The external heat tracking data on the central bridge hololith jumped from four thousand degrees to forty-eight thousand degrees in the span of twelve minutes. The Aethelgard had crossed the inner heliospheric bow shock. He plunged into the dense stream of white-hot sun-fire star-fire roaring off the Sun’s equator. Beyond the darkened watching quartz, the blackness of deep space had fully vanished, replaced by a blinding, blazing bright storm of boiling white-gold fire.
Inside the main building spaces, alarms were howling with wild, piercing urgency. Chief Szabo’s voice bellowed through the intercom, strained and hoarse over the ear-splitting roar of overburdened coolant pumps: “Radiator loops one and two are flashing into dry vapor! The external cooling fins are sweating liquid light metal! If we don’t dump sixty megawatts of heat load in the next three minutes, the main hull seals will turn into glass and blow! We’ll lose cabin pressurization in under ten seconds!”
Arthur Vance stood at the center of the cargo deck, already clad in his heavy heat-triage void rig. His air-powered needle glove was loaded with chilled barite-stone-glass compound, his fingers steady as he checked the magnetic boot seals. Beside him, Grimm stood with his four heavy paws braced against the deck, his soot-black lips pulled back in a silent, panting grimace as the blasting heat pierced even the padded floor plates. Every breath tasted of scorched rubber and hot iron.
