Time and Time Again
By Vincent Napoli and H. Beam Piper
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Time and Time Again - Vincent Napoli
The Project Gutenberg EBook of Time and Time Again, by Henry Beam Piper
This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or
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with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
Title: Time and Time Again
Author: Henry Beam Piper
Illustrator: Napoli
Release Date: July 15, 2006 [EBook #18831]
Language: English
*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TIME AND TIME AGAIN ***
Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
TIME AND TIME AGAIN
BY H. BEAM PIPER
Illustrated by Napoli
[Transcriber's note: This etext was produced from Astounding Science Fiction April 1947. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the copyright on this publication was renewed.]
To upset the stable, mighty stream of time would probably take an enormous concentration of energy. And it's not to be expected that a man would get a second chance at life. But an atomic might accomplish both—
Blinded by the bomb-flash and numbed by the narcotic injection, he could not estimate the extent of his injuries, but he knew that he was dying. Around him, in the darkness, voices sounded as through a thick wall.
They mighta left mosta these Joes where they was. Half of them won't even last till the truck comes.
No matter; so long as they're alive, they must be treated,
another voice, crisp and cultivated, rebuked. Better start taking names, while we're waiting.
Yes, sir.
Fingers fumbled at his identity badge. Hartley, Allan; Captain, G5, Chem. Research AN/73/D. Serial, SO-23869403J.
Allan Hartley!
The medic officer spoke in shocked surprise. Why, he's the man who wrote 'Children of the Mist', 'Rose of Death', and 'Conqueror's Road'!
He tried to speak, and must have stirred; the corpsman's voice sharpened.
Major, I think he's part conscious. Mebbe I better give him 'nother shot.
Yes, yes; by all means, sergeant.
Something jabbed Allan Hartley in the back of the neck. Soft billows of oblivion closed in upon him, and all that remained to him was a tiny spark of awareness, glowing alone and lost in a great darkness.
The Spark grew brighter. He was more than a something that merely knew that it existed. He was a man, and he had a name, and a military rank, and memories. Memories of the searing blue-green flash, and of what he had been doing outside the shelter the moment before, and memories of the month-long siege, and of the retreat from the north, and memories of the days before the War, back to the time when he had been little Allan Hartley, a schoolboy, the son of a successful lawyer, in Williamsport, Pennsylvania.
His mother he could not remember; there was only a vague impression of the house full of people