Free One Thousand Years by Randolph Beck

a
point.
    “Just
one more item before I get to the issue,” Stern promised.
“There were a number of eyewitnesses. Most were of the sort
whose occupations and subsequent lives would not be affected. We
believe their influence on events was negligible.” A time
chart was added to the panel.
    Mtubo
looked at the chart while Stern went on.
    “Do
you know what happened to the English intelligence officers that the
Americaner said he spoke to? They were killed at sea. The records
of his entry to the base were lost. The records of their request to
see him were also logged, and those logs were stored. But our
extrapolation posits them as discarded at the end of the war.”
    Mtubo
started laughing a deep belly laugh. “Not surprising. You
know that the old English were always very naive about information.
They threw away everything that they in their worldview thought of as
unimportant. They were like the Americaners this way. If it was not
about money, it was not important to them.”
    They both shared a laugh.
    “But you had something else?” asked Mtubo.
    “Yes.
We have collected more historical data than we had dreamed.
I would like to ask that we retain some of the larger satellites that we just
scheduled for shutdown.”
    “We put these rules in place for a reason, Helmut.
Some of them were at your urging.”
    “If
the mission needs to go a second time, it will need to evade this
first mission. The Kommandant says this is risky, and I
believe her.”
    “If
we continue this level of progress, there will be no need for a
second pass.”
    “Do
the best you can without the large satellites. There is too much at
risk.”
    Stern
nodded. “We will make it work. Do not forget my initial
conclusion that history is unchanged. The fact remains that the
Americaner's day would not have ended the same way if he had never
seen that Grauen.”
    Mtubo
turned to face the portrait of Adolf Hitler hanging in its customary
position beside that of Katrina Renard, the current Führer .
The proud image gave him some comfort now as he considered the
mysterious clockwork of nature that led great men and women to their
destiny.
    *

Chapter 8
“The liberty of the whole Earth depends on the outcome of this contest.”
— The Negro Soldier, (film released April 10, 1944)
Monday, April 10, 1944
    McHenry
awoke slumped in the chair, still wearing the clothes he had
been given the day before. The shirt and trousers had relaxed their
fit while he slept, making for a comfortable sleep. The Earth was
still below, outside the machine-generated window displayed before
him. The false illumination of the planet was now gone. Europe was
back in its cloudy daylight; and to the east he could see the Italian
peninsula. The skies were clear. The fighting must have resumed.
He was off to a late start.
    After
a quick fifty pushups, he jumped into the small bathroom for a
shower. He squinted at the mirror image projected on the wall. It
was the first time he had looked at himself since his arrival. The
curious realization that he didn't need to shave and — judging
by the smooth appearance of his face — may never need to again,
startled him until he noticed his teeth. They had the gleaming white
shine that everyone else had. He looked closer. No more fillings.
No imperfections. When did they get a chance to do that? He
couldn't help but smile. He was already immortal, he guessed.
    His
clothes were gone from the chair and a fresh suit lay on the open
dispenser drawer. It was another reminder of the endlessly
convenient future he would live in. He dressed again, and the blue
suit tightened after it was on him. The joy of his immortality was
suddenly gone. He was an
American soldier, he
admonished himself. He must find a way to resist.
    He
stood and stretched, facing the wall with the emergency directions
placard and a hopeful smile formed upon his lips. The placard was
written in German but the diagrams of passageways were easy to
follow. Arrows traced