Samuel Vesey drummed on his desk with nervous fingers. His dark countenance was already haggard, the eyes sunken and feverish. "Yes," he said. "Yes, it was news to me." Jahangir put down the counter. The office was very quiet for a while. "Don't spread the word," said Vesey. "We'll confine it to the engineers. Conditions are bad enough without a riot breaking loose. We can take several days of this radiation without harm, but you know how some people are about it." "You've not been very candid so far," snapped Catherine. "Just exactly what have you learned?" Jahangir shrugged. There was a white frost rimming his beard. "There've been no bulletins because there's no news," he replied. "We checked the pile. It's still putting out as it should. The neutron flux density is the same as ever. It's the gas there and in our pipes which has gotten cold and ... radioactive." "Have you looked directly in the pile room--actually entered?" demanded Alemán. Jahangir lifted his shoulders again. "My dear old chap," he murmured. "At a temperature of 500 and a pressure of 600?" After a moment, he frowned. "I do have some men modifying a trac so it could be driven in there for a short time. But I don't expect to find anything. It's mostly to keep them busy." "How about the pipes, then?" asked Gilchrist. "Internal gas pressure and velocity of circulation is just about what it always has been. According to the meters, anyway, which I don't think are lying. I don't want to block off a section and rip it out except as a last resort. It would just be wasted effort, I'm sure." Jahangir shook his turbanned head. "No, this is some phenomenon which we'll have to think our way through, not bull through." Vesey nodded curtly. "I suggest you three go back to the common rooms," he said. "We'll be shunting all the power to food and oxy soon. If you have any further suggestions, pass them on ... otherwise, sit tight." It was dismissal. * * * * * The rooms stank. Some ninety human beings were jammed together in three long chambers and an adjacent kitchen. The ventilators could not quite handle that load. They stood huddled together, children to the inside, while those on the rim of the pack hugged their shoulders and clenched teeth between blue lips. Little was said. So far there was calm of a sort--enough personnel had had intensive mind training to be a steadying influence; but it was a thin membrane stretched near breaking. As he came in, Gilchrist thought of a scene from Dante's hell. Somewhere in that dense mass, a child was sobbing. The lights were dim--he wondered why--and distorted faces were whittled out of thick shadow. "G-g-get inside ... in front of me," he said to Catherine. "I'll be all right," answered the girl. "It's a fact that women can stand cold better than men." Alemán chuckled thinly. "But our Thomas is well padded against it," he said.