Obviously, either his luck or his endurance would run out sooner or later if they kept sending him back. Blade knew it and took it for granted. J also knew it and was horrified at the thought. Lord Leighton knew it and usually seemed quite indifferent. There was a subproject afoot to find other qualified candidates for trips into Dimension X, and both J and the prime minister had given it their blessing and their personal support. But so far it had produced nothing. Blade was still indispensable.

So he could not marry. Few women could tolerate having their husbands suddenly snatched away on mysterious errands for weeks or months at a time and unexpectedly returning scarred, tanned, and trimmed down. Blade would not ask those few women he could rely on to silently suffer such an existence. His other dimensional travels had already driven away Zoe, the woman he had come closest to marrying-would have married under other circumstances. He would not take the chance of that happening twice. So he sought out those women, like Annie, who were interested in fun, frolic, and freedom.

Now the spinnaker was down, bagged, dropped through the forward hatch, and stowed in the sail locker in the forepeak. The heaving of the motorsailer's deck subsided enough to make Blade's trip aft easier than his trip forward. With only the mainsail and the number-two jib up, the yacht rode easily through the chop.

Annie was holding her on course with no sign of effort when Blade dropped down into the cockpit and squatted beside the wheel. «Think we can make Folkestone with the spinnaker down?» he asked.

She frowned. «Not unless we want to make the approach after dark.»

Blade shook his head.

She grinned and said, «You're as careful as if you'd been at sea for twenty years. Where did you ever learn the habit?»