ot much, and his forehead was
permanently creased from frowning. "I'm afraid that new benzoic
derivative is a failure, Chief. It piles up corrosion in the tubes too
fast. They'd be clogged halfway through the trip."

One hundred and twenty thousand dollars up the spout. Joshua sighed.
"Well, I suppose the chance of success was worth it. The added power in
relatively smaller space would have solved so many other problems."

"I'm sorry it failed."

Joshua smiled. "To paraphrase a certain American inventor--we're finding
any number of ways you can't go to the Moon. What now, Coving?"

"Back to the old method--and the other problems. None of them are
insurmountable, though. A little more time--"

"Yes--a little more time." Joshua grimaced inwardly. He was talking to
Coving as though they had years--not as though their time had run out.
He was even in debt for Coving's labor; overdrawn on it without enough
money to pay.

The moment of weakness--of deep-down weariness--passed. Joshua Lake
stiffened as he had stiffened so many times before. As he had stiffened
when Zornoff's alloys had flunked out and the first trip to the bank had
been made necessary. The first trip to the bank. Joshua smiled wryly.
The bank people had been cordial then. Even servile. Later it had been
different. Now--

"You were saying, Mr. Lake--?"

"Have you seen Morton lately? What's the latest on the radar relay
equipment?"

"No major bugs, I think. It's coming along famously."

"Good!" For two hundred odd thousand it certainly should, Joshua felt.
"Let me know how you make out, Coving."

"I will, Chief. I'll get the order in for the new chemicals
immediately."

"Eh--oh, yes. Do that. Do that by all means."

Coving left. Joshua Lake put his head against the back rest of the chair
and closed his eyes. He dozed, drifting into a haze from weariness.
_It's been so long--so very long. Seven years--eight--ten. Ten years.
Good heavens! Was it possible? It didn't seem that long. Ten years to
make a dream succeed._

_Or fail._

Joshua slept and again--as in the past--his rest was plagued with
visions. The torment of his days took many forms in an alert
subconscious too taut to relax. He had seen before him mountains too
steep to cross--chasms too deep and wide to bridge. Often, when a great
problem was solved, he would look back, nights later, to see the
mountain or the chasm from the other side.

Now his vision was different. No mountain be