The Mote in God's Eye - Larry Niven [46]
But Buckman liked to talk, and Bury at least had the time to listen. MacArthur was a beehive these days, frantically busy and crowded as hell. And there was room to pace in Bury’s cabin.
Or, Bury speculated cynically, he might like Bury’s coffee. Bury had almost a dozen varieties of coffee beans, his own grinder, and filter cones to make it. He was quite aware of how his coffee compared with that in the huge percolators about the ship.
Nabil served them coffee while they watched the fuel transfer on Bury’s screen. The tanker fueling MacArthur was hidden, but Lenin and the other tanker showed as two space-black elongated eggs, linked by a silver umbilicus, silhouetted against a backdrop of fuzzy scarlet.
“It should not be that dangerous,” said Dr. Buckman. “You’re thinking of it as a descent into a sun, Bury. Which it is, technically. But that whole vast volume isn’t all that much more massive than Cal or any other yellow dwarf. Think of it as a red-hot vacuum. Except for the core, of course; that’s probably tiny and very dense.
“We’ll learn a great deal going in,” he said. His eyes were alight, focused on infinity. Bury, watching him sidewise, found the expression fascinating. He had seen it before, but rarely. It marked men who could not be bought in any coin available to Horace Bury.
Bury had no more practical use for Buckman than Buckman had for Bury. Bury could relax with Buckman, as much as he could relax with anybody. He liked the feeling.
He said, “I thought you would already know everything about the Eye.”
“You mean Murcheson’s explorations? Too many records have been lost, and some of the others aren’t trustworthy. I’ve had my instruments going since the Jump. Bury, the proportion of heavy particles in the solar wind is amazingly high. And helium—tremendous. But Murcheson’s ships never went into the Eye itself, as far as we know. That’s when we’ll really learn things.” Buckman frowned. “I hope our instruments can stand up to it. They have to poke through the Langston Field, of course. We’re likely to be down in that red-hot fog for some considerable time, Bury. If the Field collapses it’ll ruin everything.”
Bury stared, then laughed. “Yes, Doctor, it certainly would!”
Buckman looked puzzled. Then, “Ah. I see what you mean. It would kill us too, wouldn’t it? I hadn’t thought of that.”
Acceleration warnings sounded. MacArthur was moving into the Eye.
Sinclair’s thick burr sounded in Rod’s ear. “Engineering report, Captain. All systems green. Field holding verra well, ‘tis nae so warm as we feared.”
“Good,” Blaine replied. “Thanks, Sandy.” Rod watched the tankers receding against the stars. Already they were thousands of kilometers away, visible only through the telescopes as bright as points of light.
The next screen showed a white splotch within a red fog: Lenin leading into the universal red glare. Lenin’s crew would search for the Alderson point—if there were such a point.
“Still, ‘tis certain the Field will leak inward sooner or later,” Sinclair’s voice continued. “There’s no place for the heat to go, it must be stored. ‘Tis no like a space battle, Captain. But we can hold wi’ no place to radiate the accumulated energy for at least seventy-two hours. After that—we hae no data. No one has tried this loony stunt before.”
“Yes.”
“Somebody should have,” Renner said cheerfully. He had been listening from his post on the bridge. MacArthur was holding at one gee, but it took attention: the thin photosphere was presenting more resistance than expected. “You’d think Murcheson would have tried it. The First Empire had better ships than ours.”
“Maybe he did,” Rod said absently. He watched Lenin move away, breaking trail for MacArthur, and felt an unreasonable irritation. MacArthur should have gone first...
The senior officers slept at their duty stations. There wasn’t much anyone could do if the Field soaked