His theory was this: that somewhere in the world there is an element, a substance, that would emit _straight_ light as one of its properties. Light that did not curve as all light did. Light that would, by its very rigidity, cut through the atomic structure of other matter by the sheer energy of its photons, cutting a path in a thing by ripping electrons from their beds. A light to outmode all cutting and sawing instruments; a ray that would be easy to handle, and inexpensive to operate. Many elements they had tested and tried; many tested, many thrown aside. When the calcatryte had been brought in, they had not even hoped. But _it_ gave off straight light. "The credit is yours, Jonathan," the doctor was saying. "You've done a lot. It was your discovery, the tungsten beam that heated the rocks to the pitch high enough to rip those rays from it. Uncurvable rays. A series of lines of unbendable light. I'll harness that light, soon." "I know. But there's that urge in me. The wanderlust." "You're giving up a lot. Fame. Maybe fortune." Jonathan grinned a little, saying, "Maybe I've gotten a lot more in exchange." "Damn it, Jonathan. What the hell's the matter with me? I'm _jealous_, boy. If I were in your boots, I'd kick the ribs out of any old codger that tried to talk me out of the greatest experience in the history of mankind!" Jonathan put his big hand on the other's shoulder and squeezed it, hard. The Chief took out his handkerchief and blew his nose. "Let's go," he said hoarsely. "There's no sense in hanging around here any longer. Not when you can go--where you're going." It was a Saturday afternoon. There was no one in the great quadrangle between the buildings. They walked along a path, smoking their farewells together; headed toward the quad. Jonathan stepped onto the lawn. He bent and undressed, and handed his clothes and shoes to Dr. Wooden. "I left a letter for you," he said. "And a power of attorney. I don't know when I'll be back. Or--whether." Jonathan turned, stood erect; sunlight glinted on the white tones of his flesh, shading the ribs and the ridges of muscle on arms and legs, on shoulder and belly. He lifted his arms, and his face grew hard with his effort at concentration. Watching, Dr. Wooden smothered a curse. Before his eyes the form of Jonathan Morgan was expanding, growing. Its substance swelled and rippled outward in a vast cloud of tiny motes of matter shimmering and glittering with opalescent hues. "He's turned his structure into gas," he muttered. The gas that was a man swept upward and onward with the speed of thought itself. II Eternal night glimmered black and velvety, flecked with dots of pale blue-white. All around lay the vast universe; silent, but alive with glaring suns and great orbs that were the planets, known and unknown. Here teemed life among the far reaches of vast space.