Гарри Гаррисон - Rebel in Time

Twenty-fifteen. The year was unimaginable. What sort of world would it be? For some reason he did not want to know. He spoke his doubts aloud.

'But that's not my world. Now that you are here, I realize that my world, the world I left, it really is gone, vanished forever for me. I'll never see it again — and I'm not sure that I want to. It won't come into existence until long after I am dead. It's the distant future from where we are now — and it will be the distant past for you after you return. But please don't misunderstand. Thank you for coming, for making the effort to help me. But I am beginning to realize that this is my world now. Those men out there are my people. Roxanne, you should get to know them. Poor, but how proud. Less than half of them can read or write — and I even have one boy who remembers Africa, remembers being captured by slavers. They are part of me now. I am grateful that you came, that you have done this for me. But the world that you live in now is no longer mine. This one is. They need me here. And I guess, yes, I need them.'

His face was suddenly grim. 'And I couldn't possibly leave, desert them at this time. We are going to need one another tomorrow. This is the big one, the big battle, the turning point of the war. And we are going to beat the enemy. The South will never rise again, will never regain its strength. This is the battle that counts. Do you understand?'

Roxanne nodded, then opened her purse. 'Those of us who worked on this project, we were almost sure that you would feel this way. We know the kind of man you are, Troy. We know what you did for us, coming back to this time with no thought that you would ever return. That is why we felt we had to do this, to give you the chance. Aren't you curious as to how we found you?'

'Why, yes, I suppose I am now that you mention it, hadn't really thought about it. Army records?'

She shook her head as she took out a folded piece of paper. 'No, they were worse than useless. But we did know where you were, that is one of the reasons we persisted with this line of research. You wrote that you would be going back into the Army. You probably know that this is the best researched war in history.' She passed over the piece of paper. 'This is a photocopy of a page out of a history of the Negro regiments in this war. Read it, please. This is why I came.'

Troy took it, read it slowly, these words from the future about the present. And, as he read, he could feel his heart beating louder and louder in his chest.

…the turning point of the war. The battle lasted three days and all of the Negro battalions suffered greatly. But they fought and their lines held. Much credit is given to Sergeant-major Harmon who led the counterattack on Gulp's Hill that saved the day. Though the battle was won, Harmon was fatally wounded and died…

His fingers were thick, and they fumbled with the matchbox that he drew from his pocket. He struck a match, touched it to a corner of the paper, held it until the paper was fully aflame, then dropped it to the ground.

His voice was rough when he spoke. 'It's not everyone who has the privilege of reading his own obituary.' He ground the ashes under his heel.

'But it doesn't have to happen that way,' Roxanne said. 'Come away with me, tonight, everything has been arranged. You don't have to die.'

'Don't I? But it's written here, isn't it? You wouldn't want me to create a time paradox, would you?'

'We don't know. After all, you and McCulloch came here from the future, and nothing appears to have changed. Troy, I beg of you. Don't stay here and die. Return with me…'

'No, Roxanne, you know that I can't do that. It would be desertion. I think, even if I knew that I would have to die, I couldn't walk out on these men now. Don't ask me to. And please don't cry.'

'Am I? I guess I am.' She smiled and took out a lace handkerchief and touched it to the corners of her eyes. 'All the time we were working I had the feeling that you would say this. But we had to go on. You really are something, Troy Harmon. Not once, but twice you've acted in a way that makes me glad I'm a member of the human race.'

They were both standing and he had her hands in his. Holding on hard. 'Don't worry,' he said. 'Don't worry your head about me. Get out of here and get home safely and remember that we did meet again. If your machine has any value let me see you one more time, let me hear that everything had worked out fine.'

Voices came closer outside and he spoke quickly now. 'And I don't want you to be too concerned about me tomorrow. Your book could be wrong. History can be changed.'

'I don't understand…'

'Forget about my report and think about the history books that you studied in school. Do you remember John Brown's attack on Harper's Ferry?' She nodded. 'Well what does your history book say happened there? The surviving raiders were captured and sentenced to death, is that right?' She nodded again.

'Do you also remember what happened to Hill's Rifle Works? The armoury on the island.'

'The one that blew up during the attack? Of course. After reading your report we realized that you were responsible for that. The explosion stopped McCulloch's plan once and for all.'

'Yes, it did. But I can also remember my history books, quite clearly. I majored in history and was always good at dates. I remember distinctly that nothing was destroyed at Harper's Ferry. The raiders were taken and the armoury remained intact. That is history as I remember it. And something else. I used McCulloch's money to organize a battalion of Negro volunteers in the year before the war started — he would have loved that! But in my history books there were no black battalions until much later.'

She dropped his hands, raised hers to her face as she stared at him with sudden shock. 'Then, what you are saying, is that history was changed by your coming here. That means that the theory of alternate worlds must be true. Events in one time cause a branching, the bringing into existence of parallel but alternate worlds.'

'That's right.' He smiled broadly. 'And we shouldn't be holding hands and be talking as if we were old friends. We've never met before. We're from different existences. I come from a world where there were no Negro battalions until years after the war began. This is not true here. In my world the raid on Harper's Ferry did no damage. Which means that my report was never received. When they dug beside the rock there was nothing there. But in your world the rifle works blew up. You found the report. Therefore I came to this age from a parallel existence, not yours, which makes us complete strangers up until this moment.'

She was smiling now, too. 'Then — that means that you may not die tomorrow. My coming here, telling you, may have altered history.'

'Not may, did alter it. And now that I have been warned I will do my damnedest to stay alive.'

'But you may still die…'

'Yes, there is that chance. But that is the chance that every one of us faces every day of this war. It was a chance I took when I used all of my antibiotics and medicine on my men. And I'm still alive. So there is also the chance that I may live to see the war end. I hope that I do. I like it here. It's a terrible existence in many ways, but it's mine now. I want to see the end of this war and I want to be there during the peace that will follow.'

The tent flap opened and the captain came inside. Troy came to attention.

'I have to get back to the men now, sir.'

'That will be all — if Miss Delcourt is through?'

'I am, captain, thank you. I have had a most enlightening talk with the sergeant. He has told me very much about the work we are doing and I shall return and report to the others the success of our efforts.'

'Thank you, mam,' Troy said. 'Please thank everyone for what they have done.'