"Cities--those must be cities!" Those in the cabin studied the plate
with awe as the information filtered through the crew. Lablet, their
xenobiologist, sat with his fingers rigid on the lower bar of the visa
plate, so intent that nothing could break his vigil, while the rest
speculated wildly. Had they really seen cities?

Raf went down the corridor to the door of the sealed compartment that
held the machine and the supplies for which he was responsible. These
last hours of waiting were worse with their nagging suspense than all
the time which had gone before. If they could only set down!

He had, on training trips which now seemed very far in the past, trod
the rust-red desert country of Mars, waddled in a bulky protective
suit across the peaked ranges of the dead Moon, known something of the
larger asteroids. But how would it feel to tread ground warmed by the
rays of another sun? Imagination with which his superiors did not
credit him began to stir. Traits inherited from a mixture of races
were there to be summoned. Raf retreated once more into his cabin and
sat on his bunk pad, staring down at his own capable mechanic's hands
without seeing them, picturing instead all the wonders which might lie
just beyond the next few hours' imprisonment in this metallic shell he
had grown to hate with a dull but abiding hatred.

Although he knew that Hobart must be fully as eager as any of them to
land, it seemed to Raf, and the other impatient crew members, that
they were very long in entering the atmosphere of the chosen world. It
was only when the order came to strap down for deceleration that they
were in a measure satisfied. Pull of gravity, ship beaming in at an
angle which swept it from night to day or night again as it encircled