Wick Wilson looked at Joe briefly, said: "I thought you were in the brig." Then, "Sure, lug the tub down to the power room. We're trying to get enough water out of the juice to make catalyst."
Joe hoisted the tub to one shoulder. "How about something to eat?"
Wick went into the kitchen, pulled a half chicken out of the refrigerator, brought back.
"Southern fried," he said. "It'll hold you together."
Joe bit off a chunk and carried the rest in one hand as he balanced the tub of fruit and vegetable juices on one shoulder and strode from the room.
Black Tom was putting the finishing touches on a metal cylinder he had salvaged from some of the shattered tanks.
As Joe came in the power room door, Black Tom asked: "How does it look? Been a long time since I did any welding, but it'll hold water."
Black Tom and Herd, the assistant pilot, had bolted the jury rigged tank to the floor, and had, through some amateur plumbing work, hooked up a pipe system to the atomic motor.
Joe jerked his chicken-filled hand at the tub on his shoulder.