A small mob had had the same idea. It swirled and mumbled in the hall outside the service rooms. A pair of hard-looking young engineers armed with monkey wrenches stood guard. Catherine wormed her way through the crowd and smiled at them. Their exasperation dissolved, and one of them, a thickset red-head by the name of O'Mallory, actually grinned. Gilchrist, standing moodily behind the girl, could hardly blame him. "How's it going in there?" she asked. "Well, now, I suppose the Old Man _is_ being sort of slow about his bulletins," said O'Mallory. "It's under control here." "But what are they doing?" "Rigging electric heaters, of course. It'll take all the juice we have to maintain these rooms at the right temperature, so I'm afraid they'll be cutting off light and power to the rest of the Hill." She frowned. "It's the only thing, I suppose. But what about the people?" "They'll have to jam together in the refectories and clubrooms. That'll help keep 'em warm." "Any idea what the trouble is?" O'Mallory scowled. "We'll get it fixed," he said. "That means you don't know." She spoke it calmly. "The pile's all right," he said. "We telemetered it. I'd'a done that myself, but you know how it is--" He puffed himself up a trifle. "They need a couple husky chaps to keep the crowd orderly. Anyhow, the pile's still putting out just as it should, still at 500 degrees like it ought to be. In fact, it's even a bit warmer than that; why, I don't know." Gilchrist cleared his throat. "Th-th-then the trouble is with the ... heating pipes," he faltered. "How did you ever guess?" asked O'Mallory with elaborate sarcasm. "Lay off him," said Catherine. "We're all having a tough time." Gilchrist bit his lip. It wasn't enough to be a tongue-tied idiot, he seemed to need a woman's protection. "Trouble is, of course," said O'Mallory, "the pipes are buried in insulation, behind good solid plastic. They'll be hard to get at." "Whoever designed this farce ought to have to live in it," said his companion savagely. "The same design's worked on Titan with no trouble at all," declared O'Mallory. Catherine's face took on a grimness. "There never was much point in making these outer-planet domes capable of quick repair," she said. "If something goes wrong, the personnel are likely to be dead before they can fix it." "Now, now, that's no way to talk," smiled O'Mallory. "Look, I get off duty at 0800. Care to have a drink with me then?" Catherine smiled back. "If the bar's operating, sure." Gilchrist wandered numbly after her as she left. The cold gnawed at him. He rubbed his ears, unsure about frostbite. Odd how fast you got tired--It was hard to think. "I'd better get back to my lab and put things away before they turn off the electricity to it," he said. "Good idea. Might as well tidy up in my own place." Something flickered darkly in the girl's eyes. "It'll take our minds off--"