Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.

<passage>:
Atomic Motors Repaired. Busted Plates Patched Up. Rocket Tubes the sign-post and gravely regarded the settlement. On the chart it was indicated by a fairly sizeable dot, but that was merely a matter of comparison. Out Saturn-way even the tiniest outpost assumes importance far beyond its size. Saturn Inn . The rest of the rock was landing field, pure and simple. Blasters had leveled off the humps and irregularities so spaceships could sit down. cumbersome spacesuit all tangled up. The gravity was slight, next to non-existent, and one who wasn't used to it had to take things easy and remember where he was. made up the Inner Ring, while arcing above the horizon opposed to Saturn were the spangled glistening rainbows of the other rings. "Like dewdrops in the black of space," Meek mumbled to himself. But he space, he knew, was not in the least poetic. It was hard and savage and under him again. He lifted the hinged helmet of his suit back on his shoulders. "You are the gentleman who can fix things?" he asked the mechanic. The mechanic stared. Here was no hell-for-leather freighter pilot, no Even the bulky spacesuit failed to hide his stooped shoulders and slight frame. The mechanic said nothing. Meek tried again. "I saw the sign. It said you could fix anything. So I...." The mechanic shook himself. "Sure," he agreed, still slightly dazed. "Sure I can fix you up. What you got?" dust, really, but the screen couldn't stop it all." He fumbled his hands self-consciously. "Awkward of me," he said. "It happens to the best of them," the mechanic consoled. "Saturn sweeps in clouds of the stuff. Thicker than hell when you reach the Rings. Lots of ships pull in with punctures. Won't take no time." puncture. A pebble got into the instruments. Washed out some of them." The mechanic clucked sympathetically. "You're lucky. Tough job to bring in a ship without all the instruments. Must have a honey of a navigator." The mechanic stared at him, eyes popping. "You mean you brought it in alone? No one with you?" The mechanic glowed with sudden admiration. "I don't know who you are, mister," he declared, "but whoever you are, you're the best damn pilot that ever took to space." "Really I'm not," said Meek. "I haven't done much piloting, you see. Up until just a while ago, I never had left Earth. Bookkeeper for Lunar Exports." "Bookkeeper!" yelped the mechanic. "How come a bookkeeper can handle a "Sure, from a book. I saved my money and I studied. I always wanted to see the Solar System and here I am." Dazedly, the mechanic took off his greasy cap, laid it carefully on the desk, reached out for a spacesuit that hung from a wall hook. "Afraid this job might take a while," he said. "Especially if we have to wait for parts. Have to get them in from Titan City. Why don't you go over to the Inn "Oh, them," said the mechanic. "They belong to Gus Hamilton. Maybe figured out, they'd change the rules and throw him off again." "That doesn't make sense," protested Meek. "Stranger," declared the mechanic, solemnly, "there ain't nothing about them bugs that make sense. Gus' rock is the only one they're on. Gus thinks maybe the rock don't even belong to the Solar system. Thinks maybe it's a hunk of stone from some other solar system. Figures maybe it crossed space somehow and was captured by Saturn, sucked into the Ring. That would explain why it's the only one that has the bugs. They come along with it, see." Inn and wait around," advised the mechanic. "He'll come in sooner or later. Drops around regular, except when his rheumatism bothers him, to pick up a bundle of papers. Subscribes to a worth it, either. Just ring-rats, that's all they are." "But those terrible feuds," she protested. "Fighting just because they live in different parts of the Ring. It's natural they might feel some rivalry, but all this killing! Surely they don't enjoy getting killed." didn't have their feud they'd plain die of boredom. They just got to have somebody to fight with. They been fighting, off and on, for years." "But they could fight with something besides guns," said the welfare of the Ring knew just exactly what kind of spacecraft the other had. "That's right," said Gus, "and I'm fixing to go over into Thirty-seven "Nope. From the welfare outfit. Aims to help you fellows out. Says there ain't no sense in you boys in Twenty-three all the time fighting "Merely to help you, Mr. Hamilton," she declared. "To turn your hatreds into healthy competition." "Games, eh?" said Gus. "Maybe you got something, after all. Maybe we could fix up some kind of game...." just naturally fall apart the first sharp turn they made. You can't "Space polo," declared Meek, "is a noble game. It requires expert Drove me out of house and home, they did. They're dippy over metal. Any kind of metal, but alloys especially. Eat the stuff. They'll tromp you "Sure you can," said Gus. "Why not?" "Well, a spacesuit's metal and...." knew now he was no expert. A half-dozen dents in his space armor was even a purpose or a problem, let alone a solution or a point. The whole thing was squirrely. But, Meek told himself, it fitted in. The whole Saturnian system was wacky. The rings, for example. Debris of a moon smashed up by Saturn's pull? Sweepings of space? No one knew. Saturn itself, for that matter. A planet that kept Man at bay with deadly radiations. But radiations that, while they kept Man at a distance, at the same time served Man. For here, on the Inner Ring, could not be analyzed. Under the artificial radiation, the moss still wilted and died. And because Earth needed the moss to cure a dozen maladies and because it would grow nowhere else but here on the Inner Ring, men squatted on the crazy swirl of spacial boulders that made up the ring. Men like Hamilton, living on rocks that bucked and heaved along their orbits like chips riding the crest of a raging flood. Men who endured loneliness, dared death when crunching orbits intersected or, when rickety spacecraft flared, who went mad with nothing to do, with the mockery of space before them. Just as one would do when one made a mistake working a mathematical A mathematical problem! His breath gurgled in his throat. He knew it now! He should have known it all the time. But the mechanic had talked about the bugs playing games and so had Hamilton. That had Games! Those bugs weren't playing any game. They were solving mathematical equations! "Maybe these things do, too," Gus contended. The radio on the mantel blared a warning signal, automatically tuning in on one of the regular newscasts from Titan City out on Saturn's biggest moon. in our own Saturnian system. A space polo game. To be played by two unknown, pick-up, amateur teams down in the Inner Ring. Most of the men have never played polo before. Few if any of them have even seen a "But they're going to play it. The men who ride those bucking rocks that make up the Inner Ring will go out into space in their rickety Ring go out into space to play that most dangerous of all sports, space

<question>:
Is it likely that mechanics on Saturn have much work?

<options>:
A People generally rely on fixing their own spaceships instead of going to mechanics
B Not likely since nobody lives there and there are few visitors
C Yes, there are many navigational hazards when landing on the planet
D No, there aren’t many reasons for people to need mechanics on Saturn

<answer>:

C