Riki ground her teeth.
"Go on!" she said.
"Ionization here is down ten per cent," said Bordman. "That means the voltage is down, somewhat more. A great deal more. And the resistance of the layer is greater. Very much greater. When they need power most, on the home planet, they won't draw more from a grid than we do now. It won't be enough."
They reached the village. There were steps to the cold-lock of Herndon's office-hull. They were ice-free, because like the village walk-ways they were warmed to keep frost from depositing on them. Bordman made a mental note.
In the cold-lock, the warm air pouring in was almost stifling. Riki said defiantly:
"You might as well tell me now!"
"We usually can draw one-fifth as much power, here, as the same sized grid would yield on your home world," he said. "We are drawing—call it sixty per cent of normal. A shade over one-tenth of what they expect to draw when the real cold hits them. Their estimates are nine times too high. 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?"
Bordman 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 desk-top, quite unconscious of the action. He looked almost desperately at Bordman.