Your Time is Up

The Colonel was a career man; and knowing what would happen within his lifetime promised to be an invaluable asset.... But he had never heard of that ancient legend of Faust....

[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Worlds of If Science Fiction, June 1955. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]

At first I thought it was just another wrong number. Well, it was, in a sense--but not the kind of wrong number I thought it was. The ringing signal burred against my ear in the usual way, then there was a click, and somebody said, "Office of Historical Research. Zon Twenty speaking."

"Oh. 'Scuse me," I said. "I must have dialed wrong."

That was euphemism--misplaced loyalty, maybe. I didn't dial the wrong number, and I knew it. But high brass had installed a new automatic dialing system in the Pentagon as an economy measure, and it produced so many wrong numbers and entanglements that I think it actually must have cost more money in the long run than the old-fashioned live operator system--but then that shouldn't surprise you if you've ever been connected with the military.

I was about to hang up after my apology. The voice on the other end said: "Wait! Did you say--_dialed_?"

"Sure," I said.

"Then--" and he seemed surprised, if not downright startled--"what kind of a phone are you speaking from?"

"Huh?" I said. "What kind? The regular kind. Phone, desk, dial, M-1--or whatever the Army calls it."

This time his voice went off like a small bomb. "The Army?" he said.

"Sure," I said. "What's the matter with the Army?"

And thought: Navy or Air Force type, no doubt. Our allies. Have to put up with them in the Pentagon. Have to put up with a lot of things--even being Colonel Lawrence Boggs didn't save you from a snafu dialling system. I thought: somebody is out to needle armchair colonels this week. I'll play around with it for a while, maybe find out who's got the sense of humor.

The voice said, "Look here, are you joking with me?"

"Perish it," I said.

"But this talk about--about dial phones. About armies. Why, you sound like one of those historical tri-vids about the twentieth century!"

I smiled, without too much humor, shook my head at the phone, and said, "Look, fellow, come off it, will you? I haven't got time to play games." I hoped he wasn't some general or equivalent rank in a pixie mood.

"Wait!" he said. "Wait--please--don't think off! Tell me, what year is it? Where you are, I mean."

"What year? It's 1955, of course."

"Why," he said, "this is remarkable!"

"It is?"

"Do you know what I think has happened? A quantum inversion."

"Beg pardon?" I said.

"Karpo Sixteen predicted the possibility just the other day! Listen, my friend, let me ask you just a few questions--"

Then the mechanical voice of the operator cut in. It wasn't a real operator, of course, just a recorded voice, part of the new automatic system. These voices gave all the standard phrases and usually at the wrong time, the way the system was working. The worst of it was you couldn't argue with them or curse them--at least you always felt a little foolish afterward if you did.

The operator's voice said, "_I'm sorry. Your time is up!_"

"Now, wait!" said my communicant, his voice fading a little, "Don't cut us off! Don't think off yet!"