Crossroads of Destiny | Page 3

the drink, set the empty glass on
the stand-tray beside him, and reached back to push the button.
"I don't think you realize just how good an idea you have, here," he told the plump man
abruptly. "If you did, you wouldn't ruin it with such timid and unimaginative treatment."

I thought he'd been staying out of the conversation because it was over his head. Instead,
he had been taking the plump man's idea apart, examining all the pieces, and considering
what was wrong with it and how it could be improved. The plump man looked startled,
and then angry--timid and unimaginative were the last things he'd expected his idea to be
called. Then he became uneasy. Maybe this fellow was a typical representative of his lord
and master, the faceless abstraction called the Public.
"What do you mean?" he asked.
"Misplaced emphasis. You shouldn't emphasize the event that could have changed history;
you should emphasize the changes that could have been made. You're going to end this
show you were talking about with a shot of Columbus wading up to the beach with an
English flag, aren't you?"
"Well, that's the logical ending."
"That's the logical beginning," the sandy-haired man contradicted. "And after that, your
guest historian comes on; how much time will he be allowed?"
"Well, maybe three or four minutes. We can't cut the dramatization too short--"
"And he'll have to explain, a couple of times, and in words of one syllable, that what we
have seen didn't really happen, because if he doesn't, the next morning half the
twelve-year-old kids in the country will be rushing wild-eyed into school to slip the
teacher the real inside about the discovery of America. By the time he gets that done, he'll
be able to mumble a couple of generalities about vast and incalculable effects, and then
it'll be time to tell the public about Widgets, the really safe cigarettes, all filter and
absolutely free from tobacco."
The waiter arrived at this point, and the sandy-haired man ordered another rye highball. I
decided to have another bourbon on the rocks, and the TV impresario said,
"Gin-and-tonic," absently, and went into a reverie which lasted until the drinks arrived.
Then he came awake again.
"I see what you mean," he said. "Most of the audience would wonder what difference it
would have made where Columbus would have gotten his ships, as long as he got them
and America got discovered. I can see it would have made a hell of a big difference. But
how could it be handled any other way? How could you figure out just what the
difference would have been?"
"Well, you need a man who'd know the historical background, and you'd need a man with
a powerful creative imagination, who is used to using it inside rigorously defined limits.
Don't try to get them both in one; a collaboration would really be better. Then you work
from the known situation in Europe and in America in 1492, and decide on the immediate
effects. And from that, you have to carry it along, step by step, down to the present. It
would be a lot of hard and very exacting work, but the result would be worth it." He took
a sip from his glass and added: "Remember, you don't have to prove that the world today
would be the way you set it up. All you have to do is make sure that nobody else would

be able to prove that it wouldn't."
"Well, how could you present that?"
"As a play, with fictional characters and a plot; time, the present, under the changed
conditions. The plot--the reason the coward conquers his fear and becomes a hero, the
obstacle to the boy marrying the girl, the reason the innocent man is being
persecuted--will have to grow out of this imaginary world you've constructed, and be
impossible in our real world. As long as you stick to that, you're all right."
"Sure. I get that." The plump man was excited again; he was about half sold on the idea.
"But how will we get the audience to accept it? We're asking them to start with an
assumption they know isn't true."
"Maybe it is, in another time-dimension," the colonel suggested. "You can't prove it isn't.
For that matter, you can't prove there aren't other time-dimensions."
"Hah, that's it!" the sandy-haired man exclaimed. "World of alternate probability. That
takes care of that."
He drank about a third of his highball and sat gazing into the rest of it, in an almost yogic
trance. The plump man looked at the colonel in bafflement.
"Maybe this alternate-probability time-dimension stuff means something to you," he said.
"Be damned if it does to me."
"Well, as far as we know, we live in