*****
The Book of Fate
It had been many years since anyone had dared to speak of World President Povril as a dictator, anyone, that is, except Theonif. But she never spoke with condemnation; she used it as a matter-of-fact title in private, and Povril rather enjoyed it.
The few aides who knew of Theonif’s residence in the Presidential Palace assumed she was one of his mistresses. In fact, a feeling akin to superstition kept his behavior toward her physically distant. He half-believed her claim she could see his day’s fate every morning.
Certainly, her information was good. She had predicted two attempted uprisings and named the general who would lead the second, in time for Povril to change his schedule and avoid the planned assassination. It was then that he installed Theonif in the Palace and developed the habit of consulting her every morning, though he made a show of doing it for amusement.
He had even gone so far as to thank her, jestingly, for her warning. She shrugged it off, refusing to show any more concern over him than disapproval. “These things are fated to happen. The popular uprising could not have succeeded; more people would have died if it had not been put down promptly. And General Ragfrottel would have ordered an even greater bloodbath if he had become dictator.”
“And what does fate hold in store for me today?” he would ask each morning, careful to keep a sneer or a chuckle in his voice. She would usually name some of the people who wanted to see him, with a brief analysis of the matters that concerned them, dismissing some as unimportant to his running of world government and pointing out alternative consequences that made others vital. She always turned out to be right.
He suspected her of having an elaborate spy network, but could find none. He had clandestine checks made on her by experts in parapsychology, but they reported no trace of the aura they had determined existed when psychic phenomena occurred. Occasionally he would ask Theonif directly how she could predict so well. Inevitably whe would say, with a smile and shrug, “I have memorized the Book of Fate.”
“But you seem to remember only a few pages at a time.”
“That has been sufficient, hasn’t it?”
What intrigued him as much as her accuracy was the fact she never offered advice, only information. She acted as though everything in life were fated, so that trying to influence events or even investing any emotion in the outcome of any of them was a waste of energy.
And then one day when he asked, as he sometimes did, “How did you get to read this Book of Fate you claim to have memorized?” she answered him for the first time.
“Actually, I wrote it. It’s an account of you and your times. I gave it that title because of our conversations.”
“Indeed.”
“Would you like to see it?”
“I certainly would.”
She took an ordinary-looking book from a drawer and slipped it into a reader.
He flicked on the machine and adjusted the screen. “And just when did you write this omniscient book?”
“About two hundred years from now.”
“Now you’re claiming to be immortal, and to travel back and forth in time?”
“Not immortal. The information of most importance to you today is on page 523.”
He paged through and stopped the scan at the indicated number. The first thing that caught his eye was a date. Today’s date. He read.
“At nine-thirty, as usual, the dictator went to consult with, and bait, Theonif, who showed him the Book of Fate, and revealed that she was an historian from what to him was the future. Whether he believed her is not known, since the radiation from a source hidden in the book reader killed him, on schedule, before he expressed an opinion. Theonif, the reader, and the book were withdrawn before any alarm was – ”