TURN BACKWARD, O TIME!
By Walter Kubilius
The one hope for Donovan was to
escape into the past, become a
citizen of the early 20th Century.
But he overlooked the aftermath....
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Science Fiction Quarterly May 1951.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
"Adel W. Crane, C.D." Donovan held the Identi-plast in his hands, thefingers trembling slightly. "What do the letters 'C.D.' stand for?"he asked, determined to play the part of an honest citizen who had nointerest in unlicensed rejuvenation or time travel.
The chalk-faced young man with the fixed smile told him: "CyclicDetection. You may have heard our more dramatic nickname, CriminalDestroyers; I've been an agent since 2452."
High-strung Donovan moistened his lips. Of course he had heard of theC.D. In an age when cyclic travel backward through the centuries wasan established science, the Komitet that governed the Home Planethad to employ ruthless measures to cope with any experimenters whoseuncontrolled work might threaten to change past temporal cycles. TheC.D. were the scavengers of the World Komitet; they scoured the pastcenturies eliminating illegal and unlicensed cyclic travellers. In arigidly-controlled solar system there were thousands of law-breakers,political disappointees, and even youth-seekers like Donovan, who hopedfor life-extensions in past ages. The C.D., with terror and all theresources of the solar system, hunted them down and exterminated them.Quietly, ruthlessly, and painfully.
"The criminal Blascomb," Crane said, the fixed smile still on the thinlips, "has been observed near the Donovan metallurgical plants. TheKomitet suspects that someone close to your office may have establishedcontact with him for illegal rejuvenation."
His eyes left Donovan's taut face and scanned the office walls. Controlboards recording operations in extra-terrestial metallin plants linedtwo sides of the office. The only break in the sternness of the wallswas an antique painting, a still-life abstraction that must have datedway back to the 20th century. Crane stared at its flashes of color, thefixed smile turning to amused contempt.
Donovan dared not ask for additional details. The word or whim of theKomitet was law. Criminal Destroyer! Donovan shuddered; he had spentthe past six months in quietly transferring ownership of the Trust tovarious fronts for Blascomb. A fortune worth several erg-units squaredto the 6th power had already changed hands. Had the C.D. caught himbefore Blascomb could deliver on the rejuvenation and time-escape deal?
"We have nothing to hide," Donovan said, "my staff will cooperate withthe C.D. I assume you want access to the psycho-record files?"
Edel W. Crane, contemptuous eyes turning away from the still-life,reached a bony hand for the approval slip.
"I will let you know what I find."
Donovan stood up, and when the C.D. agent left he frantically sent outa conscious call to Blascomb's thought-frequency number.
"By the Komitet!" Blascomb's wave-induced voice rang in Donovan'sears, "I told you never to call me unless it was most urgent."
"This is urgent," Donovan thought desperately, "Crane, a C.D. agent,was here a minute ago. He's going to look over the books of the Trust."
"He won't find a thing," Blascomb's thoughts were confident inDonovan's mind, "They haven't caught a single one of