For he was
thinking of what Gaddon had said on the drive up to the Proving Grounds. He was remembering the man's words on the cosmic rays and the secret of
eternal life they held. And Fred Trent knew that this was the biggest
story. The story that he alone held. It was the big break that he had
been waiting for. It would be his exclusive. The inside, personal story
of a man who had died to prove his theory. Told as Gaddon himself had
related it. With all the vanity of the man, all the pompous assurance he
had shown. It would make the headlines and feature sections all over the
country. The story of a man who had flown to his death in quest of
immortality. And then Trent's thoughts grew sober suddenly. But was he going to his
death? Could he be sure that Mathieson was right? That Gaddon was
suffering from some streak of insanity that had manifested itself in
this final venture of madness? Or could it be that Gaddon might be
right, that ...

Trent set his lips and sighed. No, that couldn't be true. It was beyond
the comprehension of man. What mattered now was the story. The story that would put his name in a
thousand papers all over the country. And he thought in that moment of
Joan Drake. A warm smile pulled at his lips as he thought of her. This
would force her to quit her job now and marry him. The one condition she
had made--he had finally overcome. He thought of the date he was supposed to have with her that evening. It would have to be postponed until later. The story came first. And
then ... He drove his car swiftly through the outskirts of the city and into the
main part of town. Then he pulled up before the offices of the _Tucson
Star_ and left his car at the curb. *       *       *       *       *

He entered the building, took the elevator to his floor and walked into
the city room. The clatter of typewriters met his ears and the sound was
sweet to him in that moment. He crossed swiftly to his desk and sat dawn. Then he motioned to a copy
boy. The boy came up to his desk. "Jerry, tell the chief to hold up the form on page one. I've got a
special--an accident out at the Proving Grounds. Headline copy." The youth hurried away toward the office of the City Editor, and Fred
picked up his phone and dialed a number. He waited a moment and then the
voice of Joan Drake came across the wire. "Dr. Fenwick's office." "Joan, this is Fred." The girl's voice laughed across the wire. "Don't tell me you're planning
to break our date? Just when I get all dressed up." A smile crossed Trent's lips. "You're almost psychic, honey. Fact is, I
was calling to tell you I'll be a little late." There was a pause and when the girl spoke again there was an injured
note in her voice. "Well, that's a fine thing. I wait here deliberately after hours for you
to pick me up and now you tell me you'll be late! Just what's so more
important than me right now?" "I haven't got time to tell you now, Joan, but believe me, I've got the
break of the year. A story that will rock the front pages across the
country. I'll tell you all about it later. You can wait at Fenwick's
place. He won't mind, will he?" He could hear the girl sniff on the other end of the wire. "I don't suppose he will, but I don't think I can say the same for
myself." "That's a good girl," Trent laughed. "Just wait for me. It may be an
hour or so--"

"An _hour_ or so! What are you writing, the great American novel?" He looked up and saw the frowning face of the City Editor approaching
his desk. He spoke hurriedly. "I've got to sign off now. The boss is coming up. I'll see you later. Give my regards to Brutus." He replaced the phone as the editor reached his desk. "What's all this about a remake on the front page, Trent?" Fred nodded. "That's right, chief. The biggest story since the atom
bomb. Listen!" He gave a short account of what had happened, and then added the
personal details of his talk with Gaddon. He saw the eyes of the editor
widen as he went on, and by the time he had finished, there was a look
of excitement on the editor's face. "Get to that story, Trent. Write it hot, and write it fast. I'll hold
the first form and tear down the front page. Stress the human interest
angle. Play it up big. We'll hit the news wires with it after we go to
press." Then a smile crossed the editor's face. "And you'll get a by-line on
this, Trent, that ought to put you in for some big money. Nice work." Then he turned on his heel and was hurrying across the city room toward
his glassed-in office, hollering for a copy boy as he went. Trent turned back to his desk and slipped a sheet of paper into his
typewriter. There was a tenseness around his eyes as he brought his
fingers down on the keys. For a moment the old questions rose again in
his mind. _Was Gaddon right? Could it be possible that ..._

Then he forgot everything but the story. And his fingers clicked against
the keys, putting it down on paper. *       *       *       *       *

The rocket chamber swayed gently through the night air, whistling its
way slowly downward, moving more slowly as the great parachute above it
caught in the rapidly thickening density of the cabin's atmosphere. Inside it, the thing that had been Gaddon, the thing that was no longer
a man, sat on the floor of the chamber, idly toying with the dead body
of the cat. Strange thoughts coursed through the mind inside its head. Half of the
mind that belonged to Gaddon, and half of the mind that was an alien
thing, a creature unnamed. There was a thought of killing and the thought was good. The claw-like
hands played with the cat's dead body, fondling it idly, wishing it
were still alive so that it might die again. And the other part of its mind, the part that still knew it was Gaddon,
rebelled against the thought. Tried to drive it away. Tried to move that
alien intelligence into the rear of his consciousness. A growl left his lips as he struggled with it. And then a whimpering
sound. For now the alien thought of killing and the joy it had experienced as
the cat died scant moments before, was replaced by another thought. A
thought of loneliness. It was a weird feeling, an utter loneliness that came from the great
void beyond man's planet. It cried out in silent protest for it knew it
was alone in this world of men. And it knew it would remain alone, friendless. For what manner of men
such as the other part of its mind showed would react in a friendly
fashion? Where would be their common meeting ground? There could only be
one, it knew. And that one was fear. Fear and the hate that went with
it. A growl left its lips again, and Gaddon's thoughts tried to force their
way through. Tried and failed again. But was it necessary to want companionship? It thought about that for a
moment. And then the alien beast thoughts grew sharper, clearer. It knew
suddenly that it did not want man's compassion. It knew that there was
only one driving thought in it. Hate. Hate that would inspire fear.