"It's too for you to go alone, Johnny," Rick Norman said. "Wait till I get through showing the Senator around the mine. Then if you still think your gravity can get us to Vulcan against Sun drag, we'll go look into this Fountain of Youth business together." He knew Johnny wasn't paying any attention to his argument, however, and as he talked his big fingers were busy under the table unfolding the wax paper from the two small green capsules—Martian knockout drops. Two of them would be enough to put Johnny out for a week.  
Johnny Gordon's black hair gleamed in the nightclub's orange light. When he laughed, his tanned face was surprisingly boyish—surprising because his name was linked with adventure in headlines on many planets. "You think the patrol's going to be laying for me off Mercury," he laughed. "Well, I'd like a little excitement."
 
Norman dropped the wax paper on the floor and hid the capsules in his big palm. Johnny was right—they would've had a lot more fun if they'd never bumped into that dead comet off . But how were they to know that cold hunk of drift metal would turn out to be solid ? That was three years ago and now their income was a number like the of Jupiter in feet. To him it was a devil of a responsibility. To Johnny it was just plain boring.
 
But he couldn't let Johnny get himself killed running away from a full dress suit. "Okay," he said, faking resignation. "You win." Roughly handsome, Norman's hell or high water smile was as much a part of him as his long legs. He filled their glasses as the orchestra started moaning Martian Moon, dropped the capsules into the bubbly green wine in Johnny's glass. "Here's to the Twenty-First Century Ponce de Leon," he smiled, raising his glass.
 
Johnny reached across the table and picked up the bottle. "Here's to the of a million dollars," he said and drank the toast straight from the bottle. He wiped his chin, grinning. "You ought to know you can't catch me on a Martian mickey. They stop the bubbles."
 
As Norman stared at the suddenly lifeless wine in Johnny's glass, he realized there was only one thing left to do. He knew a couple of boys who were pretty handy with a blackjack and he knew an old hunting in the Adirondacks where they could lock Johnny up for a week.
 
The next morning as Norman was packing his bags, one of his "boys" appeared at the door. His eyes were black and . Embarrassed, he held out an envelope. Norman tore it open.
 
"You'll find your other playmate locked in my bathroom. I'll bring you a full of the Fountain of Youth." The note was written in Johnny's careless ! Norman the ampliphone button in the little table beside his bed.
 
"Interstellar Spaceport!" he ordered the invisible telemike as he pulled a handful of bills from his pocket and shoved them at the gentleman in the door. "Thanks for trying, . Go kick Johnny's bathroom door down. Joe's locked up in there—"
 
"Spaceport," the wall speaker said.
 
"John Gordon," Norman asked, waving Spike out, "has he been there?"
 
"Mr. Gordon took off half an hour ago, sir," said the ampliphone. "For Mercury."
 
"Thanks...." As Norman clicked off the receiver, premonition crept over him like a shadow. His hand moved to the receiver again—to call for a ship and follow Johnny. Then the ampliphone buzzed under his hand.
 
It was the Senator. He was waiting at the capital.
 
As he started throwing shirts into his bag, Norman knew it was against his better . But after all, Johnny could take care of himself. Spike's hamburger face proved that.
 
It was with this thought that he picked up the plump Senator and left for the platinum comet. When the private cruiser nosed into the little world's artificial air three days later, the mine foreman met them with a radiogram in his hand.
 
Silently cursing the static that had with space reception on the way over, cold fear clutched at Norman's heart as he read the message. "The platinum's yours," he told the astonished mine foreman. "Show the Senator around."
 
As their bewildered faces stared after him, he took off for Earth again immediately.
 
The trip back was maddening and he ignored all speed laws as he roared full-throttle into the bright mountain range that was New York City. Newsboys were still shouting the headlines on the street when he reached the hospital.
 
"FOUNTAIN OF YOUTH IN REVERSE! JOHN GORDON FOUND IN DRIFTING SPACE BOAT! INVENTION MISSING!"
 
Norman shoved a bill at the driver, jumped out of the taxi and ran up the hospital steps. The girl at the desk recognized him. "Room 947, Mr. Norman. Dr. Smyth is expecting you."
 
He hurried to the elevator where a mob of reporters were also waiting. "What do you think happened to him, Mr. Norman? Do you think he reached Vulcan? What do you think became of his cruiser with the anti-gravity invention?"
 
"Later, boys," Norman said, his familiar smile a little shaky now. "I've got to see Johnny first."
 
A black-bearded doctor opened the door at his knock. From within the room came an odd sound like a child talking to itself. Looking over the doctor's shoulder, Norman saw an old man lying on the white bed. He stepped past the doctor into the room.
 
up on pillows, the old man lay there like an ancient mummy. Only his skull-like eyes were alive, yellow and wild as he stared at his disfigured hands. His hands were more like paws for each finger and thumb had been close to the palm, the scars well-healed as if the mutilation had happened years ago.
 
"They found his pilot's in his pocket," the doctor said, "and the blood test proved his identity."
 
"No!" Norman said, turning back to the bed. "This is impossible!"
 
"I've given him a thorough examination," the doctor said. "He has every condition of advanced senility. We can't say how he lost his fingers nor how they healed so quickly. We only know this," his voice dropped to a whisper, "that he is very near death of old age...."
 
Norman's eyes were damp. Through the window the afternoon sun lined the old man's sunken cheeks with deep shadows, gleamed on his thin, white hair. His voice was a high-pitched quaver. "My hands... my hands...."
 
Norman sprang to the bed, knelt beside the ancient creature. "Johnny! It's me! Rick! Tell me what happened!"
 
But the old man stared at him blankly, then looked back down at his hands again.
 
Norman got to his feet slowly. "Okay, Johnny," he said through tight lips. "But I'll find out what happened to you. And I think I know where to start."
 
Twenty minutes later, however, the pudgy Gorig Sade, Ambassador from Mercury, could offer little information. He leaned back in his chair and raised his hand toward the sunset at the window. His right hand was artificial, an electric member in flesh-like plastic. "Behind that Sun," he said, a slight smile on his thick lips, "lies a planet without a human footprint. Within the Mercurian Zone of Protection, Vulcan is closely guarded by the Mercurian Zone Patrol. Vulcan is a death trap—too close in the Sun's gravitational field. We cannot answer to the safety of those who slip past the patrol and enter the whirlpool."
 
Norman smiled, as a fighter smiles at his opponent when he comes out at the bell. "That's enough of that line, Sade. When did your patrol last see John Gordon? They were waiting for him off Mercury. You've had your paid after him ever since he refused to sell out to you. Now his gravitational turns up missing. It would have meant a lot to Mercury—or to you, rather, since your rotten politics owns the place."
 
Sade got to his feet like a disturbed bull. "Get out!" His electric hand hummed as he raised it toward the door. "I shall see the Secretary of State about your insult!"
 
Norman's left hand shot out like a striking snake, clutched the Ambassador's collar and dragged him out of his chair.
 
"Okay, Sade," he smiled, "but there's one thing maybe you don't know. Johnny built two ships, a smaller one before he equipped the cruiser he left in. I'm taking that ship to try to reach Vulcan. Johnny's spectroscope proved a lot about this Fountain of Youth business and now it's the only chance to save his life. Anyway, I'll find out what happened to him, and if you had anything to do with it, I'm going to tear your yellow throat out."
 
He slammed the Ambassador back into his chair, and left the office. Now Sade would forget the Secretary of State and order his patrol to be waiting for him. A burst of flame in space and who would know.
 
Ten minutes outside the Mercurian Zone of Protection, Norman welcomed the glow as live nebulae the surrounding him. It brightened the blue light in the pilot room and his lonely reflection in the foot-thick thermo-glass that darkened the white-hot glare of space ahead.
 
Traveling near Mercury was like walking a tight rope. A few degrees off course and the delicate balance between worlds would totter—jerk him away to a into the Sun. Also, Sade's wolves might appear any moment now. But he'd get through them, he thought, slapping the trigger grip of his panel guns. The picture of Johnny back there in the hospital, however, was an ache in his throat that dulled his excitement—an excitement reminiscent of hundreds of tight spots ............