The three who were with him in the bridge-room kept silent as by tacit agreement while the little ship sped swiftly through the opening into the naked glare of the Sun.
Newton’s eyes were dazzled but he could not turn them away from that mighty orb of flame.
And he remembered.
Would he always remember how he had looked upon the Sun unveiled and seen the beating of its heart? Would he always feel the tearing pang he felt now, remembering the freedom and the strength? Would he some day return alone to that buried citadel that held the secret of life and death?
In fierce denial he pressed down the firing-keys. The Comet leaped forward and behind it Vulcan dwindled and was lost, a tiny mote swallowed in the eternal fires of the Sun.
He hurled himself forward onto the dais and was lost in a flare of yellow light.
A small bright star flashed upward toward the triple arch — a living star, swift and free and joyous, seeking the Beam, the pathway to the Sun.
And below, on the dark floor of the citadel, Curt Newton bent his head and hid his face between his hands.
* * * * *
The Comet rose on blasting keel-jets, gathered speed and roared out above the blackened Belt toward the gap in Vulcan’s crust. Curt Newton sat at the controls. He who had ridden the Beam before, free and unfettered, now maneuvered the man-made ship along that pathway. His face was harsh with strain and in his eyes was something strange and haunted.