"All set." Larkwell's voice was grim. "Let her come." Crag fastened his eyes on the nose of Red Dog, a tapered indistinct silhouette. "Start letting out line at the count of three." There was a pause before Larkwell began the countdown. "One ... two ... three...." The nose moved, swinging slowly across the sky, then began falling. "Slack off!" The lines jerked, snapped taut, and the nose hung suspended in space, then began swinging to one side. "Take up on your line, Richter." The sideward movement stopped, leaving the rocket canted at an angle of about forty-five degrees. "Okay...." The nose moved down again, slower this time. Crag began to breathe easier. Suddenly the nose skidded to the rear, falling, then the rocket was a motionless blob on the plain. "That did it." Larkwell's voice was ominous, yet tinged with disgust. "What happened?" Crag found himself shouting into the lip mike. "The tail slipped. That's what we get for trying to lower it under these conditions," Larkwell snarled. "The damn thing's probably smashed." Crag didn't answer. He moved slowly toward the rocket, playing his torch over its hull in an attempt to discern its details. He was conscious that the others had come up and were doing the same thing, but even when he stood next to it Red Dog was no more than a black shadow. "Feel it," Larkwell barked, "that's the only way to tell. The torches are useless." They followed his advice. Crag walked alongside the rocket, moving his hand over the smooth surface. He had reached the tail and started back on the opposite side when Larkwell's voice rang in his ears. "Smashed!" "Where?" "The under side--where she hit the deck. Looks like she came down on a rock." Crag hurried back around the rocket, nearly stumbling over Larkwell's legs. The construction boss was lying on his stomach. "Under here." Crag dropped to his knees, then to his stomach and moved alongside Larkwell, playing his beam over the hull. He saw the break immediately, a ragged, gaping hole where the metal had shattered against a small rock outcropping. Too big for a weld? Larkwell answered his unspoken thought. "You'll play hell getting that welded." "It might be possible." "There may be more breaks." They lay there for a moment playing their beams along the visible underside of Red Dog until they were satisfied that, in this section at least, there was no more damage. "What now?" Larkwell asked, when they had crawled back from under the rocket. "The plans haven't changed," Crag said stonily. "We repair it ... fix it up ... move in. That's all there is to it." "You can't fix it by just saying so," Larkwell growled. "First it's got to be fixable. It looks like a cooked duck, to me." "We gotta start back," Nagel said urgently, "oxygen's getting low." Crag looked at his gauge. Nagel was right. They'd have to get moving. He was about to give the signal to return to Bandit when Richter spoke up.