"Look at this," Carl said.
He thrust a rough map towards us. "Here's the distribution of land and water. It's probably in a stage like the Cenozoic era. These mountains are rugged, not worn down by wind or weather. Here, this looks like glacial activity down into the temperate zone."
We studied the penciled map he had drawn. There was no resemblance to Earth, but when the spectrograph analysis showed vegetation we began to think of it as home.
How shall I describe what we felt when the ship thudded on solid ground? My ears were still pounding with the echo of the roaring jets, as I lay on my back in the chair and watched the radar pip off point zero. Gravity was a new sensation, pulling me back and making my head ache as blood rushed to it. The engines had cut out, yet I still felt the vibration going through it. It was daylight on the planet and golden brightness poured into the ship.
There was an air of dulled emotion in the others as if they could absorb only so much newness and no more. I felt it too as I climbed down to them. We crowded around the porthole talking excitedly.
"What do you make of it," John asked.
I stood by Karen, looking out in silence. We were three hundred and fifty feet in the air. Below I could see the fin of the tail. Out from that a carpet of vegetation sloped up to a jungle-like forest of leafy trees. Everything was blue in color as far as I could see.
"I'd like to walk around down there," Carl said.
"Anything moving?" Paul asked.
"Not that I can see. A few clouds, sort of low over those peaks."