"According to the meters, there's nothing wrong with the pile. It's still putting out as much heat as it always has. But somehow, that heat isn't getting to us as it should. The engineers are checking the pipes now. "I'll have a stat of the findings made up and issued. Suggestions are welcome, but please take them to my office--the engineers have their own work to do. Above all, don't panic! This is a nuisance, I know, but there's no reason to be afraid. "All personnel not needed at once, stand by. The following specialists please report to me--" He read off the list, all physicists, and closed his talk with a forced grin and thumbs up. As if it had broken a dam, the message released a babble of words. Gilchrist saw Catherine striding out of the room and hastened after her. "Where are you going?" he asked. "Where do you think?" she replied. "To put on six layers of clothes." He nodded. "Best thing. I'll come along, if I may--my room's near yours." A woman, still in her smock, was trying to comfort a child that shivered and cried. A Malayan geologist stood with teeth clattering in his jaws. An engineer snarled when someone tried to question him and ran on down the corridor. "What do you think?" asked Gilchrist inanely. "I don't have any thoughts about the heating plant," said Catherine. Her voice held a thin edge. "I'm too busy worrying about food and air." Gilchrist's tongue was thick and dry in his mouth. The biochemistry of food creation and oxygen renewal died when it got even chilly. * * * * * Finished dressing, they looked at each other in helplessness. Now what? The temperature approached its minimum in a nosedive. There had always been a delicate equilibrium; it couldn't be otherwise, when the interior of the domes was kept at nearly 240 degrees above the surrounding world. The nuclear pile devoted most of its output to maintaining that balance, with only a fraction going to the electric generators. Gilchrist thrust hands which were mottled blue with cold into his pockets. Breath smoked white before him. Already a thin layer of hoarfrost was on ceiling and furniture. "How long can we stand this?" he asked. "I don't know," said Catherine. "Not too long, I should think, since nobody has adequate clothes. The children should ... suffer ... pretty quickly. Too much drain on body energy." She clamped her lips together. "Use your mental training. You can ignore this till it begins actually breaking down your physique." Gilchrist made an effort, but couldn't do it. He could stop shivering, but the chill dank on his skin, and the cold sucked in by his nose, were still there in his consciousness, like a nightmare riding him. "They'll be dehumidifying the air," said Catherine. "That'll help some." She began walking down the hall. "I want to see what they're doing about the food and oxy sections."