Examining himself again, he realized that he'd been shaved, bathed, manicured, and fed. So it would be nearly impossible to tell how long he'd been here from the growth of his beard or nails or how hungry he felt. He pushed the desk and one of the armchairs aside to clear a space in the center of the room. Then he went through a series of vigorous exercises to limber up and test for any loss of muscle tone.

He could detect none. Apparently he hadn't been a prisoner long enough to get out of shape. He continued with the exercises until he'd worked up a good sweat, then went into the bathroom. It was gleaming and modern, with a full set of towels, colognes, bath salts, and the rest. No razor or scissors, of course, but he'd hardly expected them. He stepped into the blue-tiled shower and turned on the water.

A hot shower left him feeling relaxed and ready for almost anything. He was toweling himself dry when the door clicked open and a woman walked in. Blade hastily wrapped the towel around himself and snatched a robe from the bathroom closet.

The woman paid no more attention to him than if he'd been one of the pieces of furniture. She walked over to the bed and began making it with the brisk, practiced movements of the experienced housemaid. She wore a plain blue coverall, and from her face and graying hair Blade judged that she was about forty, neither seductive nor seducible. From the way she moved he suspected that she was both armed and combat trained.

Blade had no intention of trying to take the maid and use her as a hostage. At the same time he could never stop absorbing facts about his surroundings and drawing conclusions from them. He never knew when he might suddenly need something he'd learned that way. He did know that this habit had saved his life a number of times.

The maid went on making up the room, still paying no attention to Blade. When the last jar of bath salts was dusted off and placed back in the medicine cabinet, she finally turned to Blade. Her thin lips creased in an apparently sincere smile.

«Ah, Mr. Blade. You're awake.»

Blade nodded. «I am,» he said, matching her politeness with his own. It could do no harm.

«Very good, sir. I'll tell the Master. I'm quite sure he'll be happy to hear it.» She turned and was gone before Blade could even begin to wonder, let alone ask, who or what «the Master» might be.

Less than five minutes later the door opened again and the one-eyed man entered. He walked with a brisk, military stride. It was a moment before Blade noticed that he also walked with a slight stiffness in the lower part of his right leg. Blade recognized that stiffness as the sign of an artificial limb. No doubt that was part of the reason for the revolver in the quick-draw holster under the man's left arm. He might be a bit slow on his feet, but there was nothing wrong with his hands or arms. Blade remembered the lightning stroke with the hypodermic and took care to keep his hands in clear sight as he sat down in one of the armchairs.

The one-eyed man drew up the other armchair and sat down facing Blade. Blade suspected that the distance between them was carefully calculated to be greater than he could cross before the one-eyed man could draw, fire, and hit him. The man looked like the type who would make that sort of calculation continuously and by instinct.

The man rested his left hand on the arm of his chair and looked at Blade. «Mr. Blade,» he said, «my name, for the purposes of our conversation, is R. I am Director of the Special Operations Division of the Office of Military Intelligence of the Imperial Armed Forces. I am here to offer you a position with the Special Operations Division.»

Blade kept his face carefully expressionless. «Perhaps you can tell me more?»

«Certainly. Regardless of the various unknowns in your background, you seem to have the skills and instincts to make you an exceptionally fine field operative for the Division. I need not tell you that we are entering a period of desperate crisis for Englor. I rather doubt I need to tell you that men highly gifted for field intelligence work are rare. In a crisis like this they are exceedingly valuable. I am offering you a position to which you seem well suited, where you can make an exceptionally valuable contribution to Englor's fight against the Red Flames.»

Blade was astonished. About the last thing he'd expected was such a blunt offer of a position as a secret agent in the service of Englor, and from Englor's chief spymaster! What had they learned about him-or not learned about him-that made them willing to make this offer?

Blade leaned back in his chair and crossed one leg over the other. «I take it that you've-«He was about to use the phrase «interrogated me,» but thought better of it. «-that you've examined my qualifications as thoroughly as you feel is necessary.» A cumbersome phrase, but neutral.

«Yes,» said R. There was a crisp finality in that single word that told Blade a great deal. It told him that he had indeed been interrogated, that they'd found out a great deal about him, and that he would never learn what they'd found out, no matter how many times he asked. In fact, asking would be not merely a waste of time, it would be dangerous.

Blade very badly wanted to know how much he'd said. Above all, he wanted to know if he'd revealed that he was-from another Dimension. He might not have said so in plain words, but this was a scientifically advanced Dimension. Its interrogators could interpret his words and draw conclusions from them in ways that men from a world of swords and castles never could. Revealing his origins to these people would amount to revealing the Dimension X secret, and to people who might be able to make use of the knowledge. Blade did not know how advanced Englor's computer technology was. He suspected it was uncomfortably close to that of Home Dimension.

It was maddeningly frustrating. How much did these people know? Blade knew that he was a difficult subject for interrogation, but he also knew that any man can be broken, given enough time and the right techniques.

Well, if he wasn't going to find out, he wasn't going to find out. In any case, the odds were somewhat against their having dug out anything dangerous. That would have certainly required more than the few days at most that he could have been under interrogation. Also, there was R's offer of a position as a field operative. It seemed hard to believe that a «mystery man» or a traveler from another Dimension would be casually offered such a position-at least by an intelligence professional like R.

Blade set his mind more or less at rest and nodded. «Very well. It's certainly an appealing offer. May I ask-is there any penalty for refusing?»

R smiled and shook his head. «None whatever. Well, perhaps a slight one. It will cause less talk if you do not return to your training unit. So you'll be passed as fully trained and assigned with the rank of corporal to the Royal Yorkshire Light Infantry. Their field battalions are all with the Eighth Army in Gallia. No one in the Yorkshires will know there's anything unusual about you, and there will be a cover story for the men in the training battalion. We aren't interested in coercing you, Mr. Blade. We want you as a free agent, or not at all.» A lift of the gray eyebrows told Blade that the pun was intentional.

«I see.» It was not hard to decide what his answer should be. He was being offered a chance to spend his time in this Dimension doing exactly the same type of work he'd done in Home Dimension for years. He'd done it well then, he'd do it well now. It was also the best opportunity he could hope for to dig out whatever useful secrets this Dimension might hold. Finally, it would be interesting, and Blade was a natural adventurer who hated boredom almost more than he did armed enemies.

«Do you want an answer now?» he said.