At least it had been quick and painless, thought Bull. Malcolm's heat unit had failed. And in such a high temperature the change from a solid to a gas had been so sudden that it was actually an explosion. After swallowing hard several times he slowly began to make his way to the stern. It was up to him to clear the tubes now.
He tried to throw the spectacle of Malcolm's disintegration from his mind; but it kept intruding. He had seen many men die; but none so quickly or so completely. The whole sun was now Malcolm's grave. His very atoms were being torn asunder by the constant process of ionization that was taking place in the sun's atmosphere. Somehow the thought of such complete disembodiment was disturbing to Bull's ideas of immortality.
He was jerked crudely back to reality when the ship came up with unbelievable force to flatten him immovably on its side for a moment. While he gasped for breath under the unexpected pressure, he sought madly for an explanation of his predicament. As the pressure slowly lessened, he realized that the ship must have drifted into one of the many clouds of gas constantly expanding or contracting near the sun due to differences in temperature. This time a rising mass had pressed him against the ship. The lateral jet pilots inside were not compensating for the shift because he was outside and a sudden movement might leave him drifting free.
Once he could get to his feet and proceed, he was extra careful to place his magnetized shoes firmly to the ship's shell. In addition, he set out helper lines to act as auxiliary anchors against any unexpected moves the ship might take. When the possibility of a faculae nearing the ship entered his mind, it took his breath away. If that occurred, he knew that the ship's crew would have to throw in the lateral jets to escape. Unless his equipment was in place at the time of the move, the suddenness of the change in direction would leave him free in the chromosphere until his power ran out; or the faculae the ship had been escaping clasped him and exploded him into another Malcolm.
With his mind trampled with fear, and his eyes fixed firmly to the ship's shell, he was surprised to find himself suddenly within reach of the stern tubes. The long traction line had whipped across the four tubes with a force that had annealed parts of the line to both the inside and outside so that the openings were completely covered. This caused the forces in the firing chambers to neutralize themselves since there was no aperture to permit the egress of force in any direction.
Making sure that all his possible anchorage was in place, he braced himself and began burning out the clogged tubes nearest to him.
Back in the Vision Room the crew anxiously watched bits of metal slough off under Bull's torch.
"That guy's sure got what it takes," someone whispered.
Skip spoke without thinking. "He sure has. I guess he meant what he said about the Cerebus III."