Steve noted their rugged surroundings, where strange rock pillars thrust into the black sky from a shimmering, white-hot plain. Snaky rifts of incalculable depth split the torrid landscape. “The ship landed on its side,” Bart observed, speaking over his short-range helmet radio. “The escape port is underneath!” There was no point of exit from the ship for the trapped occupants if they were still alive, Steve observed. Even the rocket tubes had been crushed flat. Actually the _Dennis Meteor_ was a complete ruin, its entire glossy surface warped and corrugated. “You can see the ship broke down under the heat,” Bart said. “That’s why they had to crash-land.” “Look here on the other side!” Steve’s voice suddenly crackled in alarm over his helmet radio. Bart joined him. Only now did they see that the craft had nearly rolled down a precipitous incline into a canyon stream of molten lead far below. The ship was balanced precariously on the ledge. It seemed as if the slightest jar would send it hurtling down the slope. “We’ve got to get them out of there before the ship falls!” Steve said. “The precipice looks so crumbly it may give way at any minute!” “I don’t see how we can get them out,” Bart commented. Steve thought a moment. “The fire drill! We can cut a hole in the top of the ship!” Bart frowned. “The force of the drill or even our weight on top of it may cause the ship to go. But if you’re game, I am.” They brought the fire drill out of the _Condon Comet_, and as they climbed up onto the warped hull of the other ship with it, Bart smiled wryly. “I never thought I’d see the day that I’d risk my neck for a Dennis,” he remarked. A moment later, when Bart was about to start the drill, he asked, “Ever try swimming through molten metal, Steve? You’d better think about it. We may be doing it in a second.” Steve felt weak in the knees as he looked down into the plunging gulf where the metallic river tossed against blackened rocks. A person flung into that stream would be a cinder in scant moments. Steve gritted his teeth. “Start it up, Bart.” The machine whined into action, pouring a thin stream of blue-hot biting energy against the heat-resistant alloy. The rocket shuddered under the drill’s action, and Steve felt waves of fear course through him. The drill moved in an arc that was to be a circle barely large enough for the two men inside to squeeze through in their space suits. When the job was halfway done, the ship ground forward several feet. Steve saw Bart’s face drain whitely. Steve could almost feel the scorching bite of liquid metal against his body. Yet the ship somehow clung stubbornly to its precarious support.