Blade shook his head. «Not anything. The forsaken merman promises. Goodbye, Diana.» He would have had it otherwise, but under the circumstances perhaps it was just as well.

«Goodbye, Hercules. rll never forget you. Or this day.»

Their glances met and lingered. Her eyes were as green as when he first gazed into them, but the glacial ice had melted.

«Neither of us,» Blade said, «is likely to forget this day.»

She kissed him lightly on the mouth, said goodbye again, and was gone.

He floated, treading now and then, watching her slim body cut the water with an expert eight-beat crawl. He scanned the cliff tops and made out a tiny figure wandering along the path. Old Professor Wright. Even at that distance Blade's hawkish vision could make out the cape and the deerstalker hat. Today the old man had a butterfly net with him. After specimens. Blade shook his head and grinned. The Professor was a specimen, no doubt of that, but harmless. He could hardly see beyond the end of his nose. No trouble there.

He saw her leave the water and race to where her dress lay on the sand. She did not look out to sea. Blade began to swim with slow powerful strokes. She was making for the cliff stair now, running easily and with a coltish grace. Blade allowed himself regret. Damn, anywayl It would have been nice, fun, to come to know this lovely stranger. He had been rather at odds with life since he had lost Zoe Cornwall. Apart from his duties, the computer forays into Dimension X, life had been on the bleak side. There were personality changes induced by the restructuring of his brain cells, not all of them for the better, and for a time booze had been a problem. After that it had been women, as he sought, or so J advised him, a surrogate for Zoe. Show girls, barmaids, ladies, and tramps, West End debs and Cockney tarts, Blade had tried them all. None brought him more than temporary surcease. J had voiced concern and alarm and even Lord Leighton, the old rogue, had begun to tch-tch-a bit.

It had ended at last. Since his last trip through the computer Blade had been living in virtual seclusion in the Dorset cottage. Now this girl from nowhere. Gone back into nowhere.

He saw her on the rim of the cliff. She was in silhouette against an apple green sky. She raised a hand and waved once. Blade did not wave back. She lingered for a moment, motionless, and he sensed those green eyes on him. She turned and walked back out of sight.

When he came out of the sea a few minutes later there were only her footprints to prove that it had been no dream, no fantasy. A fantastic experience, but no fantasy. As he went about gathering his things, smoking a cigarette, he again wondered where he had seen her face before this day. He was sure now that he had never met her in person. But he had seen that face. Where?

The path along the cliffs was deserted as he made his way to the cottage. The phone was ringing as he entered and he did not hurry. It would only be J checking on him. Wanting to be assured that all was well. Tomorrow the computer. A journey to hell or paradise.

Blade reached for the strident phone. Between rings he heard, could have sworn he heard, the muffled roar of a high-powered sports car pulling away in low gear.

Blade grinned. He hoped that Diana would go straight home, wherever that was. If not, he hoped she would be very careful how she sat, or bent over. He was still laughing when he picked up the phone.

J had asked Blade to stop in at Copra House. It was from this antique structure, on Bart Lane near Thread needle Street, that J ran the affairs of M16A. Here he had a suite of dingy cubicles that were offices only in a symbolic sense. J, as Blade entered, appeared to be his placid, pipe-smoking, tweedy self. Upper-class, understated, civil servant.

Blade knew better. J had aged considerably since the computer experiments began. J was nervous at times now, where BTG-Before The Computer-J had had ice water for blood. Blade could understand. His own nerves were not what they had been.

J greeted Blade with a casual wave of his pipe toward a chair. «Good morning, Richard. You are looking extremely fit.»

Blade shrugged his big shoulders. «I am. I should be. I awoke this morning to blackbirds singing and honeysuckle on the vine. Pippa passing and all that rot.»

J sucked on his pipe and gave Blade a meditative look. «Methinks the lad doth protest too much. To be direct, Richard, I don't think you're too happy about going into Dimension X again.»

Blade grinned at the older man. «I'll level with you, sir, as the Yanks put it. I could pass this cup. Not that I will, naturally. It's my job. I'll do it.»

J nodded as he knocked pipe ash into his palm, spilling it on his vest. «Of course, my boy. Of course you will. But it needn't be forever, you know. That is, er, rather why I asked you to stop past before you go to the Tower.»

Blade left his chair and wandered to one of the grimy windows. He looked down into Lothbury Street. A newsboy was standing in a doorway, out of the rushing city throng, holding his placard on high. Blade read the large black letters without much comprehension: LADY DIANA DUCKS DAVID

Blade smiled at the labored alliteration and turned back into the room. He was far from a snob, but the truth was that he had never read the News of The World in his life. A lively paper, and not too fastidious about the truth. Yet as he faced J again he could not help wondering who the unfortunate David was, and why Lady Diana had ducked him.

«I think you have a right to know,» said J, «that Lord L and I are trying to find a replacement for you. It is not easy, I assure you. His Lordship has been running cards through his computers like mad. So far he hasn't come up with anything much. We do have, er, some likely candidates. About twenty odd who measure up in a superficial sense, at least. Out of the lot there may be one who will measure up. If we have the luck.»

Blade slouched back into his chair and crossed an ankle over a knee. He smiled at J. «Going to sack me, eh? Work not up to snuff? You think I'm past it?»

For a moment J thought he was serious. He began, «My dear fellow. You know better than-«He stopped, gave Blade a reproachful look, then continued, «I am perfectly serious, Richard. Absolutely. The pitcher can go to the well too often and that mustn't happen. In any case it is only good sense, good science and good technology. The Americans, for instance, are very careful about overdoing it with their space people. One trip to the moon is usually the limit, two at the most. Strain, nervous tension, even fear-and we all have that-these things can be cumulative and they take a toll.',»

Blade regarded his chief with wry amusement. «You don't have to sell me, sir. I've been out there six times and I am ready to quit. As of now. Would you like me to write out my resignation?»

J looked miserable. «I only wish it were as easy as that, Richard. It isn't, of course. Lord L is waiting for you now.»

Blade stood up, his sinewy bulk making the room appear even smaller than it was. His dark hair nearly touched the ceiling. He winked at J.

«Then why are we wasting time here? Let's get on with it, sir. Who knows-this might be an easy one.»

It would not be, of course. As always there would be death and terror lurking out there in Dimension X.

They left Copra House by a side entrance and came into Lothbury Street. The newsboy was still placarding his black headline. Blade nodded toward the man and said, «Who in the hell do you suppose David is?» It was in the nature of a rhetorical question. J was the last man to be au courant with London's various subcultures.

J surprised him. He glanced at the placard and then smiled at Blade. «You're rather out of things down in Dorset, I see.»