"Read it!" Morrow shouted. "Read it!"
"265 miles," Jones cried. "I need more readings to tell if it helped."
There was no sound in the radio circuit, save that of 90 men breathing, waiting to hear 90 death sentences. Jones' heavily-gloved hands moved the pencil clumsily over the graph paper. He drew a tangent to a new curve.
"It helped," he said tonelessly, "We'll go in at 100 miles, penetrate to 90...."
"Not enough," Kevin said. "Close all ports. Repeat. Close all ports!"
An unheard sigh breathed through the mammoth, complex doughnut as automatic machinery gave new breath to airless spaces.
It might never be needed again to sustain human life.
But the presence of air delivered one final hope to Morrow's frantic brain.
"Two three oh miles," Jones said.
"Air control," Kevin barked into the mike, "how much pressure can you get in 15 minutes?"