"You both are officers. Now act like you're supposed to. We should
sight the Regis in the next hour. I'm assigning you both to the
scanning screens. The minute either of you see the Regis, let me know.
I'm going to do the rounds and make sure all equipment is ready."
As soon as Stevens left, Bull and Skip went to the tiny cubbyhole
called the Vision Room which was located just off Main Control. There
they sat back to back in chairs fixed in the middle of the room. This
gave each of them a half circle to keep track of. Between them, they
had a full view of the ship's entire surroundings. Sitting there,
surrounded by screens, it was easy to imagine that they were afloat in
the chromosphere without a ship deck under them.
* * * * *
Several times the forward motion of their ship carried them close to
sunspots. These were carefully skirted before the ship entered the
penumbra. The dark appearing central area of each spot, the umbra,
yawned like monster pits into an area of magnetic forces that ships
avoided if possible unless they were nuclei dredges or contact vessels
especially constructed to enter the vortex. Twice they ran through
loop-like spaces that appeared on their filtered screens. These were
caused by prominences of exploding hydrogen shooting tens of thousands
of miles into space. Prominences, the tips of which looped back to the
sun's surface.
"By the horned three legged elephants of Callisto," muttered Bull as
the ship shot through another loop. "I feel like an astronomical ball
being shot through loops of an intergalactic croquet game."
As the Cerebus III skittered to the left to avoid another racing
faculae, Skip felt his stomach begin to get as unsteady as the ship's
deck. He groaned out loud. And for the first time since he sat down, he
jerked his strained eyes from the screens only to meet Bull grinning
at him.
"What's the matter, Space Cadet?" Bull jibbed. "Don't tell me all that
training of yours didn't include a course in how NOT to get space sick?"
Skip swallowed hurriedly before he spoke. "How this garbage collecting
tub can stand this buffeting, I can't figure."
"Nothing wrong with her," Bull rejoined. "Just because you thought
that you'd get assigned to some fancy interstellar luxury ship when
you graduated, you don't have to take out your disappointment on the
Cerebus III. Stop making a good ship your alibi for--"
"That's just fancy talk," Skip interrupted. "All you're trying to do is
talk yourself into thinking that this is the same as sitting on a stool
in some Martian bar."
Glaring at one another across their shoulders, they slowly became aware
of Captain Stevens' voice in the Vision Room doorway.
"Forget about the Regis, gentlemen?" His voice held a tempered edge
that could have sliced through the million degree temperature of the
corona.
Both men jerked to their screens. Off to the side they could see the
Regis low in the chromosphere, hanging over the umbra of a small
sunspot about ten thousand miles away.
Stevens' voice was bitter. "First you destroy the crew's morale. Now
you're negligent in your assigned duty. That should be enough to wash
you both out of the Inner Fleet. You're both cosmic debris the Service
can do without. Stay out here in the Control Room where I can keep my
eye on you. I'll attend to you both later."
Out in the control room Stevens questioned the communications man. "Get
a rise out of her yet?"
"It's hopeless, sir. The interference here is too great for contact.
This is actually a double spot if you look, sir. That makes
communication impossible due to the reversed polarity of the spots."
Skip and Bull, standing wretchedly unwanted and useless to one side of
the room, looked at the small screens on the control panel. They could
see the Regis balanced precariously over the center of one spot; off in
the distance another spot showed clearly--one of the best leader and
follower set-ups they had ever seen.
"Getting low, aren't they, sir?" Malcolm, the Second-in-Command, asked
Stevens.
"Down to about 500 miles. They must be using the magnetic field there
which is perpendicular to the sun's surface to help counteract their
own loss of power. They'll be in the reversing layer shortly."
"It's cooler there too," Malcolm observed. "The whirling effect of the
gases sets up a low pressure that reduces the temperature to about 7000
degrees instead of the 11,000 outside the spot where we are."
"We'll have to close and hook on as soon as possible," Stevens
directed. "Break out the strongest line we have. When we get within a
mile, shoot her out until you contact."
"But, sir, we can't get a line out in that if we try."
"We can--and will, Mister. Follow your orders."
"Yes, sir."
* * * * *
The Cerebus III edged in toward the penumbra. In the control room they
staggered as the ship was caught up by the madly whirling rim atoms
as they sought a passageway into the quiet area over the cooler gases
surrounding the spot. Tensely the ship maneuvered its way toward the
Regis.
Once they were within range, Bull and Skip could see on the screens the
traction line from Cerebus III snake out toward the Regis. Time after
time the line just missed. In all that chaos, making contact was worse
than threading a needle with a lasso. At last the line struck and held
the Regis amidships.
A sigh oozed from every man in the control room. Stevens looked at his
watch. "Two hours gone. Now for the tough part."
He called down to the outer lock room through the intership voice
tubes. "We've made contact. Have the communicator tube ready to swing
out of the lock when I give notice. We are going to start hauling
the Regis in toward us now. Be sure that you batten all contact
points tight. The men on the Regis haven't any suits to withstand the
radiations of the sun. Their only chance is to walk through that tube
once you get in contact. A radiation leak down there will kill them
all."