Killing Time by Linda Howard Page A

status, would the space race have begun? Would computers have been invented, without the driving need of space travel as impetus? Without the huge economy, would food programs to third world nations have been instituted, would medical advances have been made at the same pace? So you see the ramifications. The prevailing theory isn’t that history
can’t
be changed; it’s that it
shouldn’t
be changed because no one knows what would happen instead.”
    “So even bad things shouldn’t be changed.”
    “Exactly. Everything, good and bad, has made up the path mankind has followed.”
    He sat back and surveyed her with narrowed eyes. “A lot of bad things have happened. You’d think the world would be a better place if some of them could be undone.”
    “You mean if people could live instead of die?” At his nod she said, “Can you guarantee that one of the people who died, if he’d lived, wouldn’t have committed or caused an atrocity that was worse than what did happen?”
    “No one can guarantee that.”
    “Exactly. So, not knowing, the Time Transit Council decided to leave well enough alone.”
    “And this renegade time traveler you’re hunting didn’t agree. Why leave a message, though? If you really want to accomplish something on the sly, you don’t leave a message broadcasting it.”
    “There’s no way he could transit without anyone knowing, though. The computers show every journey, when it originated and when it terminated. So I suppose he thought he might as well do a little taunting, maybe trigger an action that wasn’t well thought out. Which is exactly what happened,” she said bitterly.
    “You weren’t well thought out? Imagine that.”
    “The first agent sent through in pursuit was killed,” she said coldly, not liking his sarcasm. She drew another arrow that came in right on top of the first one. “The unauthorized traveler was waiting for him when he transitioned. His body was sent back to us.”
    “The
first
agent? How many have there been?”
    “I’m the third one. Houseman was killed. McElroy was sent to arrive about half an hour later, but he couldn’t make any progress and was recalled.” She drew the third arrow showing the timing of McElroy’s arrival, then her own arrival the next night.
    “All this coming and going,” he drawled, “you’d think someone would notice something unusual.” As soon as the words were out of his mouth he froze, his gaze going blank as his thoughts turned inward. “Stay right here,” he said, getting up and striding toward the door. “There’s something I want you to see.”
    He was back in fewer than five minutes, holding a black rectangle. He turned on the small video screen sitting on top of a file cabinet, and slid the black rectangle into a black machine.
VCR,
whispered her memory. It was a primitive data-reader, which translated the data into video and audio.
    A picture formed on the screen and he said, “Watch this,” as he pressed the control that made the film speed forward. He stopped it with another control, then began feeding it forward frame by frame. She recognized the courthouse where she was currently being held, but there was no action, nothing going on. From the stark shadows and angles she knew the film had been made at night.
    Then a bright white flash filled the screen.
    She sat bolt upright, staring. The next frame was the same scene, except now there seemed to be a hole in the ground, when none had been there a moment before.
    “You know anything about that flash?” he drawled.
    “That’s what happens when someone transits in or out,” she said, stunned. “But—but the records don’t show anyone coming in at this location. When was this?”
    “Monday morning,” he said, and tapped her chart showing when the killer had come through.
    “He didn’t transit here,” she insisted. “The coordinates were several miles east of here. I’ve been there, I found the location. That’s where he killed