Dragons Of Englor

Chapter 1

Two tall men walked along a corridor two hundred feet below the Tower of London. Their footsteps raised echoes from the tiled floors and painted cement of the walls.

The man on the right was known only as J. A casual look at him would have suggested that he was a senior civil servant, nearing retirement age after many years of faithful and unobtrusive service. The Oxford accent, the erect carriage, and the flawless, understated tailoring of his dark gray suit all reinforced the impression.

The man on the left was named Richard Blade. He had always been harder to classify than J, and always would be. A dark man, one might have called him-dark hair, dark, closely trimmed beard, skin tanned almost to swarthiness. A wealthy man-he wore a custom-tailored suit, handmade brown shoes, a fine digital watch. A powerful man-under that suit was obviously an athlete's body, massively muscled and conditioned. If asked to guess about Richard Blade, the onlooker would have probably said, «A well-off amateur athlete and man about town.»

The onlooker would have been spectacularly wrong about both J and Richard Blade.

J had indeed served the British Crown faithfully and unobtrusively for many years. In espionage a man has to be faithful, and a man who isn't unobtrusive doesn't live very long. J was one of the century's great spymasters and head of the secret intelligence agency MI6. He had also reached an age where a normal man would have been at least thinking about retirement. But those who make distinguished careers in the dim shadowy world of espionage are seldom so normal.

Richard Blade was indeed a trained athlete, and not at all short of money. He'd been one of MI6's finest and deadliest field agents, picked by J himself when fresh out of Oxford. There was nothing of the amateur about him, and there never would be. He was a brilliant and formidable professional in a game more demanding and far deadlier than polo or tennis or steeple-chasing.

He was also unique in the whole world. He was the only living human being who could travel into other Dimensions and return safely. It was because of Blade's uniqueness that he and J were walking along the echoing corridor far below the Tower of London. At the end of the corridor lay a series of rooms, and in the last of those rooms stood an enormous computer. That computer was the creation of Lord Leighton, who had the most brilliant mind and usually the worst temper among all of Britain's scientists. Richard Blade's brain would be linked to that computer, so that they formed a single circuit. Then Lord Leighton would pull a red master switch, activating that circuit, and Richard Blade would whirl off into-somewhere else.

They called that «somewhere else» Dimension X. When the great computer had finished twisting Blade's brain and senses, he saw and smelled somewhere else, heard and felt somewhere else, fought and moved somewhere else. Somehow he always survived and came back alive, sane, and reasonably healthy, to tell of what he had done and seen in the unknown. He was the only living person who could do that, in spite of all the efforts made to find others.

There was much more to what had now become Project Dimension X than simply giving Richard Blade a chance for one incredible adventure after another. Out there in Dimension X lay vast resources of all the things that Britain so desperately needed-land, metals, knowledge. Blade had gone out twenty-three times and come back twenty-three times, but he'd never been able to bring back more than tantalizing samples or hints of the wealth of Dimension X. In spite of all the money, work, thought, and good intentions that had gone into it, the Project still seemed to be doing very little except giving Blade those exotic adventures.

This was becoming a problem, one that would rapidly get worse if things didn't change soon. It was this problem that Blade and J were discussing as they walked down the corridor.

«The total value of what you've brought back in gold and jewels and the like is adding up quite admirably,» said J. «The grand total is now over three million pounds.»

«That's not enough to cover the whole cost of the Project, is it?» asked Blade. He knew that he should take more interest in the budgetary and administrative side of the Project. He had never been an office type, though, or able to concern himself very much with even the most essential paperwork details.

«No. The total investment in the Project since we started is about eleven million. But what you've brought back has helped keep us within what the Prime Minister's Special Fund can absorb.»

«I imagine the Prime Minister is happy about that.»

«Not happy,» said J. «Not at the moment. He's reasonably satisfied with the financial end of the affair, and otherwise-well, Leighton's submitted another report.»

«And put his foot in it again?» The scientist had a long-standing habit of conceiving and proposing large additions to the Project and its budget at the drop of a hat, without bothering in the least about minor details of trained manpower or financing.

«If you mean, has Lord Leighton made some new and expensive proposals in his report-yes, he has. This time he's sat down and drawn up a comprehensive scheme for the Project for the next three years, covering long-lead time purchases, contingency planning, everything. I hadn't imagined that he had such a grasp of planning techniques.»

J sounded genuinely impressed, rather than exasperated as he usually was by Lord Leighton's proposals. «You sound as though you're supporting him, sir,» said Blade.

«I am,» said J. «Or at least I would be, if it would do any good. Leighton's done a fine job. He hasn't asked for anything we shouldn't have had years ago.»

Blade hesitated, then fired the decisive question. «How much will it all cost?»

«Four million.»

Blade grimaced. «I don't imagine we have much chance of getting that.»

«None whatever. It can't possibly come out of the Special Fund, and as for getting a regular appropriation-well, you know as well as I do what the chances are of that, even if it were safe.»

Blade nodded silently. The Prime Minister's Special Fund was the only source of money for the Project where no questions would be asked. In Parliament there always had been and always would be those who would question an unidentified expense of five pounds if they thought it would score them political points. With four million pounds they would have a field day, and the security of Project Dimension X would never survive.

It had to survive, though. No other nation knew the secret of inter-Dimensional travel. No other nation appeared to even know that the British had discovered it. Things had to stay this way as long as possible. What the Russians might do if they could tap the secrets of Dimension X was something to give the calmest of men nightmares.

«Besides,» J went on, «Parliament wouldn't be inclined to come up with four million pounds for any scientific project these days, unless it's got some obvious value.» Frustration and a strained temper sounded in J's voice as he continued. «Meanwhile, everybody's moving on ahead of us in a dozen fields. Atomic power-the French are putting breeder reactors into service. Electronics-the Japanese have made half a dozen breakthroughs in superconductors. Genetics-in genetics, we've had reports that the Russians are on the point of cracking the codes for direct genetic manipulation.»

«I thought that had already been done,» said Blade.

«With bacteria, yes. But this report mentioned work with higher animals, at least up to the level of fish. Of course the- results will come more slowly with larger, slower-breeding animals-until they get cloning perfected. So we may not have to worry for a few years. But-imagine a swarm of mutated and cloned sharks let loose as a terror weapon, or to form a submarine detection network?»

Blade nodded. Anybody with a little scientific knowledge and a good imagination could in a very short time conjure up a dozen horrible results of direct genetic manipulation. It had been pure science fiction for a number of years. Now it was looming closer and closer as an unpleasant reality.

«Of course this makes matters even worse for us. Every scientist is trying to clutch Parliament by the lapels and shake an appropriation out of it for his particular project. If by some miracle we did get our four million, we'd have two-thirds of the research establishment howling for our blood. Even Leighton can't do his best without more cooperation than we'd get under those circumstances.»

«So where exactly do you feel that we stand, sir?» asked Blade. They were approaching the door into the computer rooms themselves. He wanted to get the conversation done and J calmed down before they entered. He had never seen J so close to losing his patience with anything or anybody, with the occasional exception of Lord Leighton.

J seemed to realize how much his agitation was boiling over. He took a deep breath and his posture became even more erect.

«What we need is for you to bring back something extraordinary from Dimension X. It could be a scientific breakthrough whose value would be obvious even to the most idiotic backwoods back-bencher who's forgotten the small amount of physics and mathematics he ever learned. If it were that obviously valuable, we'd be able to get our four million with no questions asked. We would simply call ourselves a «secret research facility» that had produced this discovery, and ask politely if they wanted us to produce some more like it.»

Blade laughed. «Yes. Under those circumstances we might wind up with more money than we could spend.»

J fixed the younger man with a look of mock severity. «Richard, that shows how little you know of administration. There is no such sum at the moment. Nor do I expect that either of us will live long enough to see the day when there is.»

«No doubt,» said Blade. «What is the second thing I could bring back to help the Project out of its hole?»

«A new process or product-something we could sell to private industry for at least-well, for whatever the market would bear. I wish I could be more optimistic about the chances of that.»

Blade nodded. He'd brought back a good many products and processes decades or centuries beyond anything known in Home Dimension. Unfortunately no one had yet been able to duplicate any of them on any useful scale. What the devil! The scientists were still struggling to duplicate teksin, and he'd brought the sample of that superplastic back from his first trip to Tharn, longer ago than he cared to think about.

Now they were at the entrance to the computer rooms. The door slid open in front of them. They moved on, through the familiar sequence of rooms crammed to the ceiling with supporting equipment and the technicians to handle it. They came to the door of the main computer room, waited while electronic monitoring systems scanned them and opened the door, then entered.

Lord Leighton's voice floated down to them from high above. «Richard, you can go ahead and change. Everything's in order. I'm just taking the chance to make a routine inspection.» The sound of metal tapping on metal followed before Blade could say a word in reply. The scientist was back at work, and he quite thoroughly detested making polite conversation at such times.

Blade didn't blame him. In fact, it was surprising that Leighton had bothered to speak at all. The scientist was more than eighty years old, his spine twisted by a hunched back, his legs almost as twisted by polio. Yet there he was, clambering about somewhere high above, putting himself to inconvenience and strain to make an inspection that a technician a third his age could have done easily. Lord Leighton was a man who considered any job-half-done unless and until he had done it or at least checked it himself.

Blade only hoped that he could remain half as conscientious and dedicated when age and physical frailty caught up with him.

Blade followed his usual path around the gray, crackle-finished bulks of the computer's consoles; to the changing room carved out of the rock wall. By now he could have followed that path blindfolded or in pitch darkness, without missing a turn or a step.

He could also have gone through the routine in the room in his sleep, he had done it so often. So he made a special effort to be alert during every moment of the routine. Long experience had taught him that the minute you start writing something off as «routine,» you start making careless mistakes. Blade didn't want to run any risk of that with any part of a trip into Dimension X. They still knew just enough about the process to know how much more they had to learn, and how many things could go wrong.

So he was as careful now as he had ever been, as he stripped to the skin and smeared himself from head to toe with greasy black cream. It felt dreadful and smelled worse, but it was intended to prevent burns from the massive jolt of electricity passing through his body in the moment of transition.

He took a loincloth down from a peg on the wall and tied it on. He always wore one, although none of them had ever passed into Dimension X with him. He had carried a gold ring on one trip and his old commando knife on another. Both of these had made the round trip with him, and both were now under intensive examination to reveal what special qualities they had.

Meanwhile, there was nothing else he could find that he'd had for many years and would also be useful in Dimension X. There were plenty of things he could take that he hadn't owned for years, but would any of them make the trip? Almost certainly not, from past experience. They would just add more uncertainties where there were already too many. It would be safer to go off into Dimension X, prepared to arrive with nothing but his wits and his naked body. He'd survived that way often enough before.

Blade finished knotting the loincloth, stepped out of the room, and walked to the glass booth that stood in the very center of the room. He sat down in the metal chair inside the booth, feeling the rubber of the seat and back cold against his bare skin, and settled down to relaxing as much as he could. He always succeeded, although he could never completely keep his mind off what might be waiting for him in Dimension X.

Meanwhile Lord Leighton practically ran in circles around the chair, pulling wires in a dozen different colors out of odd parts of the computer. Each wire ended in a gleaming metal electrode, shaped like the head of a cobra. Lord Leighton taped each electrode to Blade's skin. Then he stepped back, briefly surveyed his work with a satisfied smile, and walked across the room to the main control panel.

The panel was already lit up like a psychedelic Christmas tree. The computer's program was running on the main sequence, running steadily toward the moment when it would be ready to hurl Richard Blade away on his next journey.

In these last moments Blade always felt very much at peace with the world. He also knew better than ever how simple his job in the Project really was. No research to do, no appropriations to fight for, no security problems to track down and handle. At the moment, J was still fighting to sidetrack Scotland Yard from its search for the «mystery hero» who'd vanished after saving a dozen lives in a train wreck a few months ago. That mystery hero was Blade, who'd vanished to avoid publicity that would endanger the Project, then gone off into Dimension X while J was left holding the sack.

Before Blade's mind could form another thought, Lord Leighton's hand descended smoothly onto the red master switch and drew it even more smoothly down to the bottom of its slot.

The floor beneath the booth dropped away into a swirling black nothingness. The booth and Blade inside it seemed to hang suspended above the blackness, with the room and the computer consoles and Leighton and J still clearly visible all around.

Then the blackness began to turn red and come alive with dark fumes that swirled around Blade without burning or choking or even brushing against him. They seemed to swirl right through him, for suddenly he was as intangible as they were.

Beneath the redness a fiery yellow began to glow, rising up through the redness, rising up through the fumes, pouring a fierce light over the computer and the men. They seemed to dissolve in that light, as if they'd been dropped into boiling acid.

The light grew brighter, and Blade saw that the booth was gone from around the chair, and then the chair was gone from under him. He was alone, seated on nothingness in the middle of raw yellow fire that should have burned but did not.

He was still alone when the yellow fire faded slowly away into blackness and the blackness swallowed him up and blanked out all his senses.