He hated the necessity of sending Richard Blade to Dimension X again, but how did they expect him to work with imperfect instruments? Other men simply could not do the job, he thought. Why couldn't J understand his position? Why did J insist on making him out to be such an inhumane monster?

He took a list of names from a desk drawer and examined it, ticking off one name after the other. He shook his head. They were all good men-Robbins, Stanbury, Hunt, Swinton, Peterson-all adequately trained and conditioned, as much as any man could be for an adventure in Dimension X. But they all had one fault in common. They lacked perfection. Only Richard Blade was perfect for the job at hand. And they all lacked experience. Only Blade had that, had been through the computer, had survived in Dimension X and had managed to return with his health and sanity. Not that there hadn't been a few complications-there had. No denying the boy had had some bad times. There had been the drinking, the sexual fury, the total blackouts and the bouts of depression. One had to expect that when a brain was exposed to the computer so many times.

Yet the boy had survived. His body was healthy and his mind clear. And he would, if it was put to him the right way, go through the computer again. Of that Lord Leighton was certain.

He picked up a phone and dialed Blade's flat. Let J rant all he liked, he thought, Project DX came first. While he waited, he crumpled the list of names and flung it at a wastebasket. None of them would do. None of them could survive out there. Only Blade could do it.

The phone rang on and on. Lord L scowled. Where could the lad be? He had been calling for a week now, and never any answer. And yet Blade must be in London.