"Yes, Gard," she said in a low voice, "because ... well, Adjaha can see a little of the future, too. And on every alternate path he sees.... Gard, if the South is at war, you'll be killed before the war ends!"
"We can't take any chances this time, General," said Adjaha. "Should events be thrown back into a path that leads to war again, this time you might be killed before I could reach you. Piquette's parents must never have met. She must never have been born!"
Suddenly, Beauregard believed. This quiet little black man could do what he said.
"I won't permit it!" he roared, starting to his feet. "Damn the South! Damn the world! Piquette is mine!"
But Adjaha, moving like lightning, was in the staff car. Its motor roared, it swung in a cloud of dust and accelerated toward the south.
"Sergeant! Colonel! Get that stolen staff car!" Beauregard bellowed. He whipped out his service pistol and fired two futile shots after the diminishing vehicle.
The general's staff boiled out of the tent. They milled around a minute, shouting questions, before piling into two command cars and giving chase to the disappearing staff car.
Beauregard glowered after them. Then he took Piquette's hand and they walked together into the empty tent.
"... Here's a late flash," said the radio on the ground. "Birmingham has been H-bombed. Our planes are in the air against the Rebels...."
Beauregard imagined the ground trembled. Instinctively he looked toward the south for the radioactive mushroom cloud. Then he swung back to Piquette.