He snapped the thought off and turned toward the base of the rocket, indicating that the German should follow. Larkwell was testing the winches and checking the cables when they arrived. "About ready," he told Crag. "Then let her go." The construction boss nodded and barked a command to Prochaska and Nagel, who were manning the restraining winches. When they acknowledged they were ready he strode to the power winch. "Okay." His voice was a terse crack in the interphones. The Aztec shuddered on its base, teetering, then its nose began to cant downward. It moved slowly in an arc across the sky. "Take up," Larkwell barked into the mike. The guide lines tautened. "Okay." This time Prochaska and Nagel fed line through the winches more slowly. The nose of the rocket had passed through sixty degrees of arc when its tail began to inch backward, biting into the plain. "Hold up!" Larkwell circled the rocket and approached the tailfins from one side. He looked up at the body of the ship, then back at the base. Satisfied it would hold he ordered the winches started. The nose moved slowly toward the ground, swaying slightly from side to side. In another moment it lay on its belly on the plain. "Now the real work begins," Larkwell told Crag. "We gotta clean everything out of that stovepipe and get the airlock rigged." His voice was complaining but his face indicated the importance he attached to the job. "How long do you figure it'll take?" Larkwell rubbed his faceplate thoughtfully. "About two days, with some catnaps and some help." "Good." Crag looked thoughtfully at Richter. "Any reason you can't help?" he asked sharply. "None at all," Richter answered solemnly. While Larkwell and Nagel labored in the tail section, Crag and Prochaska rearranged the space cabin. The chemical commode was placed in one corner and a nylon curtain rigged around it--their one concession to civilization. Crag was conscious of Richter's eyes following them--weighing, analyzing, speculating. He caught himself swiveling around at odd times to check on him, but Richter seemed unconcerned. Electric power from the batteries was limited. For the most part they would be living on space rations--food concentrates supplemented with vitamin pills--and a square of chocolate daily per man. Later, when the airlock was installed in the area now occupied by the afterburners and machinery, they would be able to appreciably extend their living quarters. Until then, Crag thought wryly, they would live like sardines--with an enemy in their midst. An enemy and a saboteur, he mentally corrected. Aside from that there was the constant danger from meteorite falls. He shook his head despairingly. Life on the moon wasn't all it could be. Not by a damn sight.