Джеффри Лорд: Return To Kaldak

Not just any natives, though. Blade alone or Cheeky alone probably wouldn't appear suspicious. The two of them together could be. In a Dimension advanced enough to produce hovercraft and antigravity, the people would have many ways to discover the origin and identity of two such suspicious strangers. That meant danger to the Dimension X secret, and Blade's most important duty was always to protect that secret. He had to be ready to kill anybody or let himself be killed, rather than let anyone seriously suspect the existence of inter-Dimensional travel.

So he would have to find a community so isolated that even if they got suspicious, they might not be able to get word to the authorities or convince them if they did. It should also have so few people that he could kill them himself if necessary.

Blade devoutly hoped it wouldn't be necessary. He didn't like killing anybody, and certainly never peasants who probably wouldn't even know that they'd learned something dangerous. However, Blade was alive and sane after so many years as an agent and a traveler in far Dimensions because he could and would kill where necessary, as efficiently and ruthlessly as if he did enjoy it.

The first people he'd try were the fishermen on the river. He wouldn't signal them from the bank, though. Such signals might attract other people's attention. Better to find a fishing village.

Blade looked back toward the wooded hill. From the top of one of those trees, he could see a good deal of countryside. Once he'd found the nearest fishing settlement, he could spy it out at night, then approach the people tomorrow morning. Being that careful would take a lot of time, when every hour counted, but not being careful-

Blade started to turn, then his instinct for danger suddenly flashed a warning: turn around slowly. He did so, keeping his hands well away from his sides and spreading out his fingers to show that he was unarmed.

Five men in green coveralls were standing among the trees. Four wore a variety of hats, and one a steel helmet. If they were soldiers, they must have armed themselves from a museum. One carried a crossbow, very much like Blade's except that the bow and winch were metal. Two carried what looked like turn-of-the-century army rifles with magazines and short thick bayonets. The man with the helmet carried a long-barreled pistol. The last man-Blade now saw it was a woman-carried something futuristic, made of what looked like black plastic.

One of the riflemen took Blade's stare as a hostile gesture. He raised his weapon and took aim. The helmeted man drew his pistol and knocked the barrel of the rifle up just in time. The bullet whistled over Blade's head. Before the man could fire again his leader was cursing him-and Blade stopped as if he'd grown roots.

He'd heard the language before. It was reaching his ears as English, thanks to the usual change in his brain as he passed into Dimension X. But he'd learned that if he concentrated and didn't try to translate, he could hear the original words clearly enough to recognize them.

The soldiers were speaking the language of Kaldak and Doimar, the rival cities of a war-scarred Dimension groping its way back to civilization. He'd been there two trips ago. Before he left, he'd temporarily ended the rivalry by teaching Kaldak to use the ancient weapons of the fallen civilization, overcoming centuries of superstitious fear. Doimar's army was smashed, and at least a chance for recovery had been brought to the Dimension. It was one of his proudest accomplishments.

Now he was back in the same Dimension. A Dimension where he could easily be a legend, and which might have scientists who could learn the Dimension X secret from his return!

Since doing anything right now would probably get him shot, Blade decided to do nothing. Getting himself killed here seemed a somewhat drastic way of protecting the Dimension X secret.

Blade slowly raised his hands and stood still. The crossbowman slung his weapon on his back and searched Blade. He took both knives and emptied the rucksack in search of more weapons. He didn't seem to find anything in the sack suspicious. Finally he put everything back and laid it at Blade's feet, with a gesture for Blade to put it back on.

Blade did so, feeling relieved. It didn't look like a case of «escape or die,» at least for now. He could safely stay in these people's hands for a while. If they became friendly enough to talk to him-

But if they got that friendly and talk started, where would it end? How could he be sure the conversation wouldn't take a dangerous turn? He wouldn't have to actually reveal his identity, either. It would be enough to do something to make them suspect that he'd been in Kaldak before. Then they'd ask him where and when and why, and if there were any flaws in his answer. .

He'd have to be more careful than usual to say as little as possible and get the other people to talk freely. He usually tried this anyway the first few days in a new Dimension, since it was the best and safest way of learning his way around. Now the stakes were higher. He'd be best off if he could get by without saying anything at all.

He could pretend to have lost his memory and not know who he was, where he was from, or where he was now. He'd done this before, and he doubted that anyone in this Dimension was as good at breaking cover stories or detecting acts as the Russian secret police, whom he had outwitted in the past. Once he'd learned what it was safe for him to be and to know, he could pretend to slowly recover his memory.

Of course if they shot amnesiacs like diseased animals in this Dimension he'd be jumping out of the frying pan into the fire! The Kaldakans hadn't done it the last time, though. He was willing to gamble they hadn't acquired the habit in however many years had passed here since then.

The five soldiers passed Blade's knives around and talked about them. This gave Blade a chance to make his face blank and relax his body until it would seem clumsy. His mind was anything but blank, however, and all his senses were even more awake than usual.

«All right,» said the helmeted man. «Who are you, and why are you running around here in that clothing?»

Blade frowned. «Who am I?»

«I asked you.» The man spat on the ground, but the woman frowned and pointed at herself.

«My name is Sparra.» She pointed at the helmeted man. «He is Chyatho. He leads us.»

«Leads?»

The rifleman raised his weapon, and this time Chyatho didn't stop him. «Who are you?» said Chyatho again, more harshly.

«I think-I am a man,» said Blade slowly.

«You call that thinking?» said the rifleman, without lowering his weapon.

«Peace, Terbo,» said the woman Sparra. «Perhaps it is the best thinking he can do.» She stepped up to Blade. «Bow your head.» She repeated the words twice, then tried to show him what she meant. Seen from close up, she was attractive. Her figure was strong and full under her coveralls, and she had beautiful eyes and a wide, mobile mouth.

Blade, acting the part of a simpleton to the hilt, raised one hand and stroked Sparra's cheek. This almost got him more than he bargained for. Chyatho raised his pistol. The click as he cocked it made Sparra turn around.

«No, Chyatho!»

«Why not?»

«We do not know who he is yet.»

«He is a man who touched you.»

«You do not own me, even if I have given you a child.»

«I should be able to keep other men away from you, at least.»

«I can do that well enough myself, thank you.»

«When you want to, yes.»

«Of course. Sometimes I do not want to. You cannot make me want to, either. And none of this has anything to do with this man.» She sighed. «Bow your head, stranger.»

This time Blade obeyed. She searched his scalp, probing in his dark hair with long, sure fingers.