The Russian shouted a curse and tried to disentangle himself. Blade leaped across the room like a great cat and seized the butt of the lance. He and the Russian strove mightily for it, silent now, grim, their bare feet shuffling on the floor as they moved back and forth across the room.
The butt end of the lance broke off in the Russian's hand. He smashed Blade across the face with it. In so doing he loosed one hand from the lance and Blade gave a mighty tug. He had it. Had the weapon.
The Russian turned and ran for the door. Blade leaped after him, remembering that he had put the door on lock. The man would have no time. Blade prepared to jab with the broken lance, to run it through the man from the back. Get it over with.
The Russian screamed and fell. He writhed and tore at his head. Blade, stunned by his own terrible pain, gazed down at the screaming man and then looked dully at the lance. He had not yet touched the man.
New pain seared his skull. He knew. The computer had him. This was it!
The Russian arched his back and screamed again. Blade, already falling into the void, managed by a last effort to point the lance at the man's heart. Slowly - so very slowly - he placed the lance point over the heart.
The chamber spun green and gold. Voices clamored for Blade to come, to come, to come -
A huge hand appeared from nowhere and beckoned. Canda came alive again and smiled at him from a far off mountain and he saw that she was all covered with blood and sweat and long fine hair. She was desirable. The smell of her smashed into his nostrils. He reached for her. She vanished.
Blade spun. Blade whirled. Blade came apart and flew into the universe.
He fell for a last time into nothing and, with the last of his senses, knew that he was holding something and had something to do with what he held, but what - what - what - ?
Blade was strangely leaning on a stick. He fell and the stick gave beneath his weight. The stick made a scrunching sound. The stick broke. Blade fell onto something wet and kept going and kept going toward the music and the stars...
Chapter Twenty One
Lord Leighton said: 'Try to calm down a bit, J. It's all right now. The boy is going to come through in fine shape. And please do stop pacing - you interfere with my concentration.'
J told His Lordship, in no uncertain terms, what he could do with his concentration. Blade was in surgery, fighting for his life, and His Lordship was worried about his bloody tapes and closed circuit TV and his ruddy concentration.
J was in a bad state of nerves - this whole operation had been demoralizing - and Lord Leighton was prepared to make allowances. J was as a father to Blade, that was it, as though the boy were his own flesh and blood, and that sort of thing was understandable.
They were in the debriefing room beneath the Tower. Banks of tape recorders reeled and clicked. On a square oblong of lighted screen they watched Dr. Kenneth Bates-Denby, Royal College of Surgeons, operating on Blade. Two masked assistants hovered near him.
Until now the small, compact, completely self-sufficient surgery had never been used for anything more than patching minor wounds. It was wired into the debriefing room and J and Lord L could hear as well as see.
Bates-Denby extended a hand and a gleaming tool was slapped into it. 'I'm going to trim a few centimeters of flesh from beneath the skin flaps,' the surgeon said. 'There will be scarring, but not too bad. Have those sutures ready. We're just about ready to finish up.'
J turned away from the picture. For a man in his job he had a peculiar aversion to blood. Maybe, he thought, I am getting too old for this sort of thing. It needs thinking out. When the boy is on his feet again perhaps we can take a little holiday together. Thrash matters out. Maybe I can talk him out of going into X Dimension again. Hope so. The lad has certainly done his bit!
Lord Leighton hobbled to a white steel table and picked up the bloody lance point. It was broad, triangular, razor sharp and there was a foot or so of hardwood shaft fitted to it. His Lordship touched it gingerly with a finger, then picked up a typed slip of paper and read it for perhaps the fifth time.
He turned to J. 'Three distinct types of blood on the lance point. Three! What do you make of that, J?'
'Very little. As usual. We'll have to wait until the boy is well enough to undergo hypnosis and debriefing. All we have gotten so far is some muttering about a purple sea and uranium.'
'Ah,' said His Lordship. 'Ah! Uranium. I am looking forward to hearing about that.'
J fumbled for his pouch and pipe. 'Much bloody good it will do us out in X Dimension.'
'You never know,' Lord L said cheerfully. 'I'm working on something now that is going to amaze you.'
J scowled. 'Spare me for now. I am sufficiently amazed that Blade got back alive - with a hole in him large enough to drive a tank through.'
Lord L went back to perusing the lance point. 'You exaggerate,' he murmured. 'As usual you exaggerate. Though I will admit the lad was one hell of a bloody mess when he turned up in the computer. But that is over and done with and all is going to be well - I wish I could puzzle out this, little spot of mystery. Three distinct types of blood! Two of them well known to us. One is Blade's, of course, and the other also Caucasian. It's the third type that is the puzzler, J. A new blood type - unknown to our science. Hmmmm - the best the hematologist can say is that it approaches R type, but not exactly R. Hmmm - leaves us nowhere.'
J lit his pipe and puffed deeply. It did not comfort him as much as usual. 'Blade was out in X Dimension,' he said a bit acidly. 'God only knows what creatures he met.'
'Hmm - yes. You're right. Well, it will all come out in the debriefing. Under hypnosis it will pour out of his memory bank. And I suppose we can take it for granted that he killed his man? Certainly there must have been some bloody fighting at the very last, eh?'
'I take nothing for granted,' said J crossly. 'You are right about one thing - no use straining our wits, we'll just have to wait and see. Ah, Bates-Denby has left the surgery.'
