Bill spat out a tooth and outlined the situation. tt-1T33," he ended. "His Honor is going to be slumped over the desk dead. Unless you help me get him out of range. See? It says so here. In the paper."

  "How can it? Gwan. Go peddle your paper."

  Bill's glance darted to the balcony. "Look, if you won't believe me. See the redheaded hunchback? |ust like I told you. Quick! We've got to-//

  Bullneck started. He saw the sudden glint of metal in the hunchback's hand. "Brother," he said, "I'11tend to you later."

  The hunchback had his rifle halfway to his shoulder when Bullneck's automatic spat and Bill braked his car in the red zone, fumped out, and dashed through four suites before anybody stopped him.

  The man who did was a bull-necked plain-clothes man, who rumbled-"Don't you think," said Snulbug, "you've had enough of this?

  "

  Bill agreed mentally, and there he was sitting in his roadster in front of the city hall. His clothes were umrumpled, his eyes were bloodless, his teeth were all there, and his corncob was still intact. "And iust what," he demanded of his pipe bowl, "has been going on?"

  Snulbug popped his snaky head out. "Light this again, will you? It's getting cold. Thanks."

  "What happened?" Bill insisted.

  "People!" Snulbug moaned. "No sense. Don't you see? So long as the newspaper was in the future, it was only a possibility. If you'd had, say, a hunch that the mayor was in danger, maybe you could have saved him. But when I brought

  it into now, it became a [act. You can't possibly make it untrue."

  "But how about man's free will? Can't I do whatever I want to do?"

  "Sure. It was your precious free will that brought the newspaper into now. You can't undo your own will. And, anyway, your will's still free. You're free to go getting thrown around chandeliers as often as you want. You probably like it. You can do anything up to the point where it would change what's in that paper. Then you have to start in again and again and again until you make up your mind to be sensible."

  "But that-" Bill fumbled for words, "that's just as bad as. . . as fate or predestination. If my soul wills to-"

  "Newspapers aren't enough. Time theory isn't enough. So I should tell him about his soul! People-" and Snulbug withdrew into the bowl.

  Bill looked up at the city hall regretfully and shrugged his resignation. Then he folded his paper to the sports page and studied it carefully.

  Snulbug thrust his head out again as they stopped in the many-acred parking lot. "Where is it this time?" he wanted to know. "Not that it matters."

  "The racetrack."

  ttOh-" Snulbug groaned, "I might have known it. You,re all alike. No sense in the whole caboodle. I suppose you found a long shot?"

  "Darned tooting I did. Alhazred at twenty to one in the fourth. I've got $500, the only money I've got left on earth. Plunk on Alhazred's nose it goes, and there's our $10,000."

  Snulbug grunted. "I hear his lousy spell, I watch him get caught on a merry-go-round, it isn't enough, I should see him lay a bet on a long shot."

  "But there isn't a loophole in this. I'm not interfering with the future; I'm just taking advantage of it. Alhazred'll win this

  race whether I bet on him or not. Five pretty hundred-dollar parimutuel tickets, and behold: The Hitchens Laboratory!" Bill jumped spryly out of his car and strutted along joyously. Suddenly he paused and addressed

  his pipe: "Hey! Why do I

  feel so good?"

  Snulbug sighed dismally. "Why should anybody?"

  "No, but I mean: I took a hell of a shellacking from that plug-ugly in the office. And I haven't got a pain or an ache."

  "Of course not. It never happened."

  "But I felt it then."

  "Sure. In a future that never was. You changed your mind, didn't you? You decided not to go up there?"

  "O.K., but that was after I'd already been beaten up." "LJh-uh," said Snulbug firmly. "It was before you hadn't been." And he withdrew again into the pipe.

  There was a band somewhere in the distance and the racous burble of an announcer's voice. Crowds clustered around the $2 windows, and the $5 weren't doing bad business. But the $100 window, where the five beautiful pasteboards

  lived that

  were to create an embolism laboratory, was almost deserted. Bill buttonholed a stranger with a purple nose. "What's the next race?"

  "Second, Mac."

  Swell, Bill thought. Lots of time. And from now on-He hastened to the $100 window and shoved across the five bills that he had drawn from the bank that morning. " Alhazred, on the nose," he said.

  The clerk frowned with surprise, but took the money and turned to get the tickets.

  Bill buttonholed a stranger with a purple nose. "What's the next race?"

  "Second, Mac."

  Swell, Bill thought. And then he yelled, "Heyt."

  A stranger with a purple nose paused and said, "'Smattet, Mac?"

  "Nothing," Bill groaned. "|ust everything."

  The stranger hesitated. ,,Ain,t I seen you someplace before?,, "No," said Bill hurriedly. ',you were going to, but you haven't. I changed my mind."

  The stranger walked away shaking his head and muttering how the ponies could get a guy.

  Not till Bill was back in his roadster did he take the corncob from his mouth and glare at it. "All right!,, he barked. ,,What was wrong this time? Why did I get on a merry-go-round again? I didn't try to change the future!,,

  Snulbug popped his head out and yawned a tuskful yawn. "I warn him, I explain it, I wam him again, now he wants I should explain it all over.,,

  "But what did I do?,,

  "What did he do? You changed the odds, you dope. That much folding money on a long shot at a parimutuel track, and the odds change. It wouldn,t have paid off at twenty to one, the way it said in the paper.',

  "Nuts," Bill muttered. ,,And I suppose that applies to any_ thing? If I study the stock market in this paper and try to invest my $500 according to tomorrov//s m41ks1_//

  "Same thing. The quotations wouldn,t be quite the same if you started in playing. I warned you. you,re stuck,,, said Snul_ bug. "You're stymied. It,s no use.,, He sounded almost cheer_ ful.

  "Isn't it?" Bill mused. ,,Now look, Snulbug. Me, I,m a great believer in Man. This universe doesn't hold a problem that Man can't eventually solve. And I,m no dumber than the av_ erage."

  "That's saying a lot, that is,,, Snulbug sneered. ,,people_,, "I've got a responsibility now. It,s more than just my $10,000. I've got to redeem the honor of Man. you say this is the insoluble problem. I say there js no insoluble problem.,,

  "I say you talk a lot.',

  Bill's mind was racing furiously. How can a man take advantage of the future without in any smallest way altering that future? There must be an answer somewhere, and a man

  who devised the Hitchens Embolus Diagnosis could certainly crack a little nut like this. Man cannot refuse a challenge.

  Unthinking, he reached for his tobacco pouch and tapped out his pipe on the sole of his foot. There was a microscopic thud as Snulbug crashed onto the floor of the car.

  Bill looked down half-smiling. The tiny demon's tail was lashing madly, and every separate snake stood on end. "This is too much!" Snulbug screamed. "Dumb gags aren't enough, insults aren't enough. I should get thrown around like a damned soul. This is the last straw. Give me my dismissal!"

  Bill snapned his fingers gleefully. "Dismissal!" he cried. "I've got it, Snully. We'te all set."

  Snulbug looked up puzzled and slowly let his snakes droop more amicably. "It won't work," he said, with an ominisciently sad shake of his serpentine head.

  It was the dashing act again that carried Bill through the Choatsby Laboratories, where he had been employed so recently, and on up to the very anteroom of old R. C.'s office.

  But where you can do battle with a bull-necked guard, there is not a thing you can oppose against the brisk competence of a young lady who says, "I shall iind out if Mr' Choatsby will see you." There was nothing to do but wait.

  "And what's the brilliant idea this time?" Snulbug obviously feared the worst.

  "R. C.'s nuts," said Bill. "He's an astrologer and a pyramid-ologist and a British Israelite-American Branch Reformed-and Heaven knows what else. He...why, he'll even believe in you."

  "That's more than I do," said Snulbug. "It's a waste of ener{y."

  "He'11 buy this paper. He'll pay anything for it. There's nothing he loves more than futzing around with the occult. He'll never be able to resist a good solid slice of the future, with illusions o{ a fortune thrown in."

  "You better hurry, then."

  "Why such a rush? It's only 2:80 now. Lots of time. And while that girl's gone there's nothing for us to do but cool our heels.

  "

  "You might at least," said Snulbug, ,,warm the heel of your pipe."

  The girl returned at last. ',Mr. Choatsby will see you.,, Reuben Choatsby overflowed the outsize chair behind his desk. His little face, like a baby,s head balanced on a giant suet pudding, beamed as Bill entered. ',Changed your mind, eh?" His words came in sudden soft blobs, like the abrupt glugs of pouring syrup. "Good. Need you in K-39. Lab,s not the same since you left."

  Bill groped for the exactly right words. ,,That,s not it, R. C. I'm on my own now and I'm doing all right.,,

  The baby face soured. "Damned cheek. Competitor of mine, eh? What you want now? Waste my time?,,

  "Not at all." With a pretty shaky assumption of confidence, Bill perched on the edge of the desk. ,,R. C.,,, he said, slowly and impressively, "what would you give for a glimpse into the future? "

  Mr. Choatsby glugged vigorously. ,,Ribbing me? Get out of here! Have you thrown out- Hold on! you,re the one-Used to read queer books. Had a grimoire here once.,, The baby face grew earnest. "What d'you mean?,,

  "|ust what I said, R. C. What would you give for a glimpse into the future?"

  Mr. Choatsby hesitated. "How? Time travel? pyramid? you figured out the King's Chamber?,,

  "Much simpler than that. I have here,,-he took it out of his pocket and folded it so that only the name and the date line were visible-"tomorrow,s newspaper.,,

  Mr. Choatsby grabbed. "Let me see.,,

  "Uh-uh. Naughty. You'll see after we discuss terms. But there it is."

  "Trick. Had some printer fake it. Don,t believe it.,,

  "All right. I never expected you, R. C., to descend to such

  unenlightened skepticism. But if that's all the faith you [4vs-" Bill stuffed the paper back in his pocket and started for the door.

  "Wait!" Mr. Choatsby lowered his voice. "How'd you do it? Sell your soul?"

  "That wasn't necessary."

  "How? Spells? Cantrips? Incantations? Prove it to me. Show me it's real. Then we'll talk terms."

  Bill walked casually to the desk and emptied his pipe into the ash tray.

  "I'm underdeveloped. I run errands. I'm named Snulbug. It isn't enough-now I should be a testimonial!"

  Mr. Choatsby stared rapt at the furious little demon raging in his ash tray. He watched reverently as Bill held out the pipe {or its inmate, filled it with tobacco, and lit it. He listened awe-struck as Snulbug moaned with delight at the flame'

  "No more questions," he said. "What terms?"

  "Fifteen thousand dollars." Bill was ready for bargaining. "Don't put it too high," Snulbug wamed. "You better hurry." But Mr. Choatsby had pulled out his checkbook and was scribbling hastily. He blotted the check and handed it over. "It's a deal." He grabbed up the paper. "You're a fool, young man. Fifteen thousandl Hmf l" He had it open already at the financial page. "With what I make on the market tomorroq never notice $15,000. Pennies."

  "Hurry up," Snulbug urged.

  "Goodbye, sir," Bill began politely, "and thank you for-" But Reuben Choatsby wasn't even listening.

  "What's all this hurry?" Bill demanded as he reached the elevator.

  "People!" Snulbug sighed. "Never you mind what's the hurry. You get to your bank and deposit that check."

  So Bill, with Snulbug's incessant prodding, made a dash to the bank worthy of his descents on the city hall and on the

  Choatsby Laboratories. He just made it, by stop-watch fractions of a second. The door was already closing as he shoved his way through at three o,clock sharp.

  He made his deposit, watched the teller,s eyes bug out at the size of the check, and delayed long enough to enioy the incomparable thrill of changing the account from wiiliam Hitchens to The Hitchens Research Laboratory.

  Then he climbed once more into his car, where he could talk with his pipe in peace. "Now,,, he asked as he drove home, "what was the rush?"

  "He'd stop payment."

  "You mean when he found out about the merry-go-round? But I didn't promise him anything. I just sold him tomorrow,s paper. I didn't guarantee he'd make a fortune of. it.',

  "That's all right. But-"

  "Sure, you wamed me. But where,s the hitch? R. C.,s a bandit, but he's honest. He wouldn,t stop payment.,,

  "Wouldn't he?"

  The car was waiting for a stop signal. The newsboy in the intersection was yelling "(Jxtruh!,, Bill glanced casually at the headline, did a double take, and instantly thrust out a nickel and seized a paper.

  He turned into a side street/ stopped the car, and went through this paper. Front page: MAYOR ASSASSINATED. Sports page: Alhazred at twenty to one. Obituaries: The same list he'd read at noon. He tumed back to the date line. August

  22. Tomorrow.

  "I warned yo!," Snulbug was explaining. ,,I told you I wasn,t

  strong enough to go far into the future. I,m not a well demon, I'm not. And an itch in the memory is something fierce. I just went far enough ahead to get a paper with tomorrow,s date on it. And any dope knows that a Tuesday paper comes out Monday afternoon."

  For a moment Bill was dazed. His magic paper, his fifteen-thousand-dollar paper, was being hawked by newsies on every

  corner. Small wonder R. C. might have stopped payment! And then he saw the other side. He started to laugh. He couldn't stop.

  "Look out!" Snulbug shrilled. "You'll drop my pipe. And what's so funny?"

  Bill wiped tears from his eyes. "I was right. Don't you see, Snulbug? Man can't be licked. My magic was lousy. A11 it could call up was you. You brought me what was practically a f.ake, and I got caught on the merry-go-round of time trying to use it. You were right enough there; no good could come out of that magic.

  "But without the magic, iust using human psychology, knowing a man's weaknesses,

  playing on them, I made a syrup-voiced old bandit endow the very research he'd tabooed, and do more good for humanity than he's done in all the rest o{ his life. I was right, Snulbug. You can't lick Man."

  Snulbug's snakes writhed into knots of scom. "People!" he snorted. "You'll find out." And he shook his head with dismal satisfaction.

  The Words of

  Quru

  by C. M. KORNBLUTH

  YESTERDAY, WHEN I was going to meet Guru in the woods a man stopped me and said: "Child, what are you doing out at one in the morning? Does your mother know where you are? How old are you, walking around this late?,,

  I looked at him, and saw that he was white-haired, so I laughed. Old men never see; in fact men hardly see at all. Sometimes young women see part, but men rarely ever see at all. "I'm twleve on my next birthd^y," I said. And then, because I would not let him live to tell people, I said, ,,and I,m out this late to see Guru."

  "Guru?" he asked. "Who is Guru? Some foreigner, I suppose? Bad business mixing with foreigners, young fellow. Who is Guru?"

  So I told him who Guru was, and just as he began talking about cheap magazines and fairy tales I said one of the words that Guru taught me and he stopped talking. Because he was an old man and his joints were stiff he didn,t crumple up but

  239

  fell in one piece, hitting his head on the stone. Then I went on.

  Even though I'm going to be only twelve on my next birthday I know many things that old people don't. And I remember things that other boys can't. I remember being born out of darkness, and I remember the noises that people made about me. Then when I was two months old I began to understand that the noises meant things like the things that were going on inside my head. I found out that I could make the noises too, and everybody was very much surprised. "Talking!" they said, again and again. "And so very young! Clara, what do you make of it?" Clara was my mother.

  And Clara would say: "I'm sure I don't know. There never was any genius in my family, and I'm sure there was none in |oe's." |oe was my father.

  Once Clara showed me a man I had never seen be{ore, and told me that he was a reporter-that he wrote things in newspapers. The reporter tried to talk to me as if I were an ordinary baby; I didn't even answer him, but just kept looking at him until his eyes fell and he went away. Later Clara scolded me and read me a little piece in the reporter's newspaper that was supposed to be funny-about the reporter asking me very complicated questions and me answering with baby noises. It was not true, of course. I didn't say a word to the reporter, and he didn't ask me even one of the questions.

  I heard her read the little piece, but while I listened I was watching the slug crawling on the wall. When Clara was finished I asked her: "What is that gray thing?"

  She looked where I pointed, but couldn't see it. '/What grey thing, Peter?" she asked. I had her call me by my whole name, Peter, instead of anything silly like Petey. "What gray thingl"

  "It's as big as your hand , Clara, but soft. I don't think it has any bones at all. It's crawling up, but I don't see any face on the topwards side. And there ^ren't any legs."

  I think she was worried, but she tried to baby me by putting her hand on the wall and trying to find out where it was. I

  called out whether she was right or left of the thing. Finally she put her hand right through the slug. And then I realized that she really couldn't see it, and didn't believe it was there. I stopped talking about it then and only asked her a few days later'. "Clara, what do you call a thing which one person can see and another person cart't?"

  "An illusion, Peter," she said. "If that's what you mean." I said nothing, but let her put me to bed as usual, but when she turned out the light and went away I waited a little while and then called out softly. "Illusion! Illusion!"