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, 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?"