The rocket lay at the base of the slope, which fell away before them. It was careened at a crazy angle with its base crumpled. A wide cleft running half way to its nose was visible. Crag studied the rocket carefully. "Might still be oxygen in the space cabin," he ventured finally. "The break in the hull might not reach that far." "It does," Larkwell corrected. His eyes, trained in construction work, had noted small cracks in the metal extending up alongside the hatch. "No survivors in there," he grunted. Crag said thoughtfully: "Might be, if they had on their pressure suits. And they would have," he added. He hesitated before striking across the clearing, then began moving down the slope. Larkwell followed slowly. As he neared the rocket Crag saw that it lacked any type of failing device to absorb the landing impact. That, at least, had been one secret kept, he thought. He was wondering how to get into the space cabin when Larkwell solved the problem. He drew a thin hemp line from a leg pocket and began uncoiling it. Crag smiled approval. "Never without one in the construction business," he explained. He studied Bandit. "Maybe I can hook it over the top of that busted tail fin, then work my way up the break in the hull." "Let me try," Crag offered. The climb looked hazardous. "This is my province." Larkwell snorted. He ran his eye over the ship before casting the line. He looked surprised when it shot high above the intended target point. "Keep forgetting the low gravity," he apologized. He tried again. On the third throw he hooked the line over the torn tailfin. He rubbed his hands against his suit then started upward, climbing clumsily, each movement exaggerated by the bulky suit. He progressed slowly, testing each step. Crag held his breath. Larkwell gripped the line with his body swung outward, his feet planted against the vertical metal, reminding Crag of a human fly. He stopped to rest just below the level of the space cabin. "Thought a man was supposed to be able to jump thirty feet on the moon," he panted. "You can if you peel those duds off," Crag replied cheerfully. He ran his eye over the break noting the splintered metal. "Be careful of your suit." Larkwell didn't answer. He was busy again trying to pull his body upward, using the break in the hull to obtain finger grips. Only the moon's low gravity allowed him to perform what looked like an impossible task. He finally reached a point alongside the hatch and paused, breathing heavily. He rested a moment, then carefully inserted his hand into the break in the hull. After a moment he withdrew it, and fumbled in his leg pocket withdrawing a switchblade knife. "Got to cut through the lining," he explained. He worked the knife around inside the break for several minutes, then closed the blade and reinserted his hand, feeling around until he located the lockbar.