The carrier struck ice, an out-thrust fragment. A shudder ran through its strain-racked structure. Veering, it crashed into the razor shards along the lower lip of the hole.
The impact flung Boone savagely against his belt. His head snapped back so hard that for a moment he thought his neck was broken. Behind him, through the scream of torn and tortured metal, a man shouted shrilly.
Then the carrier was falling. Barely in time, Boone caught the globe-control and spun it.
End for end, the carrier flipped over in the air. Swinging like a pendulum by its nose, it settled to earth with a jarring shock that would have torn the ramping-fins from a craft less sturdy.
Boone sagged in his seat. Then, rallying, he peered upward.
Ice still was falling. Apparently the force of the carrier's down-thrust—coupled with the earlier blasts—had shaled off great chunks of the ice-shell's under-surface.
As for the ship and the others—Boone loosed his belt; scrambled round to see.
The blond giant already was bending over another crewman.
Boone stiffened. "Is it bad?"