Then, suddenly, they were entering the area of continuous creation and looked out with awe on the one mystery in the universe that was even greater than that of life itself. The electron loss started to ease off at an accelerating rate, reached balance and finally moved into active acquisition. All around them the latticework of matter that was the _New Cosmos_ was filling up again. They hurried to their assigned stations and intently studied the readings until the ship, as good as new, had passed beyond the initial wellspring. Crane was the first to notice. After staring, hypnotized, at the master dial before him he suddenly became aware of his hand resting on the console below it. "My God!" he croaked. They turned to look at each other in horror. "Turn back!" Lowen shrieked. "We can't," Fitzhugh moaned, "it's set for the next node." He struggled desperately with his console and shouted into the sender, "Top Secret Scramble to President Collins, Top--." He fought to get the words out. "We're reversing back as soon as possible. It's all wrong. This way won't work. I can't talk much longer," he wheezed. "I've set for automatic return after the next wellspring. My God, it was so beautiful and it is so horrible. We're heading straight into the next wellspring now. It--." Then the contact went dead. * * * * * Five hours later the great ship, undamaged, made a perfect automatic landing at the precise point from which it had left. Collins and a staff from the Institute were already waiting there, nervously wondering whether they would really have to start looking for a new approach to the star travel problem. "They have to be all right," he said, as the ship came down. "It's in perfect shape. Probably some space hallucination." As they moved toward the craft, the exit hatch opened and three wizened men came creeping out, leaning forward as if they were resting on canes. Their individual differences were barely distinguishable beneath the levelling networks of wrinkles but they were giggling hysterically. "Old bottles!" Lowen kept cackling and each time he said it Crane and Fitzhugh joined him in wild laughter. Collins stared, wide-eyed. "What was it?" he said. Lowen squinted at him and there was the slightest glint of recognition as he became briefly lucid. "Ah yes! We didn't get it for nothing. We had to pay with--." The glint disappeared and he laughed. "Old bottles! I'm going to have the biggest collection in the world." "What happened?" Collins pleaded, knowing even then that he would never get another rational word from any of them. "Me too! Old bottles!" "Collect them! Maybe maps too!" "They've gone insane and they've become diseased," said a man from the Institute, shrinking back in disgust. "No, not that, not really that. It's something else--They're only very old."