Dimension Of Horror

Chapter 7

J pressed the rewind button, waited a moment, then pressed first the stop, then the play. For the fifteenth time the cassette player began again. A peculiar animal-like wheeze and snort issued from the loudspeaker.

«Reginald's snore,» J commented.

Lord Leighton nodded abstractedly.

«Our agent is to be commended,» J said. «It took considerable presence of mind to think of snatching that cassette and taking it with him when the building was bursting into flames around him.»

«Yes,» Leighton said, but the little hunchback's mind was obviously elsewhere.

J and Leighton had locked themselves into one of the electronics laboratories near the central KALI unit to discuss the morning's hotel fire and what they should do next. The two men were seated, in the diffused bluish light of the overhead fluorescent tubes, on either side of a black enameled-steel table on which rested the recorder, a delicate machine no bigger than a portable typewriter though it reproduced sound as well as all but the most elaborate stereos.

J went through his usual ceremony of lighting his pipe, the beloved dropstem his doctors assured him would sooner or later kill him, then puffed meditatively as the recorded snore continued. When all was well J could go for weeks without a smoke, but when the tension was too great he always relapsed.

On the tape there was a rustling.

«Reginald's waking up,» J said, exhaling a cloud of pungent blue smoke.

«Yes,» said Leighton.

From the recorder came Reginald's grunt of surprise.

«He must have noticed Mrs. Smythe-Evans was not with him,» J said.

Reginald was grumbling now in a low voice, but J could not make out what he was saying. The bedsprings creaked. There was the pad of bare feet crossing a carpet. A door opened. There was the rustle of clothing.

«He's at the closet, putting on his bathrobe,» said J.

Reginald said distinctly, «Where has that woman gone?» He sounded angry and suspicious.

«Here comes the knock at the door,» J predicted.

On the tape the knock sounded once, twice, three times. «Who can that be?» Reginald muttered. He crossed the room, his footsteps passing close to the hidden microphone. Reginald opened the hall door. J noted that Zoe had left it unlocked.

Reginald said, surprised, «What do you want, little girl?»

J leaned forward. No, the girl did not speak. J would have given a lot to hear her voice.

«Listen to this, Leighton,» snapped J.

Abruptly Reginald cried out, «My God! Your hand! It's on fire!»

Then came the roar of flame, a rushing, whooshing roar like a giant blast furnace-then silence.

J pressed the stop button. «Want to hear it again, Lord Leighton?»

«No, that's quite enough, thank you,» the scientist said.

J turned off the machine, saying, «I've known you a long time, Leighton. There's something you're keeping from me. I can sense it.»

Reluctantly Leighton nodded. «You're right, of course. But before I tell you, I want you to promise me something.»

«What?»

«Promise me you won't destroy KALI.»

J studied the little man intently before saying softly, «You have my word.»

«And another thing.»

«Yes?»

«Don't tell the Prime Minister what I'm about to tell you, at least not yet.»

«Very well.»

Leighton sighed, avoiding J's eyes. «Richard Blade had another of his fits early this morning. He got completely free of his fetters and smashed his bed into scrap iron, all the while screaming that word, 'Ngaa, Ngaa, Ngaa.' He kicked down his locked door and was some distance down the hall before the attendants could knock him out with the tranquilizer guns. I think our boy is developing an immunity to the drugs.»

«I don't see… «

Leighton raised a hand for silence, then went on. «Here's the point. His fit took place at exactly the same moment the fire started in Mrs. Smythe-Evans's hotel room.»

«Coincidence.»

«Really? What if I tell you that at that exact same moment, KALI turned itself on.»

J took his pipe from his mouth. «Turned itself on? How is that possible?»

«KALI is not like its predecessors. With KALI I've made the final step from manual control to full automation.»

«But surely there must be a man to push program start.»

Leighton shook his head. «No, not really. KALI can start itself. And it did so this morning.»

«Only because some human being put that into its program.»

Again the scientist shook his head. «That's not so. I believe I must explain something to you, something I assumed you knew all along, though now I see you haven't grasped it. From the beginning we've talked of first generation computers, second generation computers, third generation computers. Do you know what that means?»

J shrugged. «Something like model A, B, and C.»

A bitter smile appeared on Leighton's thin lips. «If only that were all. A second generation computer is programmed by a first generation computer, a third generation computer is programmed by a second generation computer, and so on.»

«You mean that KALI has been programmed by another computer, which in turn has been… «

«I see you understand.»

«How many generations is KALI removed from a human programmer, Leighton?»

«Seventy-five.»

«My God,» J said softly.

«KALI is far more complex than any human brain. No human brain can think as fast or as well. No human brain can hope, by any amount of study, to understand KALI. KALI has moved into a whole new order of magnitude. A cat or a dog can watch me at my workbench constructing an electric component, but the poor animal can never actually understand what I'm doing no matter how much he sniffs and paws. KALI's mind is to ours as ours is to an animal's! KALI's actions must remain forever a mystery to us because of the biological limitations built into us.»

«So all we can do with KALI is sniff and paw?»

«That's right.»

«There is one more thing we can do. We can pull the plug.»

«That is the one thing we must not do, my dear J.»

«Really? Why not?» J returned his pipe to his mouth and discovered it had gone out.

«The sort of thing that has been happening-the poltergeist phenomena, the voices, the haunting, if you will-sometimes happens without KALI's aid. I think the thing that came through KALI with Richard can sometimes manifest itself in our world without KALI's aid, though in a weaker form. Without KALI this thing Richard seems to call a Ngaa can reach us, but only with KALI's aid can we reach it.»

J relit his pipe and began to pace the room. «Damn. There's something in what you say, old boy. KALI is not like other computers. It's a computer linked to a human mind, drawing on the powers of both, including powers that ordinarily lie dormant, powers we might almost term supernatural. There was a Yank author-some called him the father of psychic research-named Charles Fort. In the early years of our century he wrote a book called Wild Talents in which he advanced the theory that poltergeist phenomena were caused by mental abilities we all possess, but which become active only if something, such as a powerful repressed emotion, provides our psyche with a special stimulation. Fort gathered an awesome mass of data to back up his idea, and it's dogma now to some of the leading psychic research societies. If Fort is right, KALI is not the gate through which the Ngaa enters our dimension. Richard Blade is the gate!»

The hunchback was silent a moment, his yellow-rimmed eyes unfocused, his wide forehead wrinkled in thought. At last he said, «it fits, J. When poor Dexter was taken to Scotland, the Ngaa went with him. It didn't stay here, as it would have done if it had been linked to the computer.» He thumped his small bony fist on the tabletop. «By Jove, I believe we are on the verge of a breakthrough.»

J halted his pacing and stared gloomily down at the scientist. «Perhaps so, Lord Leighton. We could use one! Do you realize how pitifully little we have learned about the X dimension with all our experiments, with all the time and money we've spent, with all the risks we've taken? Human beings have died and gone mad in our experiments, and what have we to show for it? Richard Blade has gone somewhere, but where?»

Leighton stared at the floor. «I have no idea. At the beginning I was full of pat explanations, but now… «

«He has brought back things,» J persisted, emphasizing his points with swift stabbing motions of his pipestem. «Things as big as a bathtub and a horse, and things made of materials so alien our best scientists have been unable to duplicate them. Where did these things come from?»

«I don't know,» Leighton admitted.

«And surely you've noticed the same mysterious anomalies I have in the stories Richard has related to us under hypnosis during his debriefings. Somehow he always seems to be able to speak the language of any dimension he enters without a single lesson. How can our supercomputers accomplish such a miracle?»

«I don't know.» There was an undertone of anguish in Leighton's voice.

«And have you noticed how each and every one of those alien dimensions seemed like a curiously distorted reflection of some era of our own known history? Celtic Britain. Ancient Rome. Feudal Japan. By God Leighton, where is this machine sending him? Backward in time? To some planet in another star system? To a parallel timetrack where society has evolved in a slightly different way? To a future so distant England has been completely forgotten? Where, Leighton, where?»

«I don't know,» Leighton repeated hopelessly.

J gestured in the direction of the room where KALI stood, waiting. «Could it be that Richard never leaves that room?»

«What?» Leighton looked up, startled.

«Could it be that those X dimensions are actually fantastically complex simulations existing within the computer? Could it be that all of Richard's adventures are built up out of bits and pieces of his own subconscious and given an illusion of reality by the computer?»

«It can't be merely an illusion,» Leighton objected. «Richard's body vanishes while he's gone.»

«Hundreds of people vanish every year, and even MI6 can't track them down, except for those who surface a few months later in Moscow with a briefcase full of top secret blueprints. The strange thing is not that he vanishes, but that he reappears.»

«If he reappears, the X dimensions must be real!» Leighton spoke with the air of a man grasping at straws.

«Unless Richard Blade is disintegrated into his component atoms and stored as bits of information in KALI's memory banks, then reconstituted with appropriate wounds and souvenirs after a suitable period of time, complete with implanted false memories of adventures that never happened. Can KALI do that?»

Stricken, Lord Leighton could only repeat, «I don't know.»

J began pacing again. «One thing we can be thankful for. If the Ngaa follows the same pattern this time as it did when it came through the computer with Dexter, we can expect the power of the creatures to gradually dwindle.»

«I wouldn't count on that,» Leighton said bleakly.

«Why not?»

«This time, when KALI turned itself on, something came through it.»

«What do you mean, 'something'?»

«I didn't see it, though I was in the room at the time, but it was recorded on our instruments. I can show you the graphs if… «

«Never mind the graphs, Leighton. Tell me, in plain words. What was it?»

In the blue-white fluorescent light Leighton's face was that of a dead man. «It was pure energy, J, the equivalent of hundreds of thousands of volts of electricity.»

On stepping out of the elevator, J was met by Dr. Ferguson. Ferguson wore an even more flamboyantly floral Hawaiian sport shirt than before, but there was nothing flamboyant about the fat man's bloodshot, haunted eyes.

«How is Mrs. Smythe-Evans?» J asked.

«She's taking it well,» the psychiatrist answered. «The woman's got courage. I offered her something to get her over the rough spots, but she turned me down.»

«May I visit her?»

«I don't see why not. She's lying down, but I don't think she's asleep. At least she wasn't when I looked in on her a half-hour ago. Room Eight, that way.» He indicated the direction with a weary gesture.

As J started down the hall, Ferguson fell in step beside him, saying, «The poltergeist nonsense has started again, you know, worse than ever. I thought it would die down if we waited long enough, but… «He shrugged.

«What happened?»

«Something picked up the filing cabinet in my office and threw it through the wall out into the passage. And did Leighton tell you things have been smashing themselves upstairs too, near KALI?»

«No, he kept quiet about that. He thinks that if I know how serious things have gotten, I'll take his wonderful electric toy away from him.»

«A capital idea, I'd say! I hope you do exactly that.»

«I don't plan to.»

«Why not, in God's name?»

«I want to try something else, first.»

«Do something, J! Anything! I'm supposed to be the great healer around here, but I'm about ready for a trip to Scotland myself.»

They halted outside Room Eight.

J said, «Unless I'm greatly mistaken, you'll have peace in this place tomorrow morning.»

Staring at J with unconcealed disbelief, the doctor opened the door. «A visitor, Mrs. Smythe-Evans,» he called with a false cheerfulness.

«Bring him in.» Her voice sounded tired.

In the doorway J said, «I hope I'm not intruding. If you'd like to rest… «

«I can't sleep. I might as well talk.» She was lying in bed, propped up on a pillow, wearing a white hospital gown.

J pulled up the room's one chair and sat down by her bedside.

«I have things to do,» Ferguson said apologetically. «If you need me, there's a button… «He backed out, bowing slightly, and closed the door.

When he was gone, Zoe said, «I don't like that man. He thinks all you have to do is take a pill and everything will be all right.»

«A common superstition of his profession,» J replied smoothly.

«Tell me about the fire. Were there many casualties?»

«Twenty-seven dead, by the latest count. I don't remember how many were hurt.»

«Twenty-seven dead.» She lay back and closed her eyes.

«I think I must be a very selfish woman. That number doesn't seem to mean anything to me.»

«No more selfish than the rest of us, Mrs. Smythe-Evans, though perhaps a bit more honest.»

«I don't think about all those poor people who got burned up. I don't even think very much about my husband, though he was a good man. I know to some he was a clown, a figure of fun, but he was kind most of the time, and trustworthy and reliable. Reliability is a vastly underrated virtue, I've come to believe. It's like a good English suit; a man can wear it for a long time and it still looks well on him. Yet, though I've honestly tried, I can't seem to burst into hysterical tears over Reginald. Is there something wrong with me?»

«No.»

«I'm going to shock you yet. My children. Mrs. Kelly. Are they among the twenty-seven?»

J hesitated, then nodded. «Yes, Mrs. Smythe-Evans.»

«You're sure?»

«They were… rather badly burned, but my men were able to identify them… by their teeth. Your family dentist came down from Norwich with their X-rays. He was very helpful.» J was choosing his words with care.

«You see how selfish I am? I don't even think about them, poor lads.» Her voice began to quaver and she paused before going on. «Except for Dickie. Dickie wasn't like the others.»

J thought she was indeed going to burst into tears, but she gave herself a little shake and opened her eyes. «You see? Selfish to the core! Reginald often accused me of that, of thinking only of myself, of loving only myself. It's a pity he can't be here to enjoy being right again, as he usually was.»

J said gently, «To be, as you put it, selfish may be an advantage in a situation like this. You can look at things calmly, plan for the future.»

«Future? What future?» she demanded. «I have no future.»

«It may not appear so, but… «

«I haven't worked at a regular job since my marriage. I have, unfortunately, been a completely faithful wife and mother, and so haven't got a lover waiting in the wings to spirit me away to a new and better life. Oh, I'm sure I won't starve. There will still be plenty of money in the Smythe-Evans coffers, even after inheritance taxes. But a future? That's too grand a word to describe the years I'll be spending in that ugly house in Norwich, listening to echoes and washing dishes for myself, discreetly and with dignity turning into a hag.»

«Surely it's not as bad as all that.»

«No?» She sat upright and glared at him. «Can you think of anyone on God's green earth who would offer decent employment to a woman of my age and inexperience?»

«Yes I can.»

«Who?» Her tone was almost contemptuous.

«Me, Mrs. Smythe-Evans, on behalf of Her Majesty's Special Services, Department MI6A.»

«You've finally taken leave of your senses, my dear J,» Lord Leighton said, more amused than angry.

Dr. Ferguson, not so good-humoredly, agreed. «That's a layman's diagnosis, but I cannot help but concur.»

J, Leighton and Ferguson were in what remained of Ferguson's office. Ferguson sat behind his desk, J sat near the gaping hole in the wall, and Leighton sat near the badly dented filing cabinet, which had been returned to its place against the back of the room. The cabinet was so bent that J suspected it could not be opened without a crowbar.

Leighton continued with agitation, «Of all of us, you've always been the most sticky about security clearances and all that rot, but now… «

J smiled. «Mrs. Smythe-Evans is no security risk. I'm certain of that. You see, many years ago I took the liberty of starting a security check on the lady when it appeared that Blade might marry her. He would have had to violate the Official Secrets Act to do it, of course, but he was a hot-blooded lad in those days, if you'll recall. He broke off with her before the investigation was complete, but we've kept track of her ever since. She has never in her life joined any of the wrong organizations, signed any of the wrong petitions, or had any of the wrong friends. Moreover, if she was an agent, even a sleeper under deep cover, we would find her somewhere closer to the seats of power, not married to a C.P.A. in a place like Norwich. I've reactivated her security check, and we should have an official clearance within a fortnight.»

Ferguson said stiffly, «Wait until then to swear her in.»

J chuckled. «It seems you were not listening, Ferguson old boy. I said I've already sworn her in.»

«You can revoke… «began the little fat man.

«I've made up my mind, gentlemen. I revoke nothing. If she doesn't work out, I take full responsibility. Really, since the Katerina Shumilova affair I've become more than somewhat skeptical about the effectiveness of our security precautions. We would probably get a higher percentage of loyal, patriotic Britons if we chucked the whole bloody screening process and recruited our people by lottery from the local Salvation Army breadline.» J took out his omnipresent pipe and began filling it with an air of satisfaction.

Lord Leighton said gloomily, «What's done is done, I suppose, but I can't see the good of it.»

J answered, tamping down his tobacco, «The simple truth is that we need her. She was able to get a reaction out of Richard… «

«A violent reaction,» put in Ferguson.

«But a reaction nonetheless,» J said. «As things stand, literally everything depends on Richard Blade's recovery.» He paused to let this sink in. «Therefore I think we must work closely with her, hiding nothing from her, granting her an unlimited need-to-know. How could we do that if she wasn't one of us, eh?» He lit up, exhaling little puffs of blue-white smoke. The air was filled with the strong but not unpleasant aroma of crude sailor's rough-cut tobacco.

«I see there's no arguing with you,» Ferguson sighed. «I'll simply have to get used to a strange woman wandering about, without training or aptitude, meddling here, meddling there, asking all manner of absurd questions.»

«Not at all, not at all,» J assured him. «Mrs. Smythe-Evans will be leaving your domain tonight. So will I.»

«But your friend Blade… «said Ferguson, surprised.

«Richard Blade will be going with us,» J said quietly.

«See here, I… «Ferguson sputtered. «My patient… «

«Your patient must be removed from the neighborhood of the KALI computer,» J said. «Surely you see that. From what little we know about this Ngaa creature, it will probably follow Richard when he leaves, and we must get the Ngaa away from that computer if we hope to prevent it recharging itself at intervals, growing larger and stronger and more dangerous. The Ngaa is no longer a playful nuisance, gentlemen. It has murdered twenty-seven people in a particularly disagreeable fashion. It could kill again at any moment, and we have no defense against it. It could be in this room, listening to every word we say. It could be reading our minds. Yes, I think it likely the creature reads minds. I think it can also project images, make us see things that aren't there. No, doctor, we must snatch Richard Blade away from here, far away. Even Scotland may be too close.»

«I gather I am being taken off the case,» Ferguson said with ill-concealed resentment.

«At least for the time being,» J replied.

«And who will take my place?»

I said thoughtfully, «There is only one other man at all familiar with the ways of the Ngaa. Dr. Saxton Colby.»

Ferguson sniffed. «Colby? I understood he'd been drummed out of the corps for conduct unbecoming to a savior.»

Lord Leighton chuckled, but J said, «Quite so, old chap, but all the same he's the man we need. He's had more experience with the Ngaa than any of us, and he's had time to think about it. I daresay he's come to some interesting conclusions.»

Lord Leighton put in, «Hmm, whatever happened to old Colby? Where did he go?»

«I've made an educated guess, as it were,» J answered, then he pointed to the telephone on Ferguson's desk with his pipestem. «If I'm right, that phone should ring any time now.»

«What nonsense,» Ferguson snorted. «That phone won't… «

The phone rang.

Ferguson snatched it up. «Dr. Ferguson speaking! You want to talk to J?»

He handed over the receiver, muttering softly.

«This is J speaking. You remember me?»

A familiar voice sounded in J's ear, somewhat distorted but clearly recognizable. «Of course I do, sir. Did you have your agents track me down?»

«No, I didn't, Dr. Colby,» said J, amused. «Ma Bell-as the Americans call her-found you for me. I thought you'd moved to Berkeley, California because of your daughter, you see. I had our telephone operator call Berkeley information, and there was your name, no doubt, in the Berkeley telephone book.»

Colby had a deep, well-modulated voice that his patients must have found soothing. «So you know about my daughter?»

«Dr. MacMurdo told me the whole story.»

«Then you're probably doubly glad to be rid of me, knowing I'm not only depraved but a raving lunatic.» Beneath

Colby's bantering was an undertone of deep, long-nurtured resentment.

«Not at all, doctor. In fact, as far as I'm concerned, you're completely vindicated.»

There was a long silence, then Colby said, «Isn't it a bit late? I've built up a new life for myself here. I couldn't come back to England and work for you again even if I wanted to, and I'm not sure I do. I don't mean to sound ungrateful, sir, but… «He broke off. He had sounded ungrateful indeed. J thought, I can't blame him, of course. I would have felt the same way. When Colby continued, it was with a new tone, a tone of suspicion and a dawning apprehension. «This long distance call must be costing you a pretty penny, sir. Perhaps you'd better come to the point. Why did you phone me?»

«I've seen your daughter.»

«Jane?»

«Yes.»

«In London?»

«Yes.»

«My daughter is dead, sir. She died a long time ago, here in Berkeley.» The apprehension was open now, a genuine fear.

«I know. Nevertheless I saw her.»

«I've studied this matter for many years, sir. Once I thought, as you do, that I saw her, but now I've become convinced that what I thought was her was something else, something pretending to be her, not a ghost, but something far more dangerous.»

«I quite agree,» J said.

Suddenly, impulsively, Dr. Colby burst out, «I've changed my mind. I am coming to London. I must come!»

«That will not be necessary, Doctor Colby. We would like to come to you, bringing-ah-Jane with us. We will need a room for-er-someone, a room with a lock on the door and, if possible, a fence around the building.»

«I understand perfectly. As it happens, sir, I am still plying my trade. I have a small private sanitarium here in the Berkeley hills, in an old mansion that once functioned as an exclusive ballet school. We have locks on the doors and a high wire-mesh fence. No one has ever left without my permission.»

«Excellent. We'll hop a jet and see you in a few hours.»

«I'll meet you at the airport.»

«That will be most kind of you, doctor. And could you bring an ambulance with facilities for restraining an-er-unruly patient?»

«We have such a vehicle.»

«I'll have Copra House phone you our ETA. Goodbye, Colby, and thank you for forgiving us.»

A moment later J was on the line to Copra House, arranging for the flight.

This done, he turned to Ferguson and said, «I want Richard Blade unconscious until we are in the air, and I mean out cold. Do you understand? If he got rough on the way to the airport, I'm not certain we could handle him.»

The fat man nodded. «He can sleep his way across the Atlantic, if you wish.»

«Make that all the way to California, if you can do it without harming him,» said J.

«He'll be all right.» Ferguson lurched to his feet and waddled toward the door. «Do you want some tranquilizer for Mrs. Smythe-Evans?»

J stood up with a grunt. «Zoe doesn't like drugs.»

Ferguson paused in the doorway to pass a wink to Lord Leighton. «Well, well,» chortled the psychiatrist. «So it's Zoe already, is it? The old rascal hasn't wasted much time getting on a first-name basis, has he?»

After accepting the bribe, the burly orderly continued to hover around behind her with a worried frown on his face.

«I'll be all right,» Zoe assured him. «If anything happens I'll call for you.»

Reluctantly the orderly went out into the hall and left her alone with Richard.

She approached the foot of the bed, barefoot, clad in a hospital gown, with her purse clutched in her hands.

Richard was asleep, breathing gently, lying on his side. He was free to toss and turn if he wanted to; the orderly had told her Ferguson had ordered the restraining straps removed. They were useless against Blade's appalling strength. All the orderlies and nurses were now armed with tranquilizer pistols. Drugs, it seemed, were the only things that could stop Blade when one of the fits came on.

She halted, gazing uncertainly across the expanse of rumpled blankets at the half-hidden, square-cut face she knew so well. She had watched him sleep many times, long ago.

As she looked at him, year after year fell away into unreality. She had had a husband. Or had she? She had had children. Or had she? She had had-and still had-a home, a comfortable if tasteless cottage in a small English town. Even that had become vague in her mind, dreamlike. Does one remember what one does while sitting in a waiting room? Does one remember the things one does to kill time?

«Richard,» she said softly.

He did not stir.

She moved to his bedside and stood looking down at him. How many mornings had she stood like this in the quiet cottage in Dorset, listening to the distant booming of the sea? How many times had they played the poetry game, one of them quoting a line from a famous poem, then the other trying to quote another line from the same poem?

She thought of Matthew Arnold's «Dover Beach.»

«Dick?» she called gently.

He slept on.

She closed her eyes, trying to remember the poem exactly, word for word. Over the years it came back to her. She began, «The sea is calm tonight… «Damn! How did the next line go?

«The tide is full, the moon lies fair upon the straits,» said Richard Blade.

With a startled cry she leaped back, opening her eyes, almost dropping her purse.

Richard was looking up at her, his dark eyes serious but sane. «Good morning, darling,» he said in that cheerful well-spoken light baritone of his.

«Are you… are you all right?» she asked fearfully.

«Of course I'm all right. I had a damnable nightmare, that's all. It was one of those bloody awful things that runs on and on, one disaster after another. It seems you married some silly accountant, and there was a machine in it that kept sending me into one hell after another.» He raised himself on his elbow and smiled. «No use talking about it. Nothing like that could really happen. Could it, Zoe?»

«No, no, nothing like that could happen.»

Blade looked around, frowning with puzzlement. «Where am I? Is this some sort of hospital?»

«Yes. You've… you've had an accident.» Impulsively she stepped toward him and patted his head.

«What kind of accident?» he demanded.

She tried to think of something plausible, but her mind had gone blank.

«Wait! I think I remember.» His powerful fingers closed on her wrist. «A blue cloud. Fire. Pain. Oh my God, the Ngaa! The Ngaa!» His voice rose to a scream. «Oh my God, it's getting into my head!»

«Let me go, Dick.» His grip tightened painfully. «Please. Please!»

He did not let go, but screamed wordlessly, thrashing from side to side, his face contorted into a mask of terror, pulling her off her balance. She fell on top of him, sprawling and struggling. «Help!» she screamed. «Help me someone!»

Abruptly he released her and fell back on his pillow, eyes open but blank, face expressionless. She staggered away, half-blinded by her own sudden tears.

«Dick?» she called.

He did not answer, or show in any way that he heard her.

The door burst open and the burly orderly rushed in, tranquilizer gun in hand.

«Is he havin' another of his fits?» the man asked, taking aim.

«Don't shoot him. He's quiet now.» She groped her way into the hall.

Dimly she saw J, Lord Leighton and Dr. Ferguson coming toward her on the run. She threw herself into J's arms.

«What's going on here?» asked J.

«He spoke to me,» she sobbed.

«Blade? He spoke to you?» J was astonished.

«He sounded perfectly normal, except that he thought he was back in the time when he and I… «She could not go on.

«What did he say?» Dr. Ferguson broke in.

«He recited a line of poetry, the same line I heard in my hotel room, the night of… the night of the fire.» She was thinking, was it Richard Blade who'd spoken to her just now, or was it someone else?