Philomene was handling the situation well, Hermenegildus thought, all things considered. Such devastation visited upon their station, upon the people in their care - a lesser politician might have crumbled under the pressure, but Philo was tough, and she had good people working under her to keep things calm, when it would have been so easy for panic to take hold. Still, it was taking a visible toll on her - she wasn't sleeping nearly enough, surviving on VimStim and adrenaline as far as he could tell. 'Gildus would have patted her on the shoulder, but he couldn't reach, and besides, it might come off as patronizing. Instead he confined himself to telling her in no uncertain terms that things would be all right, the station wouldn't disintegrate around them, if she took an hour to rest and have a proper meal. To drive home his point, he handed her the covered dish he'd brought from home - ready-heated sauerbraten and potatoes, two portions. "I'll turn off my fib if you turn off yours," he said, and, to his surprise, she agreed with a weary smile.