.

Wilcox pushed forward. "Grundy couldn't have done it. He's the logical
suspect, but he was playing rummy with my men."

The two engine men nodded agreement, and we began filing back to the
mess hall, with the exception of Bullard, who shoved back into a
niche, trying to avoid us. Then, when we were almost out of his sight,
he let out a shriek and came blubbering after us.

I watched them put Hal Lomax's body through the 'tween-hulls lock, and
turned toward the engine room; I could use some of that wine, just as
the ship could have used a trained detective. But the idea of watching
helplessly while the engines purred along to remind me I was just a
handyman for the rest of my life got mixed up with the difficulty of
breathing the stale air, and I started to turn back. My head was
throbbing, and for two cents I'd have gone out between the hulls
beside Lomax and the others and let the foul air spread out there and
freeze....

The idea was slow coming. Then I was running back toward the engines.
I caught up with Wilcox just before he went into his own quarters.
"Wilcox!"

He swung around casually, saw it was me, and motioned inside. "How
about some Bartok, Paul? Or would you rather soothe your nerves with
some first-rate Buxtehude organ...."

"Damn the music," I told him. "I've got a wild idea to get rid of this
carbon dioxide, and I want to know if we can get it working with what
we've got."

He snapped to attention at that. Half-way through my account, he
fished around and found a bottle of Armagnac. "I get it. If we pipe
our air through the passages between the hulls on the shadow side, it
will lose its heat in a hurry. And we can regulate its final
temperature by how fast we pipe it through--just keep it moving enough
to reach the level where carbon dioxide freezes out, but the oxygen
stays a gas. Then pass it around the engines--we'll have to cut out
the normal cooling set-up, but that's okay--warm it up.... Sure, I've
got equipment enough for that. We can set it up in a day. Of course,
it won't give us any more oxygen, but we'll be able to breathe what we
have. To success, Paul!"

I guess it was good brandy, but I swallowed mine while calling Muller
down, and never got to taste it.

It's surprising how much easier the air got to breathe after we'd
double-checked the idea. In about fifteen minutes, we were all milling
around in the engine room, while Wilcox checked through equipment. But
there was no qu