For the experiment he had needed the most nearly perfect physical and mental specimen he could find. That specimen had been Richard Blade. With nearly twenty years as a top MI6 agent already under his belt, Blade had forgotten more about survival than most men could ever learn. Leighton plugged his specimen into the computer-and Blade wound up in what came to be called Dimension X. He arrived as naked as the day he was born, but his superb mind and body kept him alive. Eventually Lord Leighton was able to reverse the process that had sent Blade winging off into Dimension X. Blade came back to England, back to the computer complex under the Tower of London. It had been very simple, the first time.

But Project Dimension X promptly started shooting out complications in all directions, like the tentacles of an octopus. England's best scientists were unable to duplicate any of the samples of advanced materials or technology that Blade brought home from Dimension X. Sooner or later they would make a breakthrough, of course. But in the meantime the Prime Minister was not particularly happy. He had to justify the millions of pounds the Project had swallowed to inquisitive members of Parliament, so his unhappiness was hardly surprising.

It might have helped if they had been able to send Blade back to the same dimension again and again. But so far that was impossible. They had to fire him off in the general direction of Dimension X and hope he would land somewhere he could survive. This «shooting into the blind» improved neither the efficiency of the Project nor the tempers of Lord Leighton, J, the Prime Minister, or Richard Blade.

And of course there was always the problem of Blade himself. Not that there was anything wrong with him. He had suffered psychological problems of various sorts at one time-drinking, impotence, and the like. That was the result of unexpected reactions of his brain to the computer. But he seemed to have stabilized now. After fourteen successive trips into Dimension X, he was still the most nearly perfect physical and mental specimen available.

And that was the problem about Blade. He was too perfect. In fact, he was the only man in the free world who could travel into Dimension X and return alive and sane. Even if J hadn't been concerned for Blade personally, this was a situation that had to be changed. Preferably as fast as possible. If Blade's luck ever ran out in Dimension X, the Project would come to a screeching halt. What the devil, it would come to a halt if Blade were run over by a bloody London taxi!

So a search was on-had been on for two years now-for somebody to take Blade's place. Preferably several «somebodies.» Once they had a regular team of Dimension X travelers, Blade could retire. Perhaps he could handle the training end of the Project? Or perhaps if he did go into Dimension X, he could go as the team leader? That was a possibility. Had Leighton done any thinking about any techniques for sending several men through the computer at once? Probably. Leighton tended to think of all sorts of wild hares. And he tended to ask for money to help him chase all of them, too.

But however they were to be used, the new men were badly needed. Sooner or later the combined efforts of J and the Prime Minister would turn them up. And then they would need training. Training of a highly specialized and unorthodox sort. Training which they had not received in their Secret Service or CIA or Special Forces or Royal Marine Commando schools. Nor could they receive it in any of those conventional facilities, without risking compromising Project Dimension X. How do you explain why an agent is being trained in the use of medieval broadsword, longbow, and battleaxe?

So they would need a special training center, one for the Project alone, one where they could learn all the exotic miscellany of skills they would need in Dimension X. J's purchase had just taken care of the land for that. But he would have a good deal more to do before there was a training center out there in Herefordshire. He would need to go over the house and grounds with a fine-tooth comb. Then he would have to confer with Blade, with the best trainers in MI6, with the Project's psychologists. They would all have ideas on what the center would need. He wanted to pick their brains as thoroughly as possible before moving in as much as one stick of furniture.

And perhaps the estate would be good for more than a training center. Every one of Lord Leighton's new ideas meant more paperwork, more office space, more laboratory space. There wasn't much room left in the underground complex below the Tower. What there was, they were reserving for the computer itself. That monster could not be moved at all, at least not without a million-pound bill and a year's delay in the Project. Nor could they expand the complex much farther-at least not without another huge bill. Carving tunnels and chambers out of London's bedrock wasn't cheap.

Moving some of the laboratories and things out to Herefordshire was definitely worth considering. The estate could become a whole annex to the London complex, taking some of the strain off it. Annex West. Yes, that might be a good name. And it certainly was a good idea. It was such a good idea, in fact, that J kept thinking it over all the way back to London.

Chapter TWO

«Well, Richard, what do you say to the notion?»

Blade straightened slightly in the Chippendale chair and raised his eyes from his empty plate to J's elegantly wrinkled face.

«I'll be more than willing to help, sir. I think it's a damned good idea, getting a training center set up beforehand. I hope the PM will swallow it.»

«He won't have to,» put in Lord Leighton, his eyes gleaming wickedly like those of an old billy goat. «We pulled the entire purchase price out of the Contingency Fund. He won't know a thing about it until after the deed is signed, sealed, and delivered.»

«To be sure,» said J dryly. His eyes met Blade's for a moment. Both knew there was little love lost between Lord Leighton and the Prime Minister. The scientific genius and the hardheaded practical politician had come into head-on collision more than once. «But the bill for fitting the place out as a training center and office annex is going to be more than the Contingency Fund can provide. That's why I want Richard's help. He's our one and only Dimension X veteran. He can sit down with the headshrinkers and the training technicians and give them some notion of what to train the new people for. Otherwise they'll simply be guessing. And we're going to have to give the PM a complete presentation and an accurate one, with a list of gear and a budget.

Otherwise I can't imagine he'll play. He'll say it's another of your wild-goose chases, Leighton.»

The scientist ran his gnarled fingers through his fringes of white hair and shook his head. «That's all very well, J. But you can't have Richard now. The computer is all set up with a new program. I was planning to ask him to report tomorrow afternoon.»

There was no need for Leighton to say what he wanted Blade to report for. Blade felt a quickening of his breath and for a moment his mouth was so dry that he was not sure he could speak. He was going into Dimension X again-on his fifteenth trip, this time. How many more, he wondered, before one of the people to be trained at this new center replaced him-or his luck ran out? For a moment his vision blurred. The little private dining room, the dark paneling, the white tablecloth, the red wine in the crystal glasses-all seemed to be things from a dream.

Blade took a deep breath, and gradually felt himself return to normal. He didn't like getting the wind up this way, but he was used to it now. He'd be a cast-iron bloody fool if he liked being fired off into Dimension X, that was certain. He turned his attention back to the discussion between Leighton and J.