Down the corridors of time he passed, seeking death as many seek wealth. In peace and war, he was ever in the most dangerous occupations. When aviation came in, he was one of the first and most reckless pilots. Then space travel merged from dreams into reality.... Carlyle became a test pilot, taking on million-mile journeys any craft with a rocket tube and a steering device. To his disgust, he always came back. He had not the courage to shatter the crystal heart and grow old swiftly. He who had condemned so many beautiful women to death was now chained to something worse--eternal life. II "Mr. Carlyle! _Mr. Carlyle._ Are you all right?" Thaddeus Carlyle came out of his revery with a start, to hear the shrill rasping of the _televis_ on his desk. His hand snapped the instrument on. "Sorry, Mrs. Loomis," he muttered. "I must have been napping." The face of his middle-aged secretary looked relieved. "Captain Wolfe is here," she told him. "About the new secretary, you know." "Send them in," Carlyle grunted. He swore softly to himself. Too often lately he had dozed off at the wrong times. He was due for another replenishment, and he cursed his luck that it had to come now. Tomorrow he was leaving in his giant salvage ship, the _Friar Bacon_, for the newly-discovered sargasso off the orbit of Pluto. Nor could the trip be postponed. But the renewal of his life-spirit could not wait either. He was a little too tired at night, a little too slow to react. But the certainty was in him that he would not survive the trip to the new salvage fields, with its attendant rigors. Captain Wolfe, chief officer of the _Friar_, entered with a small, dark-haired young person at his side. "You're in luck, Chief!" he grinned. "I told you I'd find an A-1 secretary for you, and I think I've got her. Miss Holland, meet Thaddeus Carlyle--and don't say you haven't heard of him. Mr. Carlyle, this is Ann Holland." The two exchanged acknowledgments, and Carlyle drew up chairs. "We'll have to be brief," he said. "I've got a thousand things to attend to before night. Now--you have the report from the company doctor?" Ann Holland took a folded slip from her purse and tendered it to the owner of Salvage Lines, Incorporated. Carlyle took the opportunity to appraise her swiftly. He hardly need to scan the physician's report to know her health was boundless. It glowed in the soft rose color of her cheeks, the sparkle of her dark eyes. Her brown hair was carefully combed back from a smooth forehead. The report bore out his supposition. Carlyle questioned her briefly about her qualifications as a stenographer and secretary. Everything was satisfactory, and the references she had to show were excellent. Carlyle handed back the papers. "I think I'm lucky to get so well-spoken of a secretary on such short notice," he smiled.