Part 2

There could be only one explanation. Their work must have taken longer than it seemed. During that time the ship had drifted downward until it was now well within the vortex of a spot. Since the sides seemed to be pressing all around him, the ship was probably within the photosphere. Unless they escaped at once, they would not get away. He began to work his way back toward the lock; Skip following.

Inside the ship Captain Stevens looked anxiously at his instrument panel. Sweat broke out on his forehead. They couldn't wait any longer. He reached for the firing control.

A gasp came from one of the men in the room. "You can't, sir. Not after what they have done."

Stevens instinctively began to withdraw his hand, then stopped. "I must," he whispered. "It's them or all of us. There is no choice."

His hand plunged down on the firing control.

Outside, Bull had been placing his anchor lines carefully as he went along. He kept slightly behind Skip, making sure that all his lines were in place if Skip's weren't. There was no doubt in his mind as to what Captain Stevens would do when he found that he had to make a choice between the two of them dying or the whole crew. Bull knew that the lines would hold against the thrust of the ship's engines. But would they hold both he and Skip? What is more, would he be able to grab that crazy space cadet that had saved his life, before the ship's momentum tore the kid away and beyond reach?

He had little time to conjecture. His feet felt the ship's shell take life. Snaking out his hands as rapidly as his reflexes allowed, he grabbed Skip around the waist with both arms. Instantly the full force of the ship's new direction and Skip's inertia fought a battle centered on Bull's shoulder joints. Long before his bones slipped from their shoulder sockets, Bull felt the pain of tensed and torn muscles course down his sides and chest. He heard himself screaming far away in his own helmet. But he held on. And then he lost consciousness.

* * * * *

Later. Much later; Bull woke to find himself lying in a bed in the hospital bay of the ship. His arms were stretched high over his head; held firmly in splints under tension.

"So you've decided to come to, eh?"

Bull turned his head to look at the bandaged figure in the next bed.

"Kind of hard to recognize, I guess."

The voice was familiar. "How come all those fancy bandages, Space Cadet?"

Skip's voice was bitter and self-accusing. "Space Cadet is right. I was outside working on those tubes and never noticed we were getting close to the sun. I must have got a full dose of heat. How dumb can a guy get?"

There was a silence between them. Then Bull spoke. "You saved my life out there, Skip. I couldn't have pulled myself in. That took guts. Thanks."

"What do you call that last act of yours? There isn't another man on this ship that could--or would--have held on with those arms like that."

Both men looked at one another. There would be times when experience and formal education might conflict in the future; but the remarks would never have an edge that mutual admiration wouldn't dull.

"Admiring one another's bravery?"

Both men shifted their eyes to the doorway where Captain Stevens stood. Resentment rose in both of them. Did he have to call them down and rub it in at a time like this?

"Well? What have you got to say for yourselves?"

Bull, realizing that there was no sense in trying to condone what he had done, answered with the first thing that popped into his mind.

"Too bad we didn't reach the Regis, sir."

"But we sure tried," Skip added. "The ship's crew gave everything it had. If we couldn't do it, it couldn't be done."

"Nothing to say for yourselves?" Stevens persisted.

"I guess not, Sir," Skip answered for both of them.

Captain Stevens walked over and stood in the space between their beds. "Both of you seem to have missed an important point; in spite of all your experience--and all your learning."

Bull and Skip were puzzled.

"When that line from the Cerebus III to the Regis let go, what happened to us?" Stevens asked.

"Why, we were flung from here to trouble," Bull exclaimed.

Skip's face screwed up into a frown under his bandages. Then he let out a sigh of relief. "Of course."

"Of course what, book boy?" Bull asked irritatedly.

"Look," Skip explained. "If you pull a piece of string with a steady tension on both ends, what happens when it breaks? That's right. Objects at _both_ ends are flung apart."

"So the Regis was flung out of that spot the same as we were," Bull said in amazement.

"That's right," Captain Stevens agreed. "And she was able to hang on in her new position until another rescue ship reached her. She's safe. Alistar of Cygnus is O.K., too."

"So the Federation and the System are happy," Skip added. "Everything seems to have worked out but us. And we're just plain out."

Captain Stevens looked at them. "Some men," he said, "are like a good ship--like the Cerebus III for instance. They don't show what they're worth until they've had some of the polish and shine rubbed off. Isn't that so, Allen?"

Skip nodded mutely.

"Other men," Stevens continued, "are afraid that someone might know more than they do. Don't you agree, Wright?"

Bull's eyes were taking on a new light.

"What I really came here for, Ensigns, was to find out when you two figure that you'll be able to pick up your duties as regular Officers of the Cerebus III? I like to keep good men like you with me."

Bull and Skip looked at one another and grinned.