"That's just fancy talk," Skip interrupted. "All you're trying to do is talk yourself into thinking that this is the same as sitting on a stool in some Martian bar." Glaring at one another across their shoulders, they slowly became aware of Captain Stevens' voice in the Vision Room doorway. "Forget about the Regis, gentlemen?" His voice held a tempered edge that could have sliced through the million degree temperature of the corona. Both men jerked to their screens. Off to the side they could see the Regis low in the chromosphere, hanging over the umbra of a small sunspot about ten thousand miles away. Stevens' voice was bitter. "First you destroy the crew's morale. Now you're negligent in your assigned duty. That should be enough to wash you both out of the Inner Fleet. You're both cosmic debris the Service can do without. Stay out here in the Control Room where I can keep my eye on you. I'll attend to you both later." Out in the control room Stevens questioned the communications man. "Get a rise out of her yet?" "It's hopeless, sir. The interference here is too great for contact. This is actually a double spot if you look, sir. That makes communication impossible due to the reversed polarity of the spots." Skip and Bull, standing wretchedly unwanted and useless to one side of the room, looked at the small screens on the control panel. They could see the Regis balanced precariously over the center of one spot; off in the distance another spot showed clearly--one of the best leader and follower set-ups they had ever seen. "Getting low, aren't they, sir?" Malcolm, the Second-in-Command, asked Stevens. "Down to about 500 miles. They must be using the magnetic field there which is perpendicular to the sun's surface to help counteract their own loss of power. They'll be in the reversing layer shortly." "It's cooler there too," Malcolm observed. "The whirling effect of the gases sets up a low pressure that reduces the temperature to about 7000 degrees instead of the 11,000 outside the spot where we are." "We'll have to close and hook on as soon as possible," Stevens directed. "Break out the strongest line we have. When we get within a mile, shoot her out until you contact." "But, sir, we can't get a line out in that if we try." "We can--and will, Mister. Follow your orders." "Yes, sir." * * * * * The Cerebus III edged in toward the penumbra. In the control room they staggered as the ship was caught up by the madly whirling rim atoms as they sought a passageway into the quiet area over the cooler gases surrounding the spot. Tensely the ship maneuvered its way toward the Regis. Once they were within range, Bull and Skip could see on the screens the traction line from Cerebus III snake out toward the Regis. Time after time the line just missed. In all that chaos, making contact was worse than threading a needle with a lasso. At last the line struck and held the Regis amidships.