"E. C. Tubb - Best SF of E C Tubb" - читать интересную книгу автора (Tubb E. C)

Nothing, that is. Aside from the fact that the man who had risen from
the facing bench and who had walked down the path was abruptly sitting on the
bench again. As Frank watched he rose, stretched and walked away. The stud on
the ring sank beneath the squeeze of his finger. Nothing happened. He waited,
tried again -- and the man was back on the bench. He rose, stretched, walked
down the path exactly as he had done twice before. This time Frank let him go.
He knew now what the alien had given him.
He leaned back filled with the wonder of it. An eraser, the alien had
said. A device for social convenience. A thing with which to undo a mistake
and to gain another chance. It was something you could need to use quickly,
easily, have close all the time. What could be more convenient than a ring? A
very special kind of ring. A neat device, he thought, looking at it. Compact,
ornamental, unobtrusive, probably everlasting.
A one-way time machine.
The main-line station housed a throng of travelers. Frank ignored them
all as he concentrated on the large digital clock. The figures read 18.02. He
activated the ring. The figures changed to 17.05. Fifty-seven seconds, the
same as twice before. He made more experiments. Activated the ring threw you
back in time, but you had to wait fifty-seven seconds before it could be
activated again. No accumulation. The stud could be kept depressed and there
would be an automatic activation. Nothing you carried less than fifty-seven
seconds in the past went back with you. It was all he needed to know.
The crossing lights were at red. Frank, distracted, stepped from the
kerb directly into the path of a heavy truck. Brakes screamed, a woman, a man.
A moment of panic then his finger closed and he was instantly back on the
sidewalk heading towards the crossing. He checked with his watch. Fifty-seven
seconds. Call it a minute. He paused, waited for the truck to pass, the lights
to change to green.
A minute.
Not long? Try holding your breath that long. Try resting your rear on a
hot stove for half that time. In a minute you can walk a hundred yards, run
almost a quarter of a mile, fall three. You can conceive, die, get married. A
minute is time enough for a lot of things.
Frank closed his hand and looked at the ring. Thinking. Take the
classical situation: A couple, the man old, the woman young. You greet them,
assume the woman is the old man's daughter, discover she is his wife. Loss of
equanimity, and the generation of embarrassment. So activate and go back in
time. Meet the couple again but now armed with knowledge. Politeness reigns.
In any society such a device would be in demand.
But not for soothing an old man's ego. Not just for that.




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 Not when he had no job, nowhere to live, an ache for luxury his belly
and a yen for the good life in his soul. He had drawn on the experience of
three decades of tough living to get a wristwatch and decent shoes and
clothing. But he still needed money.
A liquor store shone down the street, a bright cavern filled with