"I concentrated, all right. "The next thing I knew I was standing on it. And oh, boy! the Earth is damn big, looking up, or down, at it." The Chief choked on cigarette smoke. He gasped finally, "You mean to tell me you were on the moon?" "It was the moon, all right. I know. I scrambled right back here on terra firma in a big hurry, too. There are some things on that satellite of ours-- "This morning I tried destroying matter. You saw how it worked. I've tried making things grow. That works, too. It's unlimited, this power. Anything that is limitless is--infinite." Doctor Wooden put his cigarette into a bowl of water. Jonathan flipped his out the window, and watched it arc downwards. They stood silent, frowning. Doctor Wooden roused himself slowly. "You can turn this gift into the greatest benefit to mankind the world has ever known, Jonathan. You can investigate scientific mysteries at the source. You could find cures. You could--" Jonathan waved a big hand. "I know. I've thought of all that. But I'm worried. I've a feeling that this power was given to me for a certain purpose. To enable me to do something even bigger. No force we know could have done this to me. It came from outside, beyond the Earth. It _must_ have. There is something out there that needs--or wants--me. Maybe that voice did get in a few subconscious suggestions, after all. Wherever it came from, I should find that voice." "You could explore the universe," murmured Dr. Wooden thoughtfully. "I may have to. I'm going to search all space if need be. I can't hold back. Perhaps the voice implanted that, too. An urge to go out there among the stars and look for it. The wanderlust. It's a thing like thirst and hunger, that is a part of you." "When do you intend leaving?" "Tonight. At once, perhaps. Why wait for night? Oh, God, I don't know what to say, what to think. But I'm going." Dr. Wooden caught him by the arm, drawing him into the next room. It was a smaller laboratory, bare but for long chrome tables with metal cradles hung from tripods resting on their tops. In each cradle was pouched a block of crystalline rock formation, semi-transparent, with fine veins of iridescent color interlacing with each other to form weird patterns in the milky depths. "You're young, Jonathan, and you're imaginative. I'm not trying to dissuade you. I just want you to consider." He put his hands on the rocks in the cradles. These stones were calcatryte, dredged accidently in a scoop shovel off Great Barrier Reef and sent to the National Foundation for testing. Dr. Wooden bit his lips. Jonathan knew what restraint he was exercising. This research institute was his heart's dream, with its marble halls and linoleum lab floors, its chrome tables. He had two things in his life: the Institute, and his theory. And Jonathan was part of both.