Belden had hunted for it. Had torn this place apart. And Darling had hunted for it, too. Darling, who had thought he had it, who had played a trick on Nevin and Cartwright so he could be sure he had it, who had drank himself to death trying to find the bottle he had it in. And all these years the hormones had been in this bottle on the mantel! Someone else had played a trick on all of them. Langdon, maybe. Langdon, who had been given away as a pet to a thing so monstrous that even Cartwright had shrunk from naming it. With shaking hand, West put the bottle back on the mantel, placed the cork beside it. For a moment he stood there, hands against the mantel, gripping it, staring out the vision port beside the fireplace. Staring down into the valley where a shadowy cylinder tilted upward from the rocky planet, as if striving for the stars. The _Alpha Centauri_--the ship with the space drive that wouldn't work. Something wrong ... something wrong.... A sob rose in West's throat and his hands tightened on the mantel with a grip that hurt. He knew what was wrong! He had studied blueprints of the drive back on Earth. And now it was as if the blueprints were before his eyes again, for he remembered them, each line, each symbol as if they were etched upon his brain. He saw the trouble, the simple adjustment that would make the space drive work. Ten minutes ... ten minutes would be all he needed. So simple. So simple. So simple that it seemed beyond belief it had not been found before, that all the great minds which had worked upon it should not have seen it long ago. There had been a dream--a thing that he had not even dared to say aloud, not even to himself. A thing he had not dared even to think about. West straightened from the mantel and faced the room again. He took the bottle and for a second time raised it in salute. But this time he had a toast for the dead men and the thing that whimpered in the corner. "To the stars," he said. And he drank without gagging.