Slower ... slower ... slower.... The roar was reflected loud off the flat below....
Touch.
Perfect, he thought happily. Perfect perfect perfect.
He leaned contentedly back in the control chair and watched the needles of the console gauges fall lifeless back to the pins.
He whistled a little tune under his breath and smiled.
Now what?
Get out.
He couldn't think of the reason for it, but he would do it. While he waited for the hull to cool, he dropped the exit ladder, listened to the whine of the servomotors.
He opened the port and stood at the edge, looking out. His headache had come back again, worse than ever, and he grimaced at the sudden pain.
Before him stretched the flat black plane of the landing pad, ending abruptly in the regular formations he had noted before. They were mostly white, and contrasted strongly with the black of the pad. They weren't, he realized, rock formations at all, they were—