Rebel in Time

The guard at the laboratory entrance scrutinized their passes closely, then let them through. As soon as the door had closed behind them, Troy pointed to the washroom. 'I'm going to change. See you in a few minutes.'

It wasn't any sense of false modesty that made him wish to be alone; years in the barracks had eliminated that. It was just the desire to be by himself for a few minutes. Up until this instant everything had been talk and planning. But the moment of truth had finally arrived. He wasn't afraid, he knew more than enough about fear to recognize it in any guise, but he was possessed by a different sensation altogether. It was a little like a night parachute drop; a fall into the unknown. He undressed slowly, right down to the skin, and laid his clothes to one side.

One by one he donned his new clothes. Ankle-length cotton drawers, then rough trousers. A cotton shirt and a shapeless jacket which had been torn at the shoulder, then repaired. Patches made of a different kind of cloth covered the elbows. His high boots were handmade from thick leather, with hobnailed leather soles, well-worn and dusty. He laid aside the hat that completed the outfit, it was wide-brimmed, made of straw and drooping around the edge. Before he put his uniform into the suitcase he emptied the pockets onto the glass ledge over the sink.

Keys, coins, pocketknife, handkerchief, dogtags, pen and pencil, notebook, then his wallet with some money, ID, membership cards, some photographs. It was all staying behind. He took out the picture of Lily, smiling happily, with Disneyland in the background. Life had always been a pleasure for her, right up until those last bad months, something to be savoured and shared with others. But he couldn't bring this modern photograph with him. He put it back into the wallet, then dumped the lot into the empty suitcase on top of his uniform and started to close it. And stopped. Opening it again to retrieve her picture. There was nothing else he wanted from the twentieth century, nothing at all. He would put it in with the gun and ammunition. If those were discovered, a little, crumple-edged picture of the smiling black girl wouldn't make any difference. This time he closed the suitcase all the way and snapped it shut.

Troy patted the side pocket of his jacket, feeling the bulge of the leather wallet that held all of his papers. There was a large clasp knife alongside it, as well as a square of unbleached muslin. And a few small coins. Everything else was in the saddlebags. When he turned back he caught sight of himself in the mirror and stopped short.

A stranger looked back at him. This wasn't dressing up for a party — this was for real. He stared at the solidly built black man dressed in well-worn rough clothing. People wore clothes like this where he was going. There were no nylon fabrics or zippers, no cars or planes either. A different age. What would it be like? Well, that was one thing that he would be finding out soon enough.

Then he put the hat under his arm, took up the suitcase and went out. The journey was about to begin.

Chapter 21

They had been talking, explaining the apparatus to the admiral, but they grew silent when Troy came up. Seeing him dressed like this drove home the realization that this was not just another experiment, that he would be gone soon. Though they had planned this together he was the one who was leaving, who would travel through time, who would leave this world forever. For the instant he was gone he would be dead as far as they were concerned, would have been dead for a century or more. Now that the moment had come, there was also the understanding that this was something more than time travel. It was also execution.

'I have never seen so many long faces in my entire life,' Troy said. 'Cheer up — it's not the end of the world. In fact, I am going to make sure that it won't be.'

'You can still change your mind,' Kleiman said. 'We would understand…'

'Well I wouldn't. Here I am about to go to a more healthy world, to escape from all the smog and pollution, the threat of the atomic bomb, television commercials, all that — and you want to stop me.'

'We don't want to stop you, Troy,' Roxanne said, stepping forward and taking him by the arms. 'I think that you are the bravest man that I have ever met and I want to wish you all the luck in the world.' She leaned forward and kissed him, then turned quickly away before she did something stupid like crying.

'Ready to go when you say,' Kleiman said, pointing at the controls. 'Everything set for your arrival on the first of August in the year eighteen fifty-nine. At around three in the morning and, if we can believe the newspaper files, it is raining like bejeezus. Are you sure that this is the date you want?'