Leighton nodded. «We took Blade's qualities and set up a series of indicators. A hundred of them, each with a scale of zero to one. Then we graded all of the other possible candidates that you and the Prime Minister together had presented, using the same indicators. You've seen the results.»

J sighed wearily. «I know. Blade works out to 92.7 out of a possible 100. The next highest, an American Special Forces man assigned to the CIA, works out to 64.3.»

«And the doctors and psychiatrists have interpreted that to mean that he has virtually no chance of making a trip into Dimension X and coming back alive and sane,» said Leighton. «We did a rough application of these indicators to that poor fellow who did come back insane, and he worked out to 77.1. The guess right now is that nobody with much below an 85 is even worth trying out. It would be sheer murder to send them through the computer.»

J felt like using the kind of language he hadn't used in forty years. He had to take several deep breaths until the urge passed. Then he asked, «Are you sure that we've got a comparable amount of information on all the other men? After all, Richard's been examined more thoroughly than any other ten men in the world today, and by the best doctors and psychiatrists.»

«I thought of that,» replied Leighton. «But it doesn't matter. The difference between Blade and the others is too big for any lack of information to account for it. No, we just have to face the fact that Blade is the most nearly perfect human being known today.»

«Perhaps you should tell him that someday.»

Lord Leighton's white eyebrows went up. «How do you think he'd take it?»

J fixed the scientist with a cold stare. «Having known Richard for longer than you have, I would say he'd take it-like a gentleman.»

While Leighton and J sat and argued in the office far underground, the «most nearly perfect human being» was sitting in a taxi on his way to the Tower of London. He was cold, because the early autumn evening was unseasonably chilly. And he was impatient, because a proper London fog was moving in on the city and the poor visibility had slowed the taxi to a crawl. If the driver couldn't speed things up a bit, Blade was half inclined to get out and walk the rest of the way to the Tower.