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Transcriber's note:
This etext was produced from Amazing Stories, May 1957. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the copyright on this publication was renewed.
THE EDGE
OF THE
KNIFE
By H. BEAM PIPER
* * * * *
_This story was rejected by two top-flight science-fiction editors forthe same reason: "Too hot to handle." "Too dangerous for our book."We'd like to know whether or not the readers of_ Amazing Stories_agree. Drop us a line after you've read it._
* * * * *
Chalmers stopped talking abruptly, warned by the sudden attentivenessof the class in front of him. They were all staring; even Guellick, inthe fourth row, was almost half awake. Then one of them, taking hissilence as an invitation to questions found his voice.
"You say Khalid ib'n Hussein's been assassinated?" he askedincredulously. "When did that happen?"
There was no past--no future--only a great chaoticNOW.]
"In 1973, at Basra." There was a touch of impatience in his voice;surely they ought to know that much. "He was shot, while leaving theParliament Building, by an Egyptian Arab named Mohammed Noureed,with an old U. S. Army M3 submachine-gun. Noureed killed two ofKhalid's guards and wounded another before he was overpowered. He waslynched on the spot by the crowd; stoned to death. Ostensibly, he andhis accomplices were religious fanatics; however, there can be nodoubt whatever that the murder was inspired, at least indirectly, bythe Eastern Axis."
The class stirred like a grain-field in the wind. Some looked at himin blank amazement; some were hastily averting faces red with poorlysuppressed laughter. For a moment he was puzzled, and then realizationhit him like a blow in the stomach-pit. He'd forgotten, again.
"I didn't see anything in the papers about it," one boy was saying.
"The newscast, last evening, said Khalid was in Ankara, talking to thePresident of Turkey," another offered.
"Professor Chalmers, would you tell us just what effect Khalid's deathhad upon the Islamic Caliphate and the Middle Eastern situation ingeneral?" a third voice asked with exaggerated solemnity. That wasKendrick, the class humorist; the question was pure baiting.
"Well, Mr. Kendrick, I'm afraid it's a little too early to assess thefull results of a thing like that, if they can ever be fully assessed.For instance, who, in 1911, could have predicted all the consequencesof the pistol-shot at Sarajevo? Who, even today, can guess what thehistory of the world would have been had Zangarra not missed FranklinRoosevelt in 1932? There's always that if."
He went on talking safe generalities as he glanced covertly at hiswatch. Only five minutes to the end of the period; thank heaven hehadn't made that slip at the beginning of the class. "For instance,tomorrow, when we take up the events in India from the First World Warto the end of British rule, we will be largely concerned with anothervictim of the assassin's bullet, Mohandas K. Gandhi. You may askyourselves, then, by how much that bullet altered the history of theIndian sub-continent. A word of warning, however: The events we willbe discussing will be either contemporary with or prior to what wasdiscussed today. I hope that you're all keeping your notes properlydated. It's always easy to become confused in matters of chronology."
He wished, too late, that he hadn't said that. It pointed up the verything he was trying to play down, and raised a general laugh.
As soon as the room was empty, he hastened to his desk, snatchedpencil and notepad. This had been a bad one, the worst yet; he hadn'theard the end of it by any means. He couldn't waste thought on thatnow, though. This was all new and important; it had welled up suddenlyand without warning into his conscious mind, and he must get it downin notes before the "memory"--even mentally, he always put that wordinto quotes--was lost. He was still scribbling furiously when theinstructor who would use the room for the next period entered,followed by a few of his students. Chalmers finished, crammed thenotes into his pocket, and went out into the hall.
Most of his own Modern History IV class had left the building and wereon their way across the campus for science classes. A few, however,were joining groups for other classes here in Prescott Hall, and inevery group, they were the center of interest. Sometimes, when theysaw him, they would fall silent until he had passed; sometimes theydidn't, and he caught snatches of conversation.
"Oh, brother! Did Chalmers really blow his jets this time!" one voicewas saying.
"Bet he won't be around next year."
Another quartet, with their heads together, were talking moreseriously.
"Well, I'm not majoring in History, myself, but I think it's anoutrage that some people's diplomas are going to depend on gradesgiven by a lunatic!"
"Mine will, and I'm not going to stand for it. My old man's presidentof the Alumni Association, and...."
* * * * *
That was something he had not thought of, before. It gave him an uglystart. He was still thinking about it as he turned into the side hallto the History Department offices and entered the cubicle he sharedwith a colleague. The colleague, old Pottgeiter, Medieval History, wasemerging in a rush; short, rotund, gray-bearded, his arms full ofbooks and papers, oblivious, as usual, to anything that had happenedsince the Battle of Bosworth or the Fall of Constantinople. Chalmersstepped quickly out of his way and entered behind him. MarjorieFenner, the secretary they also shared, was tidying up the old man'sdesk.
"Good morning, Doctor Chalmers." She looked at him keenly for amoment. "They give you a bad time again in Modern Four?"
Good Lord, did he show it that plainly? In any case, it was no usetrying to kid Marjorie. She'd hear the whole story before the end ofthe day.
"Gave myself a bad time."
Marjorie, still fussing with Pottgeiter's desk, was about to saysomething in reply. Instead, she exclaimed in exasperation.
"Ohhh! That man! He's forgotten his notes again!" She gathered somepapers from Pottgeiter's desk, rushing across the room and out thedoor with them.
For a while, he sat motionless, the books and notes for GeneralEuropean History II untouched in front of him. This was going to raisehell. It hadn't been the first slip he'd made, either; that thoughtkept recurring to him. There had been the time when he had alluded tothe colonies on Mars and Venus. There had been the time he'd mentionedthe secession of Canada from the British Commonwealth, and the timehe'd called the U. N. the Terran Federation. And the time he'd triedto get a copy of Franchard's _Rise and Decline of the System States_,which wouldn't be published until the Twenty-eighth Century, out ofthe college library. None of those had drawn much comment, beyond afew student jokes about the history professor who lived in the futureinstead of the past. Now, however, they'd all be remembered, raked up,exaggerated, and added to what had happened this morning.
He sighed and sat down at Marjorie's typewriter and began transcribinghis notes. Assassination of Khalid ib'n Hussein, the pro-Westernleader of the newly formed Islamic Caliphate; period of anarchy in theMiddle East; interfactional power-struggles; Turkish intervention. Hewondered how long that would last; Khalid's son, Tallal ib'n Khalid,was at school in England when his father was--would be--killed. Hewould return, and eventually take his father's place, in time to bringthe Caliphate into the Terran Federation when the general war came.There were some notes on that already; the war would result from anattempt by the Indian Communists to seize East Pakistan. The troublewas that he so seldo
m "remembered" an exact date. His "memory" of theyear of Khalid's assassination was an exception.
Nineteen seventy-three--why, that was this year. He looked at thecalendar. October 16, 1973. At very most, the Arab statesman had twoand a half months to live. Would there be any possible way in which hecould give a credible warning? He doubted it. Even if there were, hequestioned whether he should--for that matter, whether he_could_--interfere....
* * * * *
He always lunched at the Faculty Club; today was no time to callattention to himself by breaking an established routine. As heentered, trying to avoid either a furtive slink or a chip-on-shoulderswagger, the crowd in the lobby stopped talking abruptly, then
The Edge of the Knife Page 1
