Carl Keating nosed the ship into a standard satellite maneuver, circling the planet twice before he cleaved into the unbroken ocean of ammonia clouds that shrouded the planet. Then they were falling—falling through a smoky whiteness that boiled against the portholes, settling in spots, and condensing into tiny rivulets that ran the length of the amber glass. The ship shuddered sharply three times as its powerful thrust engines reached out, challenging the herculean fingers of gravity; fighting them—fighting them to a draw. Then the misty ports cleared, and the ship settled with a gentle bump in the center of a broad meadow.
Not till after the controls had been checked, and the atomic reactor switch set to recharge, did he look at the passengers. They were standing in the companionway, their faces pressed against the ports. He crossed the control room and peered over the bony shoulder of Norman Hamlin.
Dismal-looking, even through the amber glass, the miserable panorama rolled away from them. A quarter-mile away, the meadow ended at the rim of a small ridge, beyond which a hill dipped down—down across the roof of a purple-brown saroo forest that merged with an abyss of swirling green fog that swallowed up the horizon. In the foreground, a few packing cases lay scattered about in front of a large white hemisphere topped by a radio antenna and American flag. It was all there, exactly the way it had been left by the military almost six months ago.
"That's a permanent building," Carl said to no one in particular. "Just before we evacuated, Colonel Brophy stocked it up with all our excess supplies, just on the chance someone might be crazy enough to come back here. We even left the separator running when we left. So take a good look at it, 'cause inside that bubble is the only breath of air on the whole planet."
"Very nice of the military," Ferguson commented dryly.
"Let's hope we won't have to use it long," Dr. Hamlin said.
Carl looked out the port. Rain, that doused the planet almost twenty hours a day, had started to fall, settling in small puddles at the base of the ship and drenching the broad-leafed saroo trees.
"I wouldn't bet on it," he said.
As if in a trance, Diane continued to stare at the melancholy landscape. "It's more that awful color than anything else," she said finally. "It makes everything seem so angry looking. How about the rest of the planet? Is it all like this?"
"No," Carl said, "it's not all like this. That's the trouble. This is one of the more livable spots. That's why it was chosen by the military. Roughly ten percent of the planet lies above water, but out of that, only five percent of the terrain is in the visual belt."