"Mac? This is Caldwell."
"Yes, Doc?"
"Look, Carlson is in bad shape."
"Can you jack him up? Not now, but say in three hours?"
"Probably, but not more than a few minutes. He'd be better in twenty-four hours."
"Gad, Doc, Pluto'll be forty-eight degrees colder in that time! Knock forty-eight degrees off of the temperature on any planet, and you'll probably knock the whole thing for a loop. Better patch him up, Doc, because he's one of the mainsprings that'll be needed when we're about to restore the lens."
"O.K.—and say, John, you don't mind my making a hospital out of your lab?"
"Go ahead. How's the casualty situation?"
"Nothing fatal. Mostly an assortment of cuts, bruises, fractures, and shock. I've been checking the stations, and we've been calling all bad injuries in here for treatment. Takes a little longer, but I can keep my eye on more men if they come than I could if I went traveling. Never can tell what'll happen."
"Have you contacted the after stations? They got a shaking up, but I don't believe that it was anything compared to the fore element stations."