This time I got it. The figures joined together and formed a picture in my mind, a picture that startled me worse than a surrealist drawing. I gasped:
"Sol!"
Biggs nodded.
"Mm-hmm. That's what I thought, too. The course he plotted skirts the Sun. Swings past it at a distance of only ten million miles!"
I'm a lot of things—but one of the things I am not is unresponsive to suggestion. I broke out in a hectic sweat and started for the door.
"Oh, no!" I yelped. "Maybe he'd like to play pussy-wants-a-corner with the prominences, but not me! The nearest I want to get to any corona is to smoke one! The guy's nuts! I'm going to tell him—"
But Biggs grabbed my arm.
"It's no use, Sparks. I've already told him."
"You—you have?"