The literary genre is the "bunker"—sometimes, the 'lifeboat"—story, in which an isolated group of people must unite in their efforts to defeat a nebulous, potentially fatal threat. In Elise Blackwell's 2008 novel, set in 1941, the surrounding terror encompasses Nazi troops blockading supplies to the Russian western-border city of Leningrad while their bomber planes send the citizenry scurrying for cover, Joseph Stalin's ruthless secret police, and the cruel winters sparing neither foe nor friend. Oh, and since the members of this fellowship are state-funded research botanists, their enemies also include rival scientists not above using politics to eliminate contenders—in the permanent sense.

The treasure our heroes guard is a cache of rare seeds, bred to facilitate super-crops that will someday, they hope, bring an end to famine throughout the world—edibles now endangered by a population reduced to draconian deprivation. Gradually, the comrades' numbers decrease—some surrendering to waning health, some to lost morale, some to incaution leading to their arrest as spies or traitors. Even after the siege lifts, the return to normalcy, in a dictatorship, continues to test the resolve of those remaining.

This formulaic fable is populated by the usual assortment of personalities, anchored by our narrator, who matures from an impetuous youth cheating on the wife he loves and reveling in his occupation-mandated field trips to exotic lands, into a gaunt and distrustful recluse whose only goal is survival, even if it means eating the precious lab-samples that awaken memories of his fallen companions. Unfortunately, the epic sprawl of Blackwell's novel does not translate well to the stage, despite adapter Chris Hainsworth's obvious efforts to excise all but the most necessary components in winnowing his story down to a spartan two-and-a-half-hour running time.

If the results force us to ignore significant images (the irony of a single potted plant amid huge banks of embryonic flora, for example), our emotional connection remains unbroken, thanks to a cast of Lifeline regulars under Rob Kauzlaric's direction, who render every minute riveting in their depiction of the excruciating hardships suffered by those who would benefit all humankind. Their imprisonment is enhanced by Jessica Kuehnah's Chinese-box scenic design and Andrew Hansen's aural soundscapes, invoking panoramic exteriors ranging from Ethiopian rockslides to New Orleans jazz clubs, whose variety serves to tantalize the fugitives huddled in their technological bunker.