DESTINY UNCERTAIN
By Rog Phillips
Is Fate a robot typing out the destiny of
the world? Lin knew it was true so with his own
future at stake—he stole a page from history!
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Imagination Stories of Science and Fantasy
May 1952
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
"I'm never going to take my last breath," Lin said with a gloating tonethat implied some deep secret. He waited until his remark had had itsfull dramatic moment, then added, "I'm simply going to take my next tolast breath and hold it."
Jerry Myer's voice emerged from the wave of laughter, serious. "Butthere does often seem to be something predestined about death. Evenseemingly accidental death." He shuddered. "There were five hundred andsixty-nine traffic deaths last Labor Day weekend. I wonder how thosevictims would have felt if they had been told, say, a week before theydied? And been unable to avoid it, no matter what they did?"
"Nonsense!" Phil Arnoff said. "What about surgery, serums, and safetydevices? They get demonstrable results in saving lives. A man has anenlarged aorta. Ten years ago he would have been a goner. Today he hasan operation. They transplant a section of the aorta of a dead person,and he lives another twenty years."
Jerry sighed. "You're getting into a meaningless argument. It could beanswered that destiny brought the operation into the realm of actualityto save him because it wasn't his time to die. There's a lot ofevidence to support predestination. Some of the oldest of philosophiesand religions are based on it. It is written is a concept as old asman."
"And maybe as mistaken as the ancient belief in a god of thunder," Linscoffed.
"And maybe not," Jerry said. "You read a book. Unless you cheat andlook at the ending first it's like life. Unpredictable. But you canskip to the end and see how it will come out, and then start in atthe beginning and read with that knowledge. And when you again reachthe end it's still the same, because it was already written andunchangeable when you began reading the first page. Sometimes I thinkreal life is like that."
Phil and Lin winked at each other. Then Phil said, "Let's supposethat's true for the moment. Who does the writing?"
Jerry shrugged. "What difference would that make? There's the old taleof the Fates as weavers, weaving a cloth that becomes the events ofmen's lives as it is woven. And there's another one I heard once, orread someplace...."
"What's that?" Lin prodded.
"I was trying to remember where I got it," Jerry said. "It doesn'tmatter. The way it goes, Fate is an old man with sightless eyes,sitting at a typewriter, pecking out the events that will happen.Beside him is a wastebasket affair with an eternal flame in it. Whenthe sightless old man finishes one page he yanks it out and drops itin the wastebasket. The flame consumes it, and as it is consumed itbecomes the reality of life."
"Say!" Phil said. "That's a darned cute idea. Writing on paper,burning, and in the process of burning it transforms into reality bysome strange alchemy. I hope you can remember where you read that."
Lin snorted. "Maybe he wrote it himself and burned the pages as theywere finished," he suggested. He glanced at the clock on the wall. Hiseyes widened in surprise. "I didn't know it was that late," he said,rising. "I've got to get to the city before the bank closes. Have toreally step on it."