Dowst cut the
exhausts, and Rip stepped out onto the tiny planet.
The Planeteers knew what to do. Corporal Pederson produced hardened steel
spikes with ring tops. Private Trudeau had a sledge. Driving the first
spike would be the hardest, because the action of swinging the hammer
would propel the Planeteer like a rocket exhaust. In space, the law that
every action has an equal and opposite reaction had to be remembered
every moment.
Rip watched, interested in how his man would tackle the problem. He
didn't know the answer himself, because he had never driven a spike
on an airless world with almost no gravity, and no one had ever mentioned
it to him.
Pederson searched the gray metal with his torch and found a slender spur
of thorium, perhaps two feet high, a short distance from the boat.
"Here's a hold," he said. "Come on, Frenchy. You too, Bradshaw."
Trudeau, carrying the sledge, walked up to the spur of rock and stood
with his heels against it. Pederson sat down on the ground with his legs
on either side of the spur. He stretched, hooking his heels around
Trudeau's ankles, anchoring him. With his gloves, he grabbed the seat of
the Frenchman's space suit.
Bradshaw took a spike and held it against the gray metal ground.
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