"Turn up the ship's heaters," Jason said. "What's the temperature in there?"
Tom glanced at the thermometer as he twisted the thermostat dial as far as it would go. "Forty-nine," he answered.
He could sense Jason nod. "The heaters are on minimum power automatically unless you turn them up. It'll warm you up in a few seconds. How's the satellite?"
Tom told him what remained to be done.
"You're not even half through yet." Jason's voice grew fainter and Tom knew that he was doing some mental arithmetic as he thought out loud. "You've been up about twenty hours; at the rate you're going you'll need another twenty-four to finish the job. That will bring you very close to your oxygen limit."
Tom sat impassively and stared at the gray metal and colored knobs of the radio.
"Is everything going all right?" Jason asked.
"How should I know? Ask Arnoldsson."
"He's asleep. They all are."
"Except you."