Empire Of Blood

Chapter 1

The salesman examined the Barclay's Bank draft with elaborate care. Richard Blade crossed one long leg over the other and clasped both tanned hands around the raised knee as he waited.

Finally the salesman raised his head and smiled. «All in order, Mr. Blade. Now, if you'll just sign here-«as he shoved a small stack of papers toward Blade. Blade bent forward, his chair creaking as he shifted his two hundred and ten pounds of bone and muscle, and drew out a pen.

He had to sign his name twelve different times on eight different sheets of paper before he'd finished. It occurred to him that if anyone ever wanted copies of his signature for purposes legitimate or otherwise, all they'd have to do was examine the files of Hollis Brothers Automobile Sales and Services Limited, London.

«Very good, Mr. Blade. The model you wish will run you about a hundred and seventy pounds less than the sum of this draft. We will have the delivery driver give you a check for the balance.»

Blade shook his head. «I would advise against that. You say the model I want isn't in stock at the moment?»

The salesman shook his head. «No, sir, it isn't. I expect it will be about three weeks before we have one in.»

«That's what I thought,» said Blade. «Unfortunately, I'll be leaving the country for an indefinite period within the next couple of days. Family business in America-it seems they've got it into their heads that I'm the Indispensable Man. I haven't the remotest notion when I'll be back. I think the wisest thing to do would be to garage the car here until I return and apply the balance to the garage fees. Can you do that?»

«Oh, yes, by all means, sir. It will be quite easy.» The salesman opened the drawer of his desk and rummaged through it, then pulled out still another form. «If you'll just sign this, here and here-«

Finally it was all over. Blade rose, shook the salesman's hand, then buttoned up all but the top button of his Burberry.

«Thank you, Mr. Blade,» said the salesman. «It's been a pleasure doing business with you, and I hope you find driving your new car altogether agreeable. Good day, sir.»

Outside it was a sunny but brisk London morning, with enough wind so that Blade promptly buttoned the top button on his coat. Then he headed down the street toward the nearest taxi stand. As he went, he contemplated how his profession complicated even such a simple business as buying a new car.

Richard Blade was indeed leaving England within the next couple of days, but he was not traveling to America, on family business or for any other reason. He was traveling much farther, into a place where only he of all living people could go, survive, and return safely to England.

That place was called Dimension X: It was sometimes hard to realize that until only a very few years ago no one, least of all Richard Blade, had even suspected the existence of Dimension X.

Yet that was the simple truth. It was not long ago that a bad-tempered scientific genius named Lord Leighton had conceived the idea of directly linking an advanced computer and a human brain. He had found in Richard Blade the perfect combination of physical and mental development needed for the experiment.

What happened after that would have made scientific history if it hadn't immediately become the most closely guarded secret in Britain. The link with the computer did indeed alter Blade's mind, but not quite as Lord Leighton had intended. The whole world in which he'd lived until then vanished from around Blade. All his senses now registered a strange, savage, primitive world called Alb.

In that world Blade moved about, lived and loved, ate, drank, fought, killed, bled, and, by his strength and wits, managed to survive. Eventually Lord Leighton adjusted the computer, Blade's senses returned to normal, and England reappeared around him.

That was the first human encounter with Dimension X. It was not and could not be the last. Dimension X was rich in land, resources, knowledge. If that wealth could somehow be tapped, it would mean a mighty rebirth for Britain. Dimension X would have to be explored and that exploration kept a closely guarded secret.

So Project Dimension X came into existence. Richard Blade left his post as a top agent for the secret intelligence agency MI6 to begin a new profession as the world's first interdimensional explorer. Tomorrow he would begin his twenty-third expedition into Dimension X.

Blade was not only the first person to explore Dimension X; he was the only one who had ever done so and was still alive and sane. Others had possessed the qualities of mind and body needed to travel into Dimension X, but they were all dead. It was just as well that some of them were dead, for they had been agents who might have given the Dimension X secret to the Soviet Union. How much damage that might have done no one even cared to guess.

Yet there was no doubt that more people were needed for the project. One man could only do so much exploring, even a man as gifted as Blade. Dimension X was vast and varied, full of enough complexities and unknowns to baffle even Lord Leighton. Every trip into Dimension X produced a little more knowledge-and also more proof of how much there was to learn. A dozen men might grow old exploring Dimension X without more than scratching the surface, and Blade was only one man.

Even so, he was pushing back the unknown, a little bit at a time. On his last trip he had taken a ring with him from Home Dimension into the forests of Gleor and back again. No object before that ring had made the round trip. It was only a small beginning, of course, but it might promise more for the future. Perhaps in time Blade and those who came after him could travel into Dimension X and not arrive naked as newborn babes, with nothing but their wits and muscles between them and sudden death.

Perhaps. In the meantime, Blade's profession as an explorer of other dimensions made continuous trouble for him in his day-to-day existence in this one!

Take the matter of a new car, for example. Just before his last trip into Dimension X, Blade's MG had burned out a bearing. The car had been needing a lot of repairs recently, so Blade decided that it was time to say goodbye to the MG and get the best new car that he could afford. His means were a good deal better than the average Englishman's-much of what Blade brought back from Dimension X was gold and jewels, some worked or mounted, some raw. The raw gold and jewels were examined, then judiciously and quietly sold off through MI6 channels. Most of the money went to finance the project-its appetite for new equipment and new people never stopped growing-but the elderly spymaster known only as J insisted that some of the money go to Blade. He loved the younger man as he would have loved a son if marriage and a family had ever been part of his life. He saw no reason why Blade should not receive some tangible reward for all the time he spent in deadly danger on the very secret service of Her Majesty the Queen. Blade protested, but J insisted and went on insisting.

So a secret account was set up-again through MI6 channels-and bit by bit money trickled into it. Enough bits added up to quite a respectable sum. At the moment the balance in the account stood at just under fifty thousand pounds. Even with inflation, that was not a despicable sum of money.

It was certainly more than enough to buy any sort of car Blade might let himself dream of, even a Rolls-Royce or a Ferrari. A spectacularly expensive car, however, would make him conspicuous. It was not wise for a man in Blade's position to be conspicuous.

As for something small-well, Blade figured that he got more than enough exercise in Dimension X. He didn't have to try shoehorning himself into an undersized sports car every time he wanted to go somewhere in Home Dimension. There were a good many women who liked doing this even less. Blade's Home Dimension social life was discreet, but it was active enough for him to have to consider this angle.

So he decided on a Rover-comfortable, fast enough, cheap enough to be fairly common, expensive enough to match his cover identity as a youngish man of good family and respectable private means. What else was there left to do but go down and buy the car?

Quite a bit, unfortunately. The money for the car had to creep out of the secret account into a more open one at Barclay's Bank and from there to Blade's pocket. His cover identity had to stand up under the usual host of credit checks without arousing anyone's suspicion, or even their curiosity. Then and only then could Blade go out and behave like a more or less normal man who wanted a new car.

At least his cover identity was in his own name. Beyond a certain point false names caused more trouble and confusion than they saved. That was good. There were times when, if Blade hadn't been able to sign his own name, he'd have wondered exactly who he was.

As he approached the taxi stand, a taxi came swinging by. He raised a hand to hail it, then stepped off the curb and ran toward it as it slowed. The driver threw open the door and Blade scrambled in.

«Westminster Embankment.»

«Yes, sir.» The driver let in the clutch and the taxi whirled off down the street as Blade settled back in the seat.