Like oases in the desert, they
                   were spaced through the universe
                   to replenish the electron-thirst
                      of the giant ships. But Old
                   Huddleston had seen the problem:
                         What kind of currency
                     serves to buy matter from ...

                       The WELLSPRINGS OF SPACE

                          By ALBERT TEICHNER

                         Illustrated by ADKINS

           [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
                     Amazing Stories October 1961.
         Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
         the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]


The three top scientists had come to describe their greatest triumph
to the revered Huddleston; after centuries of bitter disagreement the
world's cosmologists were now unanimous in accepting the newly-proposed
Lowen-Crane-and-Fitzhugh Hypothesis. At three hundred Huddleston was
doddering toward death but the great man certainly deserved to know
in his more lucid moments that the problems he had outlined long ago
were finally solved. He had been the first to prophesy that all parsec
journeys to the stars must fail because each spaceship would steadily
lose electrons to the weak magnetic field of the galaxy. The few
weakened shells that had managed to limp back into the solar system had
proven his point.

He was having one of his brighter periods when they came in. Not only
were his eyes and wrinkled flesh glowing with pink health (the illusory
super-health of the very aged) but he knew instantly who they were. "My
best pupils!" he chuckled, curling his plasti-patched lips. "May your
lives be as long and as happy as mine has been."

Lowen, four-square solid and close to seven feet in height, almost
automatically became the spokesman for the trio. "We have the best
news of all for your final phase," he said with bluff kindliness. "The
electron leakage problem has been solved."

The old man's eyes widened and a network of hairfine lines proliferated
around them. "It can't be done," he said, wistfully gazing out his
window at the night sky, then at the shelves of antique bottles that
ringed the room. "We're the eternal prisoners of the solar system. You
shouldn't tease an old man."

They exchanged knowingly sympathetic glances. None of them could ever
be the great pioneer that he had been but even a midget standing on a
giant's shoulder could see further than the giant himself.

"We now _know_ there is continuous creation of matter out in space."
Lowen paused dramatically for the point to sink in but the ancient only
continued to look incredulous. He hurried on. "It was simply a matter
of incorrect methodology, Learned Master. We have always assigned too
many of the decision-functions in this area to computers when it was
too purely a creative problem for anything but human minds."

       *       *       *       *       *

Huddleston had suddenly become serious. "That _could_ make a
difference. Well, I haven't given a moment's thought to the whole
matter for fifty years--much too exhausting when you're having so many
prosthetic operations, much nicer to putter around with hobbies like
old maps and bottles--but, gentlemen, just before I gave up, oh now
it's clear as if it were yesterday! I remember thinking what you've
just said: This problem's too basic for automated analysis. If I'd only
been less tired; but, by then--."

"You'd already done more than your share," Fitzhugh consoled him.
"And we have more precise instruments now. The big breakthrough came
on the data from the newest Jupiter observatory. Every once in a while
it would pick up unaccountable Doppler shifts from the direction of
Arcturus but the disturbing area was too small for an accurate fix
at such a distance. That was the beginning--Crane and I worked out
the rest. But Lowen made the great practical achievement. Together
we achieved a hypothesis that proves beyond any question that the
universe has no beginning, will have no end and is constantly receiving
new matter as it expands, matter from other dimensions--in a word,
continuous creation."

"You can imagine the uproar at first," Lowen grinned, "especially since
the big-bang theory has held the field for two centuries. That's why we
had to tell you quickly--you never surrendered your mind to any dogma,
always kept it open."

Huddleston spryly took the sheaf of reports that Lowen had been holding
and started to glance rapidly through them. "Brilliant, brilliant! What
I'd give to be young again."

"You'll tire yourself," Fitzhugh said. "We didn't expect you to do an
analysis."

"Nonsense," the old man snapped waspishly. "This gives me new life,
just seeing what you youngsters are up to. Of course, though,
continuous creation can't make any difference as far as parsec travel
is concerned."

"But it does!" they all shouted.

Huddleston laughed. "Now, now, gentlemen. Just because hydrogen atoms
are springing into being from nothingness throughout space doesn't
mean--."

"That's not how it is," Crane said, speaking down to Huddleston as if
he were the tallest man in the room, not the shortest. "Lowen has shown
that continuous creation does not take place everywhere. That's his
great practical discovery and--"

"It happens at specific, restricted points," Lowen broke in. "Great
streams of hydrogen and free electrons welling into our universe the
way water does out of dry ground."

Huddleston let the report slip from his hands onto a table and stared
at them. He was very pale now. "My God, I think I see what you're
getting at."

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."

Lowen thumped his back encouragingly. "He _was_ a very great man but,
well, after three hundred years, he's entitled to the special pleasures
of senility."

"He seemed so lucid for a while," Fitzhugh said, "I mean when he saw
the point of moving through the wellspring nodes to overcome materials
fatigue." He shrugged. "No, you're right, Lowen. We'll have to go to
the President without Huddleston's backing."

"I was thinking about his prestige. But his support really wouldn't
have proven anything." Lowen shook his head. "I had no idea he had gone
downhill that much in the last twenty years."

They joined in a sympathetic sigh for past greatness, then hurried on
to the business of the future.

       *       *       *       *       *

President Collins was pleased to see them. He was even happier when
he was shown how the recent, highly-publicized discovery of the space
nodes of continuous creation could be put to practical use. "There's a
serious sociological problem that this can solve for us, gentlemen. You
probably haven't given it much attention since your interests lie in
other directions."

"We leave that to our political leaders," Lowen nodded. "They're
thoroughly competent to do so."

"Thank you, Professor,--."

"No, President Collins, you're right--I don't have time to bother with
imprecise life studies." Lowen tried to keep contempt out of his grin.
"A little entertainment, somewhat more theory and lots of practical
technical applications--that's my personal prescription for staying
fully alive."

"Anyway your work fits the present social bill to a _T_," President
Collins went on, choosing to disregard the unpleasant aspects of his
visitor's one-sided nature for the pleasant fruits they had borne.
"For close to two centuries now we have known we were trapped in the
general area of the solar system and society has learned to live
with the limitation. But lately an indefinable restlessness has been
growing--nothing in the least serious but it's there and continuous
entertainment, study and sports just aren't enough to eliminate it.
This renewed outward movement can, though. I'm backing your request
for a new Stellar Reaches Expedition to the limit of my strength." He
rubbed his chin, smiling sadly. "You know who we ought to get in touch
with? Old Huddleston. He deserves to know. Come to think of it, his
opinion would still carry plenty of weight with many people."

"We've told him," Lowen announced. "He was enormously impressed with
the solution."

"Good, good. Now, there's an ultimate Master, if I ever heard of one,
knowledge in every area, the humanities, mathematics, logic, poetry,
physics--. What did he think about fatigued metal revival at the
wellsprings?"

Lowen squinted. "Sad thing, Mister President, we couldn't get much
of an opinion there. He's so worn-out." Lowen disregarded Fitzhugh's
conscience-stricken look. "But he did grasp what we told him before he
relapsed."

"It _is_ a sad thing, isn't it? Well, the years get us all one way or
the other, don't they?"

"I guess so," said Lowen, "but, Mr. Pres--."

Collins perked up. "Tell you what, though--he's liable to get a clear
period any time and we really should have his thinking on this. I'll
have that niece of his notify my office as soon as it happens and we'll
go right over."

"He's in very bad shape," Lowen hastened to say. "It would just wear
him down more."

"That bad, heh? Then I'd better make certain we get to see him very
soon."

Lowen glared at the floor, ready to kick himself for aggravating an
already touchy situation.

The intervideo snapped on. "Could you come out for a moment?" his
secretary whispered on screen. She looked very upset.

"Certainly, Helen, I'll be right there." President Collins turned to
them. "I hope you gentlemen will excuse me."

"Of course, Mister President." They all rose and bowed slightly in his
direction.

"Maps," President Collins smiled just before he went out. "That's
his big hobby now, isn't it? Wonder what I'll go in for when I reach
the intermittent senile phase?" He grinned. "Oh well, I still have a
century before that."

As soon as the door shut, Lowen whirled on his associates. "What the
hell's the matter with you two? You looked as if you were going to
spill the whole beans about the old man. We have to watch our step."

"But the implication about his reaction was somewhat distorted,"
Fitzhugh protested.

"_Somewhat distorted!_ Well, what of it? The most innocent little
distortion I ever heard! We don't even know what Huddleston really
means, do we?"

"That's what I mean by distorted, Lowen. You didn't convey that
impression--."

Lowen exploded. "You're making me sick! You too, Crane, you looked
qualmish." He leaned forward, spitting his words through clenched
teeth. "The hypocrisy of it--you'd lie to your own soul if anything got
in the way of this project. But now you can make nice prissy postures
because I'm doing the so-called dirty work for you."

Fitzhugh waved for calm. "Agreed, agreed, Lowen, it is much more
important than a squeamish little point."

"Much more important," seconded Crane.

       *       *       *       *       *

Collins made a grim-faced return. "I have news from Huddleston's niece."

The three men tensed. "What--," asked Lowen.

"Gentlemen, you were right about the seriousness of his condition. He's
dead. She said he became so excited about something you had told him
that he had a serious relapse. He started to babble incoherently and
never returned to articulate speech."

They leaned back, more relaxed. "A terrible blow," said Crane. "The
least we can do is carry forward his work."

"You're absolutely right." Tired, he rubbed his silver eye-brows for a
moment. "Gentlemen, I'll see to it that the Expedition gets every bit
of support it needs."

       *       *       *       *       *

The next month was one of unaccustomed excitement for the tranquilly
routine existence of human society. First the death of the one survivor
of the earliest generation of Learned Masters and then the announcement
about the renewed thrust to the stars that was to be enacted by the
three men who had made it possible. There was talk for a time of
constructing a larger ship that could carry a full crew complement but
Lowen's arguments had quickly overcome such objections. For one thing,
design and execution of the project would take many years. For another,
it would require vast expenditures even in the preliminary stages. "Of
course, the effort is worth any amount eventually," Lowen had been the
first to emphasize, "but why not wait until we see what the results are
from the smaller design first?"

"Very reasonable," President Collins had agreed. "You three have
sacrificed your own interests far beyond the call of duty."

This devotion reinforced his decision to have the three men named
Learned Masters _before_ their theory was put to the ultimate test, a
move that had been hopefully anticipated in their calculations. Here,
though, some public opposition did develop. "No one has ever been named
a Learned Master under the age of one hundred and fifty," a few people
pointed out. "Now, suddenly, we are told _three_ men, none of them more
than eighty-five, should be so honored! Even the great Huddleston never
had that."

But President Collins expressed the feelings of the overwhelming
majority of citizens when he said, "The successful accomplishment
of the task these men have set themselves will be an even greater
achievement than that of their first teacher." His viewpoint prevailed
and, after much grumbling, the Solar Institute of Learning unanimously
confirmed their nomination for supreme honors.

The ceremony took place four months after construction on the _New
Cosmos_ had begun and was celebrated in the great hall of the
Institute. The world's most important figure in each major field of
thought, usually a doddering oldster, gave a confirming speech; and
the accompanying three-D explanations enthralled billions who suddenly
discovered how bored they had been for the past century. The only flaw
in an otherwise glorious day of festivities was the refusal of Eunice
Huddleston to participate. She issued no public statement but they knew
well enough that she still insisted they had somehow upset her uncle
and that, if his death could not have been avoided, his final moments
could have at least been happier ones without their intrusion.

Her abstention almost upset Fitzhugh. "Still," he managed to console
himself, "she'll see the matter in a different light once we get back."

Lowen, though, remained altogether undisturbed by the development. "I
feel like a distinguished oldster and like a vigorous youngster both at
the same time. Learned Master--oh, my colleagues, how we've managed to
speed things up!"

"Which just goes to prove," Crane laughed, "that you really can have
your cake and eat it."

Planning the flight was much simpler than it seemed to the
non-specialist public. Very little of a new nature had to be added to
the ship's design beyond what had been known for a long time. And there
was no doubt that hyperdrive speeds far beyond those of light were
possible if the proper carrier components were selected from those that
averaged out to the normal 186,000-mile limit. That had been mastered a
long time ago. The only doubt had been about the ability to return. Now
that was dispelled and they could safely plan to reach a point close to
the galactic center and return within seven weeks. No calculations had
been left to chance; the survey of all known factors showed that it
was no more dangerous than a journey within the solar system--and that
certainly was routine by now.

If anything, popular enthusiasm increased the longer the project
lasted. Thousands of men threw themselves into the round-the-clock
effort and nine months after construction had commenced the great sleek
ship was ready.

       *       *       *       *       *

The _New Cosmos_ took off on a morning of bright spring sunlight but,
instead of immediately moving onto special carrier components, stuck
to solar velocities so that they first could make a triumphal tour
of the system. Approaching Mars, they were met by a great fleet of
commuting liners, rising to greet them with an enormous display of
atomic fireworks, and in their circuit of Saturn they were treated
to a special auroral display. Then, two days later, the last planet
behind them, they moved into hyperdrive, heading for the first node of
continuous creation.

Crane made his hundredth re-check and said, "We'll be there in forty
minutes."

Outside the nearer stars had become tiny beeps of light, visible only
for miniseconds, and only those of the farther reaches accompanied them
fixedly on their way. Lowen gave regular two-minute interval readings
of structural fatigue. "The electron loss is within one part in a
million of estimate--and the error is in our favor. We can proceed five
hours without danger."

Fitzhugh beamed his contentment. "So much margin of safety--it's a
beautiful universe!"

They established voice contact with Earth on the carrier components and
spoke all at once into the receiver as the "Are you all right?" query
came: "Never better!" they shouted.

Lowen was the first to pull himself out of their attack of space
ecstasy. "We will start sending data following the first node," he
intoned. "Twenty minutes to first report."

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."

And in the split second of his saying that last word Collins knew what
it was, what they had paid with. It was the only thing with which you
could buy matter--Time.


                                THE END