"We are also aware that the lens system is without power for some stations, without space-warping equipment for others, and without personnel for still others. There may even be a few in which any combination of the three vital factors in mathematical permutation may be applied. If you're looking for encouragement, grasp this straw: We're working like a pack of fools to re-instate the lens. And if you care for my advice, I'd suggest that you issue orders that the lens-to-planet telephone be restricted to calls made from Station 1. We might need something in a tearing hurry." "I shall issue such orders," promised Holloway. "I have also been informed by the astrophysicists that Pluto will lose about two degrees per hour until the lens is re-instated. There is still a lot of very cold material down in the interior of the planet, they say, and it will tend to draw heat from the surface. You know how the heat gradient is from midnight to noon." "I understand," said McBride. "But we're not sitting around contemplating the temperature on Pluto, or calculating how soon it will be before you can go ice skating on the River Styx. Good-by!" John's sense of humor asserted itself, and he picked up a cryptic little card that said: "Do Not Disturb" and hung it over the telephone. He picked up the other phone, and called Station 6. The telephone rang endlessly at the other end, and McBride cursed. After ten minutes of solid ringing, McBride hung up in futility. "Tommy," he yelled, and a young man came running. "Tommy," he said, "get the number two flitter hot. You and I are going to go over to 6!" Tommy left, and McBride called Station 8. The answer was prompt. "Look, Jimmy, 6 doesn't answer. You send a couple of your men over--not your best, but a couple that you can spare. I'm going to call 4 and get Jud to send a couple of his assistant specialists over, too. I'll be over myself as soon as I can get there; but it will be a long haul for me. It's near the full diameter of the lens, and twenty-two million miles is no stone's throw." "O.K.," said Jimmy Allen. "Too bad about this charge business or you could call 5 and 7." "I know. It's bad enough that I have to change charge to get from 1 to 6, but I'll have enough time to do it, coming from here. Are you on?" "Sure. We're not in too bad a shape. Mostly ruined wiring and welded relays. The alphatron is still in fine shape, and the space-warp generator can still do a job. As soon as we get cooking again, I'd suggest a replacement, but the darned thing will hold up fine for a few weeks until we have time and a breathing spell." "O.K., on the way!" "Right, boss!" McBride's next call was to 4. "Jud," he said. "Jud's nursing a set of busted arms," came the disconsolate answer. "This is Pete Jackson." "How bad is Jud?" "Conscious, and madder than the devil. He can't even hold the phone, you know, and so I'm acting as his mouthpiece." "How's the station?"