"No?" The single word came across the void, soft and low.
"We can do it," Crag persisted.
"All right, I agree with the plan. I think you're wrong but you're the Commander in the field." His voice was flat. "Good luck." He cut off abruptly.
Crag looked at the silent panel for a moment. Another problem, another solution required. Maybe Gotch was right. Maybe they'd all wind up as candidates for the laughing academy—if they lived long enough. The thought didn't cheer him. Well, he'd better get moving. There was a lot to be done. He looked up and saw the question in Prochaska's eyes. Might as well tell him, he thought.
He repeated the information Gotch had given, together with his plan. Prochaska listened quietly, nodding from time to time. When he finished, they discussed the pros and cons of Crag's proposed course of action. Prochaska thought it would work. In the end they decided to pursue the plan without telling the others the full story. It might be the breaking point, especially for Nagel, and they would be needing a good oxygen man in the coming days. Crag got on the interphone and called Larkwell, who was working in the tail section with the others.
"Judging from what you've seen of Bandit, how long would it take to make it livable as crew quarters?"
"Why?" he asked querulously.
"I haven't time to go into that now," Crag said evenly. "Just give me your best estimate."
"You can't make it livable. It's hot."
"Not that hot. You've just got the radiation creeps. Let's have the estimate."