He paused a moment, seeming carefully to consider his next words. "I want you now to forget earth standards. Take the larger viewpoint exclusively. Let me speak of miles, not in relation to earth, but miles--in relation to the Inner Surface--which are 100 million times longer. Let me speak then of myself as again but six feet high; the vehicle, 52.8 feet high. Realize that by the larger standards I was but one-twentieth of a light-year from earth." Dr. Gryce said gravely, "Your telescope would show a globe like the earth very plainly at one-twentieth of a light-year of distance. You must explain, Brett, why you could not see it--or any of the great stars of our immediate universe." Brett nodded. "We could not see the earth, because to our size it was merely a little orange. To be more exact, a ball about five inches in diameter. A tiny ball I could have held in my hand, whirling out there in Space, spinning like a top on its axis to make your infinitesimal days and nights; traversing its entire orbit--a complete revolution around its little sun--more than three times every second! "With these other standards, then, I want you to visualize us as we sat on the floor of the vehicle gazing down through the lower window. We were, say a hundred miles above the Inner Surface, just entering the upper strata of its atmosphere, and falling gently downward. Beneath us lay a broad vista of land and water; vegetation; forests; here and there patches of human habitation--houses, villages. It was a strange, unfamiliar landscape, yet not unduly abnormal. In every direction--as we dropped closer--it spread upward to our horizon. A rolling country; gently undulating hills, broad valleys--and off near the horizon a jagged mountain range. It seemed not far away; we could see black yawning holes in it; the mouths of caves, or tunnels, perhaps. "The broad crescent lake lay directly beneath us. Trees bordered its banks; trees strange of shape--yet one would call them trees at once. A collection of low, flat-roofed buildings lay beside the water. A village--or a city. The buildings were queerly curved--seemingly crescent-shaped. They had no straight lines. They seemed generally of but one story, though a few were larger; and upon an eminence near the water stood one much larger; more ornate of shape than all the others. "It was not a fantastic scene, but wholly rational to our own accepted standards. A sylvan atmosphere seemed to hang upon it. Trees and flowers were everywhere; the roof-tops seemed gardens as luxuriant as those beside the houses. The streets were broad and orderly; and beyond the city ribbons of roads wound out over the hills.