«Who gives a bloody good goddamn about the Prime Minister!»

Lord L hobbled around and around his desk. His thin white hair floated atop his pink skull and his leonine eyes had a baleful gleam. He pointed a graphite-stained finger at J.

«You know what you can bloody well do with the PM! It is my experiment I'm concerned with. This is our last chance, damn it. You know that, J. After this mission they will cut off our funds, and that will be the end of Project DX. It's a shame, a crime, a criminal waste and worse stupidity, but that is what they will do.»

J crossed his tweedy knees, blew on his pipe and gave the old man an insincere smile. «Maybe not. Not if we bring back some treasure this time.»

Lord L clenched a gnarled fist and shook it at the ceiling. «Treasure shit. Those fools can only think in terms of material things-gold, platinum, gems, uranium! Stupid pots that can't see beyond their noses. Project DX is treasure, damn it. The greatest discovery ever made by man. DX makes the moon landings look like a row on the Thames. We send a man into new dimensions, into dimensions that people do not even know exist, cannot conceive of existing, and we get him back safely. Five times we have done this, and those misbegotten bastards want to close us down because we aren't showing a profit. Suppose the Americans had thought so-they would never have landed on the moon!»

«A nation of shopkeepers,» J said smugly. «Profit or we don't play.» He began to ream his pipe. The worst was over. Lord L had forgotten his immediate displeasure with Blade, and with J, and had taken off on the powers that be. The thing was-and J, even loathing the X missions as he did, had to admit it-that the old man was right.

The outburst was over. Lord L went back to his desk and slid into his chair like an old crab, easing his hump.