Crag said decisively. "That means we'll have to maintain a watch over the pressure gauge."
"That won't help if it's a big chunk." Prochaska scraped his toe through the ash. "The possibility's sort of disconcerting."
"Too damned many occupational hazards for me," Larkwell ventured. "I must have had rocks in my head when I volunteered for this one."
"All brawn and no brain." Crag gave a wry smile. "That's the kind of fodder that's needed for deep space."
Prochaska said, "We ought to let Gotch know he's just acquired a few more acres."
"Right." Crag hesitated a moment. "Then we'll check out on Bandit."
"Why?" Larkwell asked.
"There might be some survivors."
"Let them rot," Nagel growled.
"That's for me to decide," Crag said coldly. He stared hard at the oxygen man. "We're still human."