But Sanaron the Sun had mass, and the flaming particles of the erupting space had mass but were discrete.
There was a turning in the flame, a coalescence that centered, radially inward, upon the sun that waited for it and attracted it. With stellar mass behind, the flung planes of warped space held well, but the mass of energy, as its volume was, and the gouts and streamers of raw flaming space flattened against the plates and curled along them, creeping around and around. And around and around.
"Hold 'em," cried Steve.
Wrightwood turned anxiously. "What are they trying to do?"
Steve smiled wearily. "We're going to establish a complete globe around Sanaron and hold that raving horror out of the stellar mass."
"But—"
"The rest—on the outside—will fight it."
"And if they fail?"
Steve's expression told him.
"But Steve—there's ten thousand ships trapped inside of that sphere of raving energy."