He read off the list, all physicists, and closed his talk with a forced grin and thumbs up.
As if it had broken a dam, the message released a babble of words. Gilchrist saw Catherine striding out of the room and hastened after her.
"Where are you going?" he asked.
"Where do you think?" she replied. "To put on six layers of clothes."
He nodded. "Best thing. I'll come along, if I may—my room's near yours."
A woman, still in her smock, was trying to comfort a child that shivered and cried. A Malayan geologist stood with teeth clattering in his jaws. An engineer snarled when someone tried to question him and ran on down the corridor.
"What do you think?" asked Gilchrist inanely.
"I don't have any thoughts about the heating plant," said Catherine. Her voice held a thin edge. "I'm too busy worrying about food and air."
Gilchrist's tongue was thick and dry in his mouth. The biochemistry of food creation and oxygen renewal died when it got even chilly.