They considered each other, bewildered by his reaction to such good news. "You must be missing the real point, Learned Master," said Lowen. "The wellsprings are spaced at approximately one million parsecs apart. I've already pinpointed hundreds of them. We established the first one from the Jupiter readings and the rest practically mapped themselves out. It has checked out a dozen different ways. That was one place where the computers could handle the job--on the checkout." He tapped the report with his thumb. "Nodes of lifesaving electrons across the deepest reaches of space--." "--where each spaceship can bathe its weakened structure," suggested Huddleston, "refill every lattice gap where electrons have dropped out." "Exactly. You still can always see to the heart of the matter, Learned Master." Huddleston sank into a chair, shaking his head as if dazed. "It won't work." "Why not?" they demanded, astounded. "I don't know. I just know that it can't work. You never get something for nothing. What would you _lose_ at each wellspring?" "Nothing!" Lowen insisted. "You see, the ship's structure would be strengthened as the empty electron positions were refilled. Then we would shift back into hyperdrive and move on to the next wellspring. The ancient systems of caravan waterholes but on a cosmic scale." * * * * * The old man pounded the table energetically. "No, no! Oh, I'm willing to accept your calculations as far as they go. You were all excellent students and have had distinguished careers and you're in your eighties at the first peak of vigor. But nothing can be this convenient. I sense that the problem lies--." He was chalk-white now, his hands shaking. "Lies in those maps of ancient Manhattan. Did Broadway go into Grand Central or stop at North Michigan Avenue? Annie, Annie," he shouted, "where are the subway maps?" His niece came running into the room, carrying some rare antique maps, and gasped as she saw him. "You'll all have to go," she whispered. "I've never seen him this bad before." "Here, uncle, here are your favorite maps." He took them from her with quivering fingers, mumbling something about it being time. "One more question," Lowen persisted. She whirled on him, anger making her look much younger than her nearly two centuries. "Get out of here, the whole bunch of you--distinguished men! Haven't you the sense to see how he is? All he wants now is his little hobby." "But we have to get an explanation from him," Crane protested. "It's very import--." Fitzhugh tugged at his elbow. "Forget it, Crane. His mind's far away now." They retreated to the door. Eunice Huddleston gave them one sharp glance, then turned back to her uncle who was slipping into sleep, his face still deathly pale. They stopped in the garden outside the great man's house and Crane shook his head, worried. "I'd give a lot to know what he was thinking about."