Lord L stepped aside and let Blade precede him through the door. He said nothing.

As Blade took the last few steps into the computer launch chamber, the words of Sir Charles Sherrington echoed in his brain. The brain that Sir Charles had been describing when he called it «an enchanted loom where millions of flashing shuttles weave a dissolving pattern.»

Yes. It was all of that. The thought only hardened Blade's resolve. After this time no more tampering. Fini. Kaput. All over.

The small glass cage stood as always, containing the chair with its straps and electrodes. Blade hesitated for just a moment, then strode over to the chair and sat down. Lord L began to tape the shiny-headed electrodes to his greased body. The old man worked silently and intently, frowning and mumbling to himself, the usual bandinage missing. Once, as he taped an electrode to Blade's naked skull, Lord L did pat his shoulder. I am not forgiven, Blade thought, but he is a professional and it is business as usual.

The preparations went on. Blade felt himself going rigid and tense, though he willed against it, and the queasy liquid of fear began to seep through him. There was no way to dam the fear, to hold it back-not in these latter days-and so he let it flow. It would vanish soon enough when he went through the computer and found himself in a new dimension fighting for his life. It always came to that. It was never easy.

Blade stared at the instrument panel on the far wall, concentrating on the red toggle that, in a minute or so now, Lord L would pull and so catapult Blade into-what?

Lord L taped the last electrode into place and went to the instrument board. His hand hovered over the red toggle.

«A final chance, Richard. Won't you consider-wait a month or so-or perhaps we can scrub your mission altogether and let your backup man do this mission?»