"H. Beam Piper - Crossroads of Destiny" - читать интересную книгу автора (Piper H Beam)

CROSSROADS OF DESTINY
I still have the dollar bill. It's in my box at the bank, and I think that's where it will stay. I simply won't
destroy it, but I can think of nobody to whom I'd be willing to show itтАФcertainly nobody at the college,
my History Department colleagues least of all. Merely to tell the story would brand me irredeemably as a
crackpot, but crackpots are tolerated, even on college faculties. It's only when they begin producing
physical evidence that they get themselves actively resented.




When I went into the club-car for a nightcap before going back to my compartment to turn in, there were
five men there, sitting together.

One was an Army officer, with the insignia and badges of a Staff Intelligence colonel. Next to him was a
man of about my own age, with sandy hair and a bony, Scottish looking face, who sat staring silently into
a highball which he held in both hands. Across the aisle, an elderly man, who could have been a lawyer
or a banker, was smoking a cigar over a glass of port, and beside him sat a plump and slightly too well
groomed individual who had a tall colorless drink, probably gin-and-tonic. The fifth man, separated from
him by a vacant chair, seemed to be dividing his attention between a book on his lap and the
conversation, in which he was taking no part. I sat down beside the sandy-haired man; as I did so and
rang for the waiter, the colonel was saying:

"No, that wouldn't. I can think of a better one. Suppose you have Columbus get his ships from Henry the
Seventh of England and sail under the English instead of the Spanish flag. You know, he did try to get
English backing, before he went to Spain, but King Henry turned him down. That could be changed."

I pricked up my ears. The period from 1492 to the Revolution is my special field of American history,
and I knew, at once, the enormous difference that would have made. It was a moment later that I realized
how oddly the colonel had expressed the idea, and by that time the plump man was speaking.

"Yes, that would work," he agreed. "Those kings made decisions, most of the time, on whether or not
they had a hangover, or what some court favorite thought." He got out a notebook and pen and scribbled
briefly. "I'll hand that to the planning staff when I get to New York. That's Henry the Seventh, not Henry
the Eighth? Right. We'll fix it so that Columbus will catch him when he's in a good humor."

That was too much. I turned to the man beside me.

"What goes on?" I asked. "Has somebody invented a time machine?"

He looked up from the drink he was contemplating and gave me a grin.
"Sounds like it, doesn't it? Why, no; our friend here is getting up a television program. Tell the gentleman
about it," he urged the plump man across the aisle.

The waiter arrived at that moment. The plump man, who seemed to need little urging, waited until I had
ordered a drink and then began telling me what a positively sensational idea it was.

"We're calling it Crossroads of Destiny," he said. "It'll be a series, one half-hour show a week; in each
episode, we'll take some historic event and show how history could have been changed if something had