The Inheritance Paradox
Copyright© 2026 by aroslav
Chapter 30 (Eugene’s Story)
Time Travel Sex Story: Chapter 30 (Eugene’s Story) - A gripping tale of time travel, family secrets, and redemption. Nathaniel Holbrook uncovers his father’s extraordinary past, spanning centuries and shaping humanity’s future, while confronting profound truths about legacy, love, and identity. A thought-provoking journey through time, history, and the enduring bonds of family.
Caution: This Time Travel Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Consensual Heterosexual Fiction Historical Time Travel
EUGENE HAD BEEN traveling to other times for nearly a year. He worried that it was hurting his relationship with Lynn. He’d never be able to settle down with her until he quit this wandering through time to get other women pregnant. He’d proposed three months earlier and she’d yet to respond.
“I don’t think it’s quite the right time for that yet,” she’d said one evening.
“I’ll quit time traveling.”
“When?”
When Wells freezes over.
“I don’t know. I’m going to refuse the next one. I need to see a hypnotist, so I don’t have these dreams anymore.”
“Dreams. If you don’t stop soon, you’ll be too old for me.”
He knew it was true. His watch showed he’d lived more than eight years in the past. He tried to ignore the evidence of aging more rapidly than he should.
“Lynn thinks I visit a past life on a different plane while I’m dreaming or meditating. I’m beginning to think she’s right. I’ve been doing this for months and I don’t know what’s real and what isn’t. I’ve been getting women pregnant in the twelfth through the eighteenth centuries. At least once in the nineteenth century. What kind of man does that? How do I know what’s real? You could be a figment of my imagination!” Eugene shouted as he sat in the Laboratory Between Times. “I don’t want to grow old in the past!”
“I thought giving you a couple of weeks between trips to ground yourself in your own time would help alleviate those questions,” Wells said. “You bring back souvenirs from each of your trips. Doesn’t that help?”
Your wonderful collection of stuff. You know it’s a typical mark of a serial killer—to collect something from each of his victims.
“A ribbon. A coin. A button. Things I could have picked up off the street and made up a story about,” he answered. “Like Garfield Goose.”
The puppet character had often gone on remarkable adventures and brought back things that could be household items—like a fishbowl for a space helmet.
“I see. You need contemporary evidence of your journey to the past.”
“I can’t even visit the places I’m supposed to have been. Somewhere in Europe or a remote part of the Americas. Canada or the West. Rescuing an Indian maiden during the French and Indian Wars. Moving French Canadians who were being trafficked. Prostitutes during the American Revolution. Romania or Hungary or Germany or France or Scotland. It’s all surreal. I’m doubting my sanity.”
Every woman willing to have you make her a mommy. That’s suspicious.
“Okay. I have another mission and this time you will find evidence. Genuine evidence. You can reinforce the genes you implanted years ago. You’ll find a change of clothes in the dressing room.”
Eugene went into the dressing room to change clothes and found a blue uniform. It was slightly worn, but clean. He wasn’t sure if it was authentic or a reproduction.
At least you’re on the winning side.
Galahad helped him figure out how to wear the belts and found the shoes and socks to be surprisingly comfortable, though also quite worn. He put on the cap that went with the Union uniform and rejoined Wells.
“Civil War?” Eugene asked.
“Yes. You’ll be joining a regiment as a field replacement. You’ll figure it out from there. The sooner you find someone, the quicker you’ll be back,” Wells said. “This regiment is from Michigan, and you’ll be able to search its records when you return to your own time. Now here is the other gear you’ll need.”
He buckled a long knife onto the belt.
“No sword?” Eugene asked.
“Only for officers. You’re a lowly private. And your rifle won’t accept a bayonet, so I’ve given you this in case you need to cut yourself in order to bleed into someone. Here’s your rifle.”
“I thought they used muzzle loaders in the Civil War.”
Do you think you could load one?
“I’m trying to give you a few advantages, so you don’t get killed. It’s a nasty war. The Henry was a valuable rifle and loads prepacked shells in a magazine. While most other soldiers will be stopping after every shot to reload, you will have a full magazine of fifteen cartridges and one in the chamber. It is a more familiar rifle for your era with lever action to advance the shells. And your ammunition pouch has a few dozen shells for when you reload.”
I have an inventory for your knapsack.
Wells kept loading him up with a knapsack, ammunition pouch, canteen, and bedroll.
Expect to be cold at night. This isn’t a thermal blanket.
“This stuff weighs a ton. How am I supposed to fight?” Eugene asked.
“Hope you don’t need to,” Wells answered. “Mostly, hide behind trees or lie flat on the ground. You’ll be among soldiers from Michigan, but they won’t know you as a replacement. When they ask, give them your name.”
And try not to be shot as a spy.
“Right. How am I supposed to find a woman on a battlefield?”
“It doesn’t actually have to be a woman. You’ve found that out before. Transfer blood and saliva. Or experiment with a man in order to stay warm at night. Otherwise, you’ll figure it out. Now, get to work and try to live through the experience. I’ve never sent you into an actual war before. Don’t see a way around it this time in order to give you evidence you can verify.”
Eugene felt the dizzying disorientation and then people were shooting all around him.
“Why did you land me right in the middle of a firefight?” Eugene screamed.
It was the easiest place to arrive without being noticed.
A tree limb exploded over Eugene’s head and he rolled back. He pulled the rifle from its sling and placed it against his shoulder.
Don’t forget to cock the hammer.
Eugene pulled back the hammer and scanned the area for enemies. He saw a puff of light gray smoke and the soldier next to him screamed. Eugene fired at the smoke, not knowing if he was even close to the target. It was the first time he’d ever fired a rifle.
He reached for the fallen soldier beside him to pull him to shelter. The guy moaned.
“Help me!” he rasped. Blood soaked the side of his uniform.
“Medic!” Eugene yelled.
Not in this war! You’re it.
Eugene pulled the wounded man to him, tearing the shirt away from the wound. He was lucky. It looked like the slug had gone clean through. He quickly made a small cut on his hand and pressed his flowing blood against the wound.
Nothing here to stop the bleeding. Get him to the back of the line.
Eugene dragged him to the rear where there was a wagon. A couple of civilians took his burden and pushed him back toward the front line. He looked over a mound and saw half a dozen gray uniforms running away.
“Shoot them! Don’t let them get away!” a soldier yelled from nearby. There were a couple of scattered shots, but the rebels all disappeared.
“Sound recall!”
The bugle sounded and the soldiers all started falling back. It was dusk and it would be seriously foolish to try to chase the rebels into the forest at night.
You should have stayed with the wounded.
“I didn’t have much choice,” Eugene snapped at Galahad.
Don’t forget to cock your rifle to eject the spent shell.
Eugene worked the lever and the shell popped out, advancing another into the chamber.
“Saw you take out that Johnnie and drag Wilbur back to the ambulance wagon,” a soldier said, sitting down on a fallen log next to Eugene. “Thanks for that. He’s a good boy. I’ll be right beside you tomorrow.”
“It was just what needed to be done,” Eugene said. The soldier eyed the rifle as Eugene slung it over his shoulder.
“Nice rifle. You must be rich,” his companion said. “If something happens to you—and I hope it doesn’t—toss it my way. Just tell them you’re giving it to Lorne Appleton. That’s me.” The soldier held out a hand to Eugene.
“Eugene Holbrook,” Eugene said, shaking the offered hand. “Just got here as a replacement this afternoon.”
“Glad to see they’re sending us replacements. We been three days pinned down here. They say the rebs are moving east, so I figure we’ll be following them in the morning.”
Why not stab yourself and get sent back.
“Don’t want to need a replacement soon.”
“Who knows what the officers plan? It’s just a guess.”
They conversed and found a place to stretch out on their bedrolls for what sleep could be had. Galahad continued to interject comments in Eugene’s mind, mostly focused on how to get out of the front line.
You could always shoot yourself in the foot.
In the morning, the order was given to break camp. Supply wagons were loaded and followed the troops as they moved east along the river. They saw no sign of the rebels until a scout reported they were dug in two hundred yards ahead. The union soldiers readied their arms and dropped to the ground to crawl forward.
Pull back the hammer and keep the business end pointed ahead.
Eugene’s companion and another private who joined them both carried muzzle-loading muskets. They were good quality Springfields, according to Lorne, but had seen a lot of service already. Eugene’s Henry looked brand new by comparison. It even had his name, “E.W. Holbrook” engraved on the brass receiver.
They crawled forward until a burst of fire came from a ditch ahead of them. The light gray smoke indicated the rebels would need to stop and reload.
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