Read Ebook: The Transvaal from Within: A Private Record of Public Affairs by Fitzpatrick Percy

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Ebook has 868 lines and 190442 words, and 18 pages

TURN BACKWARD, O TIME!

The one hope for Donovan was to escape into the past, become a citizen of the early 20th Century. But he overlooked the aftermath....

"Adel W. Crane, C.D." Donovan held the Identi-plast in his hands, the fingers trembling slightly. "What do the letters 'C.D.' stand for?" he asked, determined to play the part of an honest citizen who had no interest in unlicensed rejuvenation or time travel.

The chalk-faced young man with the fixed smile told him: "Cyclic Detection. You may have heard our more dramatic nickname, Criminal Destroyers; I've been an agent since 2452."

High-strung Donovan moistened his lips. Of course he had heard of the C.D. In an age when cyclic travel backward through the centuries was an established science, the Komitet that governed the Home Planet had to employ ruthless measures to cope with any experimenters whose uncontrolled work might threaten to change past temporal cycles. The C.D. were the scavengers of the World Komitet; they scoured the past centuries eliminating illegal and unlicensed cyclic travellers. In a rigidly-controlled solar system there were thousands of law-breakers, political disappointees, and even youth-seekers like Donovan, who hoped for life-extensions in past ages. The C.D., with terror and all the resources 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 thin lips, "has been observed near the Donovan metallurgical plants. The Komitet suspects that someone close to your office may have established contact with him for illegal rejuvenation."

His eyes left Donovan's taut face and scanned the office walls. Control boards recording operations in extra-terrestial metallin plants lined two sides of the office. The only break in the sternness of the walls was an antique painting, a still-life abstraction that must have dated way back to the 20th century. Crane stared at its flashes of color, the fixed smile turning to amused contempt.

Donovan dared not ask for additional details. The word or whim of the Komitet was law. Criminal Destroyer! Donovan shuddered; he had spent the past six months in quietly transferring ownership of the Trust to various fronts for Blascomb. A fortune worth several erg-units squared to the 6th power had already changed hands. Had the C.D. caught him before Blascomb could deliver on the rejuvenation and time-escape deal?

"We have nothing to hide," Donovan said, "my staff will cooperate with the 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 out a conscious call to Blascomb's thought-frequency number.

"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 in Donovan's mind, "They haven't caught a single one of the men I've sent back into the 17th century; just be patient and we'll cyclic you out within a week."

"Then hurry. My heart's in bad shape and I can't last much longer. I'm practically being kept alive by that rotten Callistan serum."

"Stay alive for one more week," Blascomb thought encouragingly, "and you'll be young for centuries."

"As for Crane," Blascomb went on, "It's part of the service I'm giving you. We've arranged a false-lead case in your office. Crane has his talons set for your brother-in-law. Shortly before the C.D. annihilates him your escape will be arranged to throw suspicion upon him. We will make it seem that your brother-in-law killed you for denouncing him to the C.D. Crane will never see through the subterfuge; you'll be safe--perhaps forever."

His brother-in-law's life was a cheap price to pay for youth. Donovan stared at his stiff, corpse-like hands. All he needed was one more week. He would make one more effort to secure a Life-Extension--and then....

The Examiner for the Board of Life waited while Donovan dressed. The answer could already be seen in the official's eyes.

"No?"

"I'm sorry," the Examiner said, "but the laws of the Komitet are fairly stringent. Only those whose social value is above Par 195 may be rejuvenated. Not much value is placed upon engineers and Trust managers who can easily be replaced from each year's Birth Quota. The application is denied, and there's no use appealing it."

"It's unjust!" Donovan exclaimed, ignoring the alarming pain in his failing heart. "All I want is ten more years--not even a full return to youth! If there's no room on Home Planet, let me go the extra-terrestials or even some asteroid. I'll make any contribution required to...."

The Examiner, who had often heard such vain pleas, rapped his desk with the blood-analyscope. "The Komitet is far too wise to permit socially unnecessary extensions of the life span, just as it does not permit unlicensed time travel. What would happen if we allowed you to be rejuvenated, and then permitted extra-terrestial emigration? There would be millions of old or sick people like you demanding equal treatment and equal consideration. Before long the planets and asteroids would be overpopulated and independent colonies set up thereon which would eventually come in conflict with the Home Planet Komitet. No, my friend, the Komitet is wise in decreeing that rejuvenation and human birth are mutually contradictory. Rather than sacrifice birth, with the consequent stagnation of the human species, the Komitet has decided rigidly to control youth-extensions, and grants those periods of additional life only to the socially valuable."

"Yes," Donovan said bitterly, "the Komitet keeps itself immortal while the rest of us have to die."

The Examiner's voice was hard. "Shall I denounce you to the C.D.?"

"I beg forgiveness," Donovan said; "your decision is a just one and I shall make no appeal."

Blascomb had a very persistent thought-call. Donovan relaxed in the office chair and let his consciousness-levels sink to the call-number.

"This is the moment," the thought patterns registered. "The C.D. is about to close in with the faked evidence we've prepared. Your brother-in-law's about to call. Trust in me; all is ready. Do not become frightened, for excessive adrenalin might upset the required endocrine balance."

Before he could frame a reply, Blascomb's thought faded away. The office door slid open and Edel W. Crane walked in. Donovan's heart throbbed painfully: was this an unexpected crisis in their plans, or had Blascomb prepared even this?

"The C.D.'s finished its analysis," Crane said, "I thought you might be interested."

"Naturally, I--"

"The case was very simple. I wish citizens would realize that they cannot fight against the enormous resources of the C.D. We will destroy--"

The public-screen flashed urgently. Donovan excused himself and turned the knob. His brother-in-law's angry face switched into view.

"Donovan! That was a dirty rotten thing to do. What right did you have to denounce me to the C.D.? I should kill you for this!"

Donovan's bewilderment was genuine. He felt Crane's eyes upon him, and a thrill of admiration for Blascomb's genius suddenly swept through him.

"What do you want?" he managed to say.

"I've got to see you immediately. I'm downstairs, in back of the pilo-cab station."

"Later--"

"Now!"

The image snapped off. Donovan turned to the C.D. agent. "'Scuse me for a moment," he stammered, "some family trouble. I'll be back in a short while."

Crane glanced up. "I'll wait."

Donovan walked through his office, conscious that he was doing this for the last time. Rejuvenation was like death. You put an end to a lifetime casually and without haste.

At the pilo-cab station, the wind cutting down from the whirr of swooping cabs, Donovan met Blascomb. There were two bright flashes, and then the smell of disintegrated flesh. Blascomb gestured toward two graying pools on the plasticized floor in back of them.

"Murder and suicide," he said, obviously pleased with himself, "The C.D. will think you are dead. The murderer's body is also there to provide a motive for the transfer of the Trust's funds in the event Crane becomes too thorough. He'll be here soon; we work fast now."

The special pilo-cab dropped them into a gravity-shielded warehouse above the European Desert. It housed Blascomb's laboratory. The rejuvenation process was even simpler than Donovan had expected.

"Eventually to disappear as a single cell?"

"Ultimately, yes. Long before that period, probably when you're a young man, you'll have to return to 2482 for a reversion to normal metabolism."

"The process can be repeated?"

"Indefinitely."

Donovan breathed deeply. "Immortality!"

Blascomb did not smile. "Only if the C.D. does not find you. Unlicensed rejuvenation is punishable by execution in an extremely painful manner. You're a doomed man now if the C.D. even finds you. The worst tortures of the Middle Ages would be nothing compared to what Crane would do to you or me if he tracks us down."

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