"How did you ever guess?" asked O'Mallory with elaborate sarcasm.
"Lay off him," said Catherine. "We're all having a tough time."
Gilchrist bit his lip. It wasn't enough to be a tongue-tied idiot, he seemed to need a woman's protection.
"Trouble is, of course," said O'Mallory, "the pipes are buried in insulation, behind good solid plastic. They'll be hard to get at."
"Whoever designed this farce ought to have to live in it," said his companion savagely.
"The same design's worked on Titan with no trouble at all," declared O'Mallory.
Catherine's face took on a grimness. "There never was much point in making these outer-planet domes capable of quick repair," she said. "If something goes wrong, the personnel are likely to be dead before they can fix it."
"Now, now, that's no way to talk," smiled O'Mallory. "Look, I get off duty at 0800. Care to have a drink with me then?"
Catherine smiled back. "If the bar's operating, sure."
Gilchrist wandered numbly after her as she left.