“It still leaves a logistical problem,” Clyde pointed out. “We can ration food and get away with it, but you can’t tell people to breathe less.”
The conference room was located one door down from the medical bay. Some 20 feet to a side, it was nearly entirely occupied by a boomerang-shaped table, set into which were controls for the projection screens located on three of the room’s walls. Lamont could probably count on one hand the number of times he had been in the room during his time on Westward, because the senior staff was more likely to congregate around the small situation table located on the command deck. For the number of people present at this meeting, though, the conference room was an obvious choice. Sitting or standing around the table were all the members of the expedition party who had returned from the tower: Himself, Ed, Abigail, Rico, Arthur and Rosemary. Also there were Chief Santana, Phobos, Dr. Faust and Captain Carter. Finally, Clyde Jackson was there, representing the colonists. Clyde was standing near the door, arms folded, apparently chewing on something. Every so often he would level a decidedly menacing glare at the newspaperman.
Captain Carter, seated at the convex center of the table, stood to bring the meeting to order. “Ladies, gentlemen,” he began tersely. “Believe it or not, nearly ten hours have passed since the incident that damaged our ship. We’ve all been working hard to bring the situation under control, and we’re all tired. The purpose of this meeting is to get a status report from each department and, importantly, to determine what the next 24 hours and beyond are going to look like for all of us. Mr. Jackson, would you care to begin with your report from the colonist deck?”
“You don’t need me to tell you,” Clyde shrugged, “That anyone with technical skills that can be spared has been down here, helping the crew with repairs. That leaves about a dozen of us at any given time up there, tending to spooked animals and spooked children. We’re hardy, but kids are kids and the air is getting a mite heavy.”
“That’s true everywhere,” Confirmed Dr. Faust. “If things continue as they are, we can expect to see an uptick in accidents and illness from the worsening air quality.”
“I’m afraid there’s little good news on that front,” Amila Santana admitted, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Our air recycling system is running at half capacity at best, with a significant portion of its infrastructure gone, along with nearly all our oxygen reserves.”
“What’s your assessment of the damage, Ed?” Carter asked.
The chief technician tipped his chair back, running a hand through blond hair that was untypically disheveled. “There was a massive electrical arc that tore through the starboard arm of the ship. The good news is, it’s rarely occupied. The bad news is, that’s half our oxygen processing, half our hydroponics, half our sensors. Oh, and then there’s the chain reaction that wreaked havoc on our conventional electronics throughout the ship. Blown fuses, blown circuits, blown panels. It would take weeks to repair under normal conditions. Under these conditions…” He shrugged weakly.
“But it can be repaired?” Carter asked.
“Certainly,” Phobos confirmed, towering beside him. “The spare parts in the storage bay were unaffected by the incident. It also bears mention that the nearby moon is a veritable treasure trove of heavy metals and raw materials, if needed.”
“And the atmosphere is rich in oxygen,” Amila added. “We can use it to replenish our supply.”
“Splendid,” Lamont said, pulling a cigarette from his shirt pocket. “I’m delighted to hear that this couldn’t have happened in a better place.”
“Put that away, you idiot,” Rosemary said, slapping the cigarette from his hand.
“It still leaves a logistical problem,” Clyde pointed out, stepping closer to the table. “We’d use all our resources trying to replenish our oxygen from the moon without the use of recyclers. We can ration food and get away with it, but you can’t tell people to breathe less.”
“That’s true,” agreed Arthur. “People are going to start dropping before the repairs can be completed.”
“What if the ship only had a skeleton crew at any given time?” Rosemary asked. “Would that help?”
“Of course it would,” Ed said. “But that’s theoretical unless… Are you suggesting what I think you’re suggesting?”
“I’m suggesting,” Rosemary shrugged, “that the captain brought us here so that we can describe what we found in that tower.”
Next: A Poverty of Oxygen