"We could draw one-fifth as much power, here, as the same sized grid would yield on your home world," he said grimly. "We are drawing—call it sixty per cent of normal. A shade over one-tenth of what they must expect to draw when the real cold hits them. But their estimates are nine times too high." He said heavily, "One grid won't warm three square miles of city. About a third of one is closer. But—"
"That won't be the worst!" said Riki in a choked voice. "Is that right? How much good will a grid do?"
Massy did not answer.
The inner cold-lock door opened. Herndon sat at his desk, even paler than before, listening to the hash of noises that came out of the speaker. He tapped on the desktop, quite unconscious of the action. He looked almost desperately at Massy.
"Did she ... tell you?" he asked in a numb voice. "They hope to save maybe half the population. All the children anyhow—"
"They won't," said Riki bitterly.
"Better go transcribe the new stuff that's come in," said her brother dully. "We might as well know what it says."
Riki went out of the office. Massy laboriously shed his cold-garments. He said uncomfortably:
"The rest of the colony doesn't know what's up yet. The operator at the grid didn't, certainly. But they have to know."
"We'll post the messages on the bulletin board," said Herndon apathetically. "I wish I could keep it from them. It's not fun to live with. I ... might as well not tell them just yet."