"Can you locate it?"
Nagel shrugged in his suit "It'll take time—and cost some oxygen."
Crag looked at him and decided he was past the point of work. Past, even, the point of caring.
"We'll take care of it," he said gently. "Get a little rest, Gordon."
"Thanks, Skipper." Nagel slumped down in one of the seats and buried his head in his arms. Before long Prochaska began to stir. He opened his eyes and looked blankly at Crag for a long moment before comprehension came to his face.
"Oxygen?"
"Probably a meteorite strike. But it's okay ... now."
Prochaska struggled to his feet "Well, I needed the rest," he joked feebly.
The leak put an end to all thoughts of rations. They would have to remain in their suits until it was found and repaired. At Crag's suggestion Nagel and Larkwell went to sleep. More properly, they simply collapsed in their suits. Richter, however, insisted on helping search for the break in the hull. Crag didn't protest; he was, in fact, thankful.
It was Prochaska who found it—a small rupture hardly larger than a pea in one corner of the cabin.