Jazz jumped to his feet, stepped toward Khuv. Vyotsky put himself in the way, said: ‘Come on then, British, try me.’
Jazz backed off a pace. He would dearly love to ‘try’ the big Russian, but in his own time, his own place. To Khuv he said: ‘You force me through that damned Gate and you’re no more than a murderer!’
‘No,’ Khuv shook his head. ‘I am a patriot, devoted to my country’s welfare. You are the murderer, Michael! Have you forgotten Boris Dudko, the man you killed on top of the ravine?’
‘He tried to kill me!’ Jazz protested.
‘He did not,’ Khuv shook his head, ‘ – but if he had tried at least he would have had the right.’ And here Khuv feigned outrage. ‘What? An enemy agent engaged in espionage, deep inside a peaceful country’s borders? Of course he had the right! And we also have the right to take your life.’
That’s against every convention!’ Jazz knew he had no argument, but anything was worth the shot.
‘On this occasion,’ Khuv answered evenly, ‘there are no conventions. We must dispose of you, surely you can see that? And in any case, it will not be murder.’
‘Won’t it?’ Jazz flopped down again on his bed. ‘Well, you can call it an experiment if you want to, but I call it murder. Jesus! You’ve seen what comes through that sphere or Gate or whatever! What chance will one man have in the world they come from?’
‘A very small one,’ Khuv answered, ‘but better than none at all.’
Jazz thought about it, tried to imagine what it would be like, tried to get his suddenly whirling thoughts into order. ‘A man alone,’ he finally said, ‘in a place like that. And I don’t even know what “like that” means.’
Khuv nodded. ‘Sobering, isn’t it? But … not necessarily a man alone . . .’
Jazz stared at him. ‘Someone’s going in with me?’
‘Sadly, no,’ Khuv smiled. ‘Shall we say instead that someone – three someones – have already gone?’
Jazz shook his head. ‘I can’t keep up with you,’ he admitted.
The first was a convicted thief and murderer, a local man. He was given a choice: execution or the Gate. Not much of a choice, really, I suppose. We equipped him, as we’ll equip you, and sent him through. He had a radio but never used it, or if he did the Gate was a barrier. But it was worth a try; it would have been something of a novelty to receive radio transmissions from another universe, eh? He also had food concentrates, weapons, a compass – and most important – a great desire to live. His equipment was all of the very highest quality, and there was plenty of it – far more than I’ve mentioned here. You shall have no less, maybe even more. It’s al! a question of what you can carry, or what you’re willing to carry. Anyway, after a fortnight we wrote him off. If there was a way back, he didn’t find it – or maybe something found him first. I say we’ve written him off, but of course he may still be alive on the other side. After all, we don’t know what it’s like there.
‘Next we tried an esper – ah, yes! One of our very own elite! His name was, perhaps still is, Ernst Kopeler, a man with the astonishing power to see something of the future. What a waste, you are thinking, to send such a man through the Gate! Alas, Kopeler could never see eye to eye with our way of life. Twice he tried to – how do you say it – defect? That’s how you say it, yes, but we call it vile treachery. The fool; with a talent like his, he expected freedom, too! His real reasons in the end were most ironic: he had apparently looked into his own future -and had found it monstrous, unbearable!’
Jazz considered that. ‘He knew he was going through the Gate,’ he said.
Khuv shrugged. ‘Possibly. But, how do the Spanish say it? Que sera sera? Men cannot avoid their tomorrows, Michael. The sun sets, and it rises again for all of us.’