by Джеффри Лорд
«Every man of your strike force seems to have performed some deed worthy of this award,» said the Emperor as he pinned the Cross on Blade’s tunic. «But naturally, we cannot contrive to award six hundred Imperial Crosses. So we present this award not only for your own exceptional and heroic services, but in recognition of those of every man under your command.»
«I understand, Sire,» said Blade.
It was a gray day in London, and the first snow that seemed likely to stay on the ground was falling slowly. R was already seated in the back of the Rolls-Royce as Blade and Rilla came out arm-in-arm to join him.
This time they were not going away on a vacation. In Blade’s attache case was the complete material on the assault transports, including the formulas for the alloys and the chemical fuel. He was going north to the Midlands to discuss improved designs for the transports with Avro’s engineers.
In Rilla’s case lay her complete notes on genetic manipulation and cloning processes. She was going still farther north, to the University of Edinburgh. There she would be talking about her discoveries with several leading doctors and biologists. She would not be talking about their military potential, but about their value against cancer. Blade could sense the enormous happiness this brought her. He could almost see her glowing in the dirty twilight that was settling down over London.
The twilight settled down even faster as they drove out toward the airport. Blade leaned back in his seat, held Rilla’s hand, and stared at the two cleared semicircles made by the windshield wipers.
«Tired, Richard?» said R. For once his voice sounded exactly like J’s.
Blade smiled. «Not tired, exactly. A little beaten down, perhaps, by all the Court activities. I’ll take great care never to win another high award, if I can manage it. I can cope with the Russlanders, but the Imperial Court’s another matter.»
R laughed. «I doubt if you’re going to be able to manage that. Not as long as you’re commanding Special Operations Division’s private army, and I assure you it will be some time before you can lay down that job.»
«Perhaps,» said Rilla quietly. For a moment her smile seemed a trifle forced. She accepted the possibility of Blade’s being killed, but it was not precisely her favorite topic of conversation.
Blade squeezed Rilla’s hand and reached into his coat pocket for his cigarettes. His hand was just closing on the pack when black night and red fire seemed to explode in his head.
He heard himself groan, he felt his hand clamping tightly on Rilla’s, and he heard her gasp with the pain of his grip. He knew what was happening to him. Lord Leighton’s computer was seizing control of his brain, twisting it so that once more he would live and move in Home Dimension, in England instead of Englor.
What should he do about Rilla? If he held onto her, she might come with him, files, discoveries, knowledge, everything. But if she came with him, would she survive the journey across the Dimensions to Englor? Could she-?
Then he realized that he now had no choice, because the pain in his head had frozen all his muscles so that he couldn’t have released Rilla’s hand if he’d wanted to. The pain pounded and swelled in his head, coming in great waves, the waves slowly blending into one continuous roar.
Yet he could still think clearly, and the thought that now filled his mind was almost as nightmarish as the dragons. R was sitting there in the seat beside him, watching everything that was happening, that would happen. R was watching-through the haze of pain Blade could still make out the man’s face, a face showing intense concentration and burning curiosity. R was watching, and he would go on watching until the seat beside him was empty.
Perhaps R had not discovered the secret of Blade’s origins before. But now-now he would have in his hands nearly all he needed to guess it, to guess the secret of Dimension X.
Then, mercifully, the pain blanked out the last of Blade’s ability to think about anything.
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.
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