THE MESSAGE

assic Asimov

THE MESSAGE

THEY DRANK BEER AND REMINISCED

AS MEN WILL WHO HAVE MET AFTER

LONG SEPARATION. THEY CALLED TO

MIND THE DAYS UNDER FIRE. THEY

REMEMBERED SERGEANTS AND GIRLS,

BOTH WITH EXAGGERATION. DEADLY

THINGS BECAME HUMOROUS IN

RETROSPECT, AND TRIFLES

DISREGARDED FOR TEN YEARS WERE

HAULED OUT FOR AIRING.

INCLUDING, OF COURSE, THE

PERENNIAL MYSTERY.

"HOW DO YOU ACCOUNT FOR IT?"

ASKED THE FIRST. "WHO STARTED IT?"

THE SECOND SHRUGGED. "NO ONE

STARTED IT. EVERYONE WAS DOING IT,

LIKE A DISEASE. YOU, TOO, I

SUPPOSE."

THE FIRST CHUCKLED.

THE THIRD ONE SAID SOFTLY, "I NEVER

SAW THE FUN IN IT. MAYBE BECAUSE I

CAME ACROSS IT FIRST WHEN I WAS

UNDER FIRE FOR THE FIRST TIME.

NORTH AFRICA."

"REALLY?" SAID THE SECOND.

"THE FIRST NIGHT ON THE BEACHES OF

ORAN. I WAS GETTING UNDER COVER,

MAKING FOR SOME NATIVE SHACK AND

I SAW IT IN THE LIGHT OF A FLARE-"

GEORGE WAS DELIRIOUSLY HAPPY.

TWO YEARS OF RED TAPE AND NOW HE

WAS FINALLY BACK IN THE PAST.

NOW HE COULD COMPLETE HIS PAPER

ON THE SOCIAL LIFE OF THE FOOT

SOLDIER OF WORLD WAR II WITH

SOME AUTHENTIC DETAILS.

OUT OF THE WARLESS, INSIPID

SOCIETY OF THE THIRTIETH CENTURY,

HE FOUND HIMSELF FOR ONE GLORIOUS

MOMENT IN THE TENSE, SUPERLATIVE

DRAMA OF THE WARLIKE TWENTIETH.

NORTH AFRICA! SITE OF THE FIRST

GREAT SEA-BORNE INVASION OF THE

WAR! HOW THE TEMPORAL PHYSICISTS

HAD SCANNED THE AREA FOR THE

PERFECT SPOT AND MOMENT. THIS

SHADOW OF AN EMPTY WOODEN

BUILDING WAS IT. NO HUMAN WOULD

APPROACH FOR A KNOWN NUMBER OF

MINUTES. NO BLAST WOULD

SERIOUSLY AFFECT IT IN THAT TIME.

BY BEING THERE, GEORGE WOULD NOT

AFFECT HISTORY. HE WOULD BE THAT

IDEAL OF THE TEMPORAL PHYSICIST,

THE "PURE OBSERVER."

IT WAS EVEN MORE TERRIFIC THAN HE

HAD IMAGINED. THERE WAS THE

PERPETUAL ROAR OF ARTILLERY, THE

UNSEEN TEARING OF PLANES

OVERHEAD. THERE WERE THE PERIODIC

LINES OF TRACER BULLETS SPLITTING

THE SKY AND THE OCCASIONAL

GHASTLY GLOW OF A FLARE TWISTING

DOWNWARD.

AND HE WAS HERE! HE, GEORGE, WAS

PART OF THE WAR, PART OF AN

INTENSE KIND OF LIFE FOREVER GONE

FROM THE WORLD OF THE THIRTIETH

CENTURY, GROWN TAME AND

GENTLE.

HE IMAGINED HE COULD SEE THE

SHADOWS OF AN ADVANCING

COLUMN OF SOLDIERS, HEAR THE LOW

CAUTIOUS MONOSYLLABLES SLIP

FROM ONE TO ANOTHER. HOW HE

LONGED TO BE ONE OF THEM IN TRUTH,

NOT MERELY A MOMENTARY

INTRUDER, A "PURE OBSERVER."

HE STOPPED HIS NOTE TAKING AND

STARED AT HIS STYLUS, ITS MICRO-

LIGHT HYPNOTIZING HIM FOR A

MOMENT. A SUDDEN IDEA HAD

OVERWHELMED HIM AND HE LOOKED

AT THE WOOD AGAINST WHICH HIS

SHOULDER PRESSED. THIS MOMENT

MUST NOT PASS UNFORGOTTEN INTO

HISTORY. SURELY DOING THIS WOULD

AFFECT NOTHING. HE WOULD USE THE

OLDER ENGLISH DIALECT AND THERE

WOULD BE NO SUSPICION.

HE DID IT QUICKLY AND THEN SPIED A

SOLDIER RUNNING DESPERATELY

TOWARD THE STRUCTURE, DODGING A

BURST OF BULLETS. GEORGE KNEW HIS

TIME WAS UP, AND, EVEN AS HE KNEW

IT, FOUND HIMSELF BACK IN THE

THIRTIETH CENTURY.

IT DIDN'T MATTER. FOR THOSE FEW

MINUTES HE HAD BEEN PART OF

WORLD WAR II. A SMALL PART, BUT

PART. AND OTHERS WOULD KNOW IT.

THEY MIGHT NOT KNOW THEY KNEW

IT, BUT SOMEONE PERHAPS WOULD

REPEAT THE MESSAGE TO HIMSELF.

SOMEONE, PERHAPS THAT MAN

RUNNING FOR SHELTER, WOULD READ

IT AND KNOW THAT ALONG WITH ALL

THE HEROES OF THE TWENTIETH

CENTURY WAS THE "PURE OBSERVER,"

THE MAN FROM THE THIRTIETH

CENTURY, GEORGE KILROY. HE WAS

THERE!

This is a compiled work of

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