks served wine. I really need to learn to ask Alixa about these things beforehand, she thought to Indy.
Leitus carefully cracked the wax seal from the jug and pulled out the stopper. He sniffed with interest. “Never smelled one like that before.”
Hope they like California cabernet, since that’s the only wine we can fab right now, Indy thought. And wait, who’s Alixa?
That’s what I call my phone’s net when I talk to it. Anna was a little embarrassed. My grandfather always called his net Alexa, which was some kind of old in-joke. I copied a lot of custom software from his net, so I call mine Alixa. Like our nets are sisters or something. She picked up one of the cups and held it out for Leitus to fill.
He looked at her oddly, and Anna got the feeling she’d committed another faux pas. “Um, sorry? We’re not from around here,” she said, putting the cup back down. Indy snickered over their link.
Leitus smiled tolerantly, then lifted a small flat dish that Anna hadn’t noticed before and poured a tiny bit of wine into it. He set the wine jug aside and lifted the dish solemnly, bowing his head. Helene and Iole did likewise, as did Anna and Indy after a moment’s hesitation. After a few seconds, Leitus emptied the flat dish onto the dirt floor of the cottage and waited for it to soak in.
Pouring out a libation to the dead, Indy thought to Anna.
Anna’s mouth twisted down in sorrow. Was everyone she cared about dead? Had they ever even existed at all, now? Her eyes burned with hot, unshed tears. Just two days ago, she’d been a high school graduate in El Paso, Texas, and her worst problem had been the lack of three points on a test. And now she was here, exhausted and hungry, almost completely alone, and scared about what might happen next. Anna tried to force her features back into an expression that wouldn’t invite unwanted questions, but it was hard.
Leitus poured the rest of the little jug of wine into the bigger jug, then tilted it around and smelled the aroma rising from it. He held it over to his wife, who also inhaled deeply. “Maybe a little more water in the krater than usual,” she suggested.
Huh, so I guess the big wine jug is a krater, Anna thought to Indy.
Leitus got up and brought over a cup of water, then poured some into the krater carefully. After swirling it around to mix it, he added more water, then swirled it again. At last, he poured some of the diluted wine from the krater into Helene’s cup. She sipped, then nodded her satisfaction, so he went on to pour into Anna’s cup first, then his own, and then Iole’s.
Anna saw Indy’s hangdog expression from the corner of her eye, and turned to Leitus. “Sir, can Indy have some too? That’s how we do things, where we come from.”
Leitus was briefly taken aback, but then he smiled. “She’s the one who carried it, so it’s only fair.” He got out one of the bowls from the night before, poured a generous measure of watered wine into it from the krater, and placed it on the cool side of the hearth where Indy could reach it.
“Before we enjoy this feast.” Leitus raised his shallow cup. “To those who’ve left us, and those we still cherish.” He clasped Helene’s hand tenderly, and both sipped from their cups. Iole followed, then Anna, and she could hear Indy lap once at her bowl.
Then he gestured at the food. “Now, let’s eat! A temperate man should never drink on an empty stomach.”
At that, four humans and one very large dog set to with an appetite.
12
“I still can’t get over how much death there is, back here in the past,” Anna said to Indy.
It was two hard, chore-filled months after their dinner party with the Greeks. Yet another check of their landing site had come up empty, and now the two of them were ranging out through the sparse mountainside forest on the way back to the cottage, gathering fallen wood for the hearth. The task didn’t take much attention, so they talked as they rambled along to distract themselves from bellies that never seemed full enough.
“Don’t you think that’s a bit dramatic?” Indy nosed at a bush that held some kind of interesting smell, the bundles of firewood strapped to her harness rattling as she did so. “Leitus has only killed three chickens the whole time we’ve been here, and those went into the stewpot and got stretched out for days.” She licked her lips. “It’s not like we’ve been feasting on fried chicken every night. Unfortunately.”
“It’s so unfair. I’m not even a vegetarian!” Anna tested a fallen branch, then dropped it when it proved too rotten to burn well. “I’ve eaten meat all my life. But until we got here, everything I ate came out of a fab. No animals had to die for it.”
“You’d probably have a hard time finding genuine dead-chicken fried chicken in the future even if you wanted to.” Indy left the bush she’d been sniffing and walked up beside Anna again. “Most of the animal species that humans domesticated over thousands of years have either reverted back to their original types or died out, except in a few special preserves. A lot of land has re-wilded since your ancestors invented matter transmutation and started our modern way of life.”
“I guess the chickens here don’t have it too bad,” Anna admitted. “They can mostly cluck around and do whatever they want. But still, it’s just… weird and gross to think there’s something dead in my dinner.” She spotted a small dead tree and picked her way toward it. “It’s a pain coming up with excuses to carry my backpack out into the woods, but I eat from the fab as much as I can.”
“My kind are less sensitive about the issue.” Indy’s tone was matter-of-fact. “Look at your teeth. Even you monkeys—” she used the term jokingly now, after months of daily banter “—have sharp teeth in the front, and little pointed teeth on the sides. You evolved to eat meat when you could.” She flashed her own three-inch canines in a frightening grin. “I still have the instinct to snatch up my prey and shake it violently from side to side, to break its neck or its back so I can eat it. We can’t erase how evolution made us.”
Anna sighed. “Yeah, I know.” She picked up a short length of dry, jagged wood and added it to the growing bundles strapped to Indy’s harness. “I never thought about how much my idea of right and wrong depended on our tech.” She loosened the strap on one of the bundles to make more room, then went back to gathering.
“In the future, I’d never even kill an insect.” Anna thought back on all the beetles she’d rescued in her front yard. “For real, I’m probably responsible for saving whole bug dynasties.” She picked up a long stick and struggled to snap it down to size, finally cracking it under one sandaled foot. “It’s easy to take the high road when you have fabs and everything else. But what are Helene and the rest of them supposed to do when they get hungry?”
“I can tell that Leitus is beginning to notice that we’re both heavier than our food intake in their house would support.” Indy walked closer to Anna, concern on her face. “He may start asking difficult questions soon.”
“My dad really needs to hurry up with that rescue.” Anna stuffed the snapped stick in with the rest of the bundle on Indy’s back. “And what do we do if Leitus kills a sheep for our dinner before then? They’re poor, so it can’t happen that often. For them, it’ll be like a party! You’ve seen how hungry they are. I can’t just say, ‘Sorry, sheep is against my religion’ or something. They’d look at me like I sprouted a second head.”
“Maybe it’s against your religion,” Indy said. “For me, I can’t help wondering what a bit of real mutton would taste like.” Indy smacked her lips with relish, then turned to look at Anna more seriously. “If it helps, think of it this way. As the shepherd of the flock, you protect the sheep and their lambs, and give them a life free from struggle and danger. You dedicate part of your life so they can live and play according to their nature, here on the mountainside. In return, when they reach the right age, they dedicate their lives back to you.” Indy sat down, careful of her load of firewood. “You respect their sacrifice, and you make sure their ends are without cruelty. That’s the bargain.”
Anna looked at Indy curiously, hesitating. “Do… hybrids have a religion?”
Indy looked aside, ears back and tail set low. “We usually don’t speak much about it with outsiders.”
“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean—”
“No, it’s all right. I think in our current situation, it’s good for you to know.” Indy lay down on the pine needles, letting the firewood bundles rest on the ground, and Anna sat down beside her.
“Your kind raised us up,” Indy said. “Made us into what we are today. The first few of us were created under suspicious circumstances, and there are still questions about how such an unusual technology was developed so quickly, and by whom. The very first one of us started life as a dog named Luke, about one hundred and fifty years ago. He’s very old now, but he came to speak to some of us in Austin when I was younger. He smelled like he knew more than he was telling, but it seemed like even he didn’t know the whole story.”
She huffed. “But after a bad start, humans always, always gave us a choice. As soon as we could understand the question, before we even had a full language, they asked us, ‘Do you want to go on? Or do you want to go back?’”
“Some of us, when they heard that question, chose to go back. They bred back to earlier lines, and lived out their lives, their little spark of sentience just barely enough to understand and choose for themselves. Their pups became closer to what we were before, and their grandpups even closer, and then there they were, back in a state of nature. They’re some of our greatest heroes.” Indy looked up solemnly. “We preserve their memory today, and their descendants live among us with honor. Now we are their shepherds, as your kind were ours.” She swallowed and an unreadable look came over her face. “When we finally do get back to the future, you probably shouldn’t talk about this to anyone.” She took a steadying breath, then let it out.
“Others of us chose to go onward, which led to my own family, and me being here today. But that’s a story for another time, maybe.” She heaved herself back upright and stood, leaning carefully from side to side to settle her load of firewood. “So what I suppose I’m trying to say is, we hybrids have got a different perspective on the relationship between those of us at the different levels of existence.” Indy raised a huge front paw and patted Anna’s back like you’d pat a dog’s fur. “Animal welfare here is actually not so bad, compared to most of human history before the invention of the fab.” Her expression darkened. “I hate to say it, but we’ve got bigger problems. Like why there’s still no sign of any message from your dad or anyone else from the future.”
“There’s no way we could have missed it.” Anna stood up, brushing pine needles from her chiton. “We’ve checked our landing site every couple of days for the whole time we’ve been here. Why is it taking so long?” She turned a pained look on Indy. “I don’t even care anymore if my dad freaks out about my test score, or if I have to take remedial classes. I just want to go home and start my real life again.”
“You think I don’t?” Indy’s brow furrowed, eyes flashing. “Back home, I was one paper away from making a real name for myself. A whole new phase of my life was about to open up. And now look at me!” She twisted her body, shaking the firewood violently. “I’m a pack animal! I can’t even speak out loud when there’s anyone around to hear.”
Anna sighed. “That sucks. It really does.” She gave Indy a sympathetic look as she re-checked the firewood straps. “And we’ve been so busy with chores and surviving, it’s been hard to figure out what else we could be doing.” She started back toward the cottage, Indy beside her. “But something’s bound to happen soon.” She looked around the empty forest. “I can feel it.”
13
Winter came, and it was a hard season. But with Anna and Indy there to help, their little household was thriving, even though any sign of rescue was still worryingly absent.
They mowed hay for the sheep, dried it, and stacked it in the little stone outbuilding, then harvested and stored root vegetables in bins under its floor. And even in the winter there was still some forage for the sheep and chickens, since ancient Greece didn’t exactly get a lot of snowfall.
They had a few visitors up on the mountain, mostly old friends of Leitus and Helene. And once, a brash young man came to visit Iole, which left her smiling secretly for days, though it seemed to worry her guardians.
Indy’s winter coat came in full and shaggy, and she pranced in the chill air. But Anna, who had grown up with central heating, was shivering before December had even begun. Months of labor and short rations had left them both lean as well as toughened, so the cold bit harder than Anna expected. She had grown more skilled at using Alixa’s custom software to hack and remix what fab plans they had. So she carefully noted their visitors’ clothing, and after some trial and error produced a rectangular woolen cloak and a few other garments that wouldn’t look out of place in their surroundings. She even secretly reinforced the wool with modern insulating fibers, though there was a limit to what she could make without standing out too much. It was a good thing Indy hadn’t set the portal to ancient Norway or Iceland!
She also went down to the nearby town of Livadeia—which was called Lebadeia here in ancient times—occasionally with Leitus. Each time, they would bring a few chickens or a sheep to barter for olives, olive oil, barley, honey, figs, and other staples and items they couldn’t make for themselves. With Anna’s and Indy’s labor added to the household, they could raise more chickens and feed the animals better, creating more of a surplus for trade. Anna still felt a pang when she traded each chicken or sheep on to an uncertain fate, but she couldn’t deny that with the extra goods they could afford now, they were all better fed than before.
Indy would drive the sheep, handling them adroitly now that she had learned to let her instincts do most of the work. Sometimes she would even show off, detouring around the sheep to scent the road before them, then predicting for Anna how many others they would see once they got to town. She got a few looks for her unusual size, but sheepdogs were not uncommon in ancient Greece. Many of them were large and fearsome-looking, having been bred to guard their flocks from wolves, so Indy didn’t attract as much notice as Anna had feared.
One cold but sunny day in January, Anna, Leitus, Iole, and Indy drove two sheep down the mountain trails and into town to trade. Iole’s real reason for coming with them was to see her young paramour, whose name had turned out to be Neleos. Iole’s parents had died some years before, after which she had come to live with Leitus and Helene, who was her great-aunt. Their family tree was narrow, so Iole had only distant relatives to visit in town, but Neleos’ family were prominent there. His mother promised to chaperone Iole and Neleos properly at their home for the hour or so it would take Leitus to do his business in town.
