Dragons Of Englor

Chapter 25

Blade sat down in the brown leather armchair facing the fire, and J sat down in the black leather one.

«Whiskey?» said J.

Blade shook his head. He wanted to wrap up the debriefing and go home. He was both mentally and physically exhausted in a way he'd seldom been in his life.

«Very well,» said the older man. He fit a cigar and puffed m silence for a few moments.

«The alloys and the fuel you brought back go hand in hand,» he said finally. «The planes built with the alloys need the fuel to get maximum performance. And of course the planes using the fuel have to be built with the alloys. Otherwise their engines will simply melt.»

«I suspected as much,» said Blade. «What are the prospects for producing either?»

«Good enough so that the production rights will probably be worth an immediate million pounds,» said J. «If there was a prospect of bringing either or both into production at once, we'd ask ten million. But anyone who buys the rights will have to spend several years and several million pounds of their own money duplicating certain catalysts and setting up production facilities. The picture is quite promising, however.»

Blade found that he could not pay as much attention to promising pictures as he ought to. Admittedly, once the fuel and alloys were perfected, Britain's aerospace industry would lead the world. But that was for the future. There were more urgent matters on his mind.

«What about Rilla?»

«Her notes are exceptionally complete, by the standards of her own Dimension. However, much of what was common knowledge there isn't quite so common here. Again, we have something whose value is enormous and can be realized fairly easily. It won't be another case like teksin. But it will be a few years before we can use Miss Haran's discoveries, either for curing cancer or for building dragons.»

The attempted humor fell flat. Blade sensed that J's heart was not in it in any case.

«No, I meant-how is Rilla herself? I haven't been let in to see her, so I assume she's still recovering from the transition, but-«

«Richard,» said J quietly, and the soft voice held enormous compassion for the younger man. «Rilla has quite recovered, physically. But mentally-she is not doing too well.»

«How-badly?» said Blade.

«She has no more mind than a six-month-old baby,» said J.

There was a long silence. Blade stared into the fire. He had seldom felt worse in all his life in any Dimension. Rilla's mind was gone, and when all was said and done, it was his fault. He could have left her in Englor.

«Thank you,» he said, and rose to go.

Richard Blade walked along Westminster Embankment. Above him the sky was gray, and from it fell the same kind of snow that had been falling on the London of Englor when he left it. His mood was as bleak and as gray as the weather.

He had done his duty to England and to Englor, and even more effectively than usual. He'd helped alter the course of history in Englor's Dimension, and what he'd brought back might yet do the same here.

Yet, didn't he also have duties to people like Rilla? Wasn't there perhaps a point where they took over? Genetics or no genetics, he would not have been betraying his own country by not bringing Rilla home. The alloys and the fuel would have been worth the trip. Rilla could still be safe and sane, honored and prosperous in Englor instead of helpless in a hospital in England.

He looked up at the tower of Big Ben, looming through the falling snow. No dragons of the Red Flames would perch there again in Englor; none would ever do so here in England.

That was a victory. But was it worth it, when other people so often seemed to pay the price?

Blade didn't know. Perhaps there was no answer. In any case, he would have to go on doing his duty, whether or not he ever found the answer.