It was neither a rapid motion nor a simple one. The jerk had come at an angle rather than straight out. The two of them revolved slowly around each other at the two ends of the rope. McCauley held on grimly, braced for the countervailing tug of his own rope when it tightened. It did tighten. And then it slid. The spot where Sammy had meant to bolt two girders together was, naturally, the point where the two frame members would complete a new triangle. It was to form one of the triangular facets of the twenty-sided figure the Platform would constitute when completed. But.... McCauley's rope slid, and caught, and slid again. Then it came free. Before it came free it had slowed the two of them, to be sure. It increased the rate of their spin. But it slid off to emptiness and the two of them went away from the Platform, revolving fairly rapidly about each other, held together by Sammy's space rope. Their speed around each other was greater than the speed at which, as a pair, they were drifting serenely away. At one point in each rotation one of them approached the Platform while the other moved away from it. A second later the other spun toward the Platform and the first one moved toward emptiness. But together they drifted very, very deliberately toward the stars. McCauley swore. Then he said curtly: "Lieutenant!" The use of the term instead of the name was wise. Sammy Breen might be a horrified young man. But Lieutenant Breen was something else. "Sir," said his voice unsteadily in McCauley's headphones, "I'm sorry, sir. I should have...." "I'm going to throw you my space rope," snapped McCauley. "You will catch it and obey my orders." "Yes, sir." "Catch!" snapped McCauley. He threw the rope. Because they were rotating, the first cast was wild. Sammy Breen wasn't where he threw the rope when it got to him. It had McCauley's own speed of rotation, so it did not go where he aimed. It took half a dozen attempts to get the rope to where the younger man could catch the squirming line in the stiff gauntlet of his space suit. "Now, fasten your reamer to the rope," commanded McCauley. "Tie on your other tools. Give me every bit of equipment you've got except your air tanks." "Y-yes, sir," said Sammy's voice in the helmet phones.