“But there’s been no war,” you say, shocked. “I’ve been hunting you for so long… but I haven’t done any great deeds.”
“No,” the Historian agrees. “Your Name, please.”
You give him your name.
“How do you know who to talk to?” You ask helplessly. He’s been standing in your foyer without making any indication of how long he’ll stay, what he wants to ask, or how you should address him.
“I already have the list. And how long have you been an engineer with the department of defense?” He isn’t writing anything down but you get the sense he’s taking notes.
You tell him 6 years.
He asks you a few more questions. Where you’re from, why you became a computer engineer, who your influences are, what your work does.
You tell him, because what else are you supposed to do?
When he seems satisfied you finally get to ask.
“Am I a hero?”
He stares at your feet with dark quiet eyes for a moment.
“Do you think you’re a hero?”
“I’d like to be one,” you say sincerely.
“Why do you do what you do?”
“To serve my country and the world.” You puff up proudly.
“Is that what you think you’re doing?” He finally meets your gaze and you hesitate, for the first time in your life unsure.
“That’s what I’m trying to do,” you begin tentatively.
“I have the list,” he finally unstoops tired shoulders, lifts his pointy chin and looks at you out of sunken eyes and a gaunt face. “Would you like to know where you sit in history?” He tilts his head, almost bird-like.
You feel the stillness of anticipation in the air.
“Yes,” you decide. You haven’t done anything wrong. You’re working toward a better world.
He nods slowly. “Knowledge is power,” he warns and holds out an iPad, of all things.
You take the tablet from him. It’s as heavy as a full size desktop, maybe heavier. You carefully press the power key and the unlock slider pops up.
“I know what you will find,” he tells you when you hesitate. “It will say you are a hero. Go ahead if you would like to see for yourself.”
Relieved, you swipe open the lock.
And in front of you the Historian sighs out a breath that smells like old books and older libraries, like ash and mildew, like hot stone and cool paper. You look from him to the list and as you do you see your name in an excel table of names, all notable from history. You see names after yours that you don’t know yet, but you’re sure that you will know soon. You see one name at the top in a frozen row in red.
You look at the Historian curiously, but he is smiling fondly at you, gratefully.
“Thank you. You’ve saved me. I should have known you would. You can change this for the next person. You have the knowledge.” And before your eyes he turns to dust, drifting away.
You look down at the table looking back at you.
Your Name is frozen in red in the top row. Under occupation it says Historian.