"We can solve that one," Thompson spoke. "Space suits. And, now that we know what we're looking for, we can clean out the ship. If we don't, Buster will do it for us."
"Space suits!" As if he had heard no more than those two words, Fortune ran from the room. He returned with three suits. They hastily donned them.
"No damned bug can bite through one of these things," Neff said exultantly. "Say, what about Grant? Hadn't we better take him a suit too?"
"I should say so. Fortune...." But Fortune was already leaving the room on his errand. Thompson snapped open the intercom system. "Grant?"
"Yes, what is it?"
"We've found the cause and we've got the disease licked."
Grant's voice a shout coming back from the control room. "Thank God. I've been sitting here watching Sol grow bigger and bigger...." His voice suddenly choked, went into silence, then came again, asking a question. "Is it all right to change course now?"
"Definitely it's all right," Thompson answered. "In fact, it's an order."
An instant later, the ship groaned as the direction of flight was shifted. Thompson took a deep breath, was aware that Neff was staring at him. "What was that he said about watching Sol grow bigger and bigger? Say, what course were we on?"
"Collision course with the sun," Thompson answered.