But it was Captain Brandon who drew the assignment of scouting Sirius Three for a suitable landing place for Astro, of sampling its atmosphere and observing meteorological conditions. Even as Brandon climbed into the scout-ship, Towers had cautioned him. "Remember, your assignment is to locate a firm landing site with ample protection from the elements. Under no circumstances are you to land yourself. Is that clearly understood?" Brandon nodded, was launched and now was cruising one hundred thousand feet above the alien planet. Brandon tilted the ship up on one wing and glanced down at the brick-red expanse of desert. Tiny red mists marked dust storms. Certainly this was no place to set down the full weight of Astro nor to protect the crew and equipment from abrasive dust. He righted the ship. Far on the horizon was a bank of atmospheric clouds. Perhaps conditions were more promising there. He shoved the power setting to 90 per cent. A fire warning indicator light blinked on. Instantly Brandon's eyes were on the instrument panel. The tailpipe temperature seemed all right. It could be a false indication. He eased back on the power setting. Maybe the light would go out. But it didn't. Instead he felt a surging rumble deep in the bowels of the ship. Luminous needles danced and a second red light flashed on. He snapped the vidio switch and depressed the mike button. "Astro One, this is Brandon. Over." A steady crackling sound filled his earphones; a grid of light and shadow fluttered on the screen. A thought entered his mind. Maybe he had put too much planet curvature between Astro and himself. "Astro One, this is Brandon. Come in, please." A series of muffled explosions rocked the ship. He chopped the power back all the way and listened intently. "May Day! May Day! Astro, this is Brandon. May Day!" A faint voice sputtered in his ear, the face of Reinhardt, the radioman appeared before him. "Brandon, this is Astro One. What is your position? Over." Brandon's voice sounded strange and distant as he talked to his oxygen mask. "Heading--one-eight-zero. Approximately six hundred miles from you. Altitude one hundred thousand feet." "What is the nature of your trouble, Brandon?" Before Brandon could answer, the face of Colonel Towers appeared beside the radioman's. "Brandon, what're you trying to pull?" "Engine trouble, sir. Losing altitude fast." "Do you know the nature of the trouble?" "Negative. Might have thrown a compressor blade. Got a fire indication, then a compressor surge. Chopped off the power." Towers frowned. "Why didn't you use straight rocket power?" "Well, sir--" "Never mind now. You may have encountered oxygen or hydrogen-rich atmosphere--melted your compressor blades. Try an air start on straight rocket. I want that ship back, Brandon. Repeat, I want that ship back!" "I may be able to ride it down. Get it on the deck intact."