The spaceship settled lower. Now Nixon could see the huge, naked mountain peaks. They were like greenish polished spires of glass, towering up into a queer orange-tinted haze of the Orana night. Beneath the topping spires, the vast gaunt mountains spread out in serrated ranks. The sides of them were polished cliff-ramps, bleak, precipitous slopes dropping down into the great chasms of the valleys where the orange haze was thicker so that the bottoms were an empty blur. He found Nona standing down on the floor, between him and the bullseye port. "There--Orana," she said. He was puzzled. "But Tork told me it was a very small asteroid," he said. "Those mountains, those canyons--so huge--" A little world, but so monstrously contorted by some great cataclysm of nature in its birth, that everything on it was tremendous. As Nixon stared down, it seemed that there could be easily ten miles, as distance would be measured on Earth, between the tops of these towering spires and the ragged gashes of deeps between them. A vast world, vast with the hugeness of this amazing panorama of utter, bleak desolation. Somehow there was a majesty to it. A brooding landscape, awesome in its sweep of barren immensity. And it was sinister--the monstrous, brittle-looking cliff-faces, smooth and green, with the orange hazes whirling about them, and the shadows in the depths murky with purple mystery. "It looks large to you?" Nolan said. "Then you can understand how much bigger it looks to us." He could try to see it from their viewpoint. To them he was a seventy-foot giant--and so to them these immense slashed metal mountains must seem titanic. A harsh world, with nature cruel and relentless, so that on it these tiny creatures had struggled, were struggling, for a bare existence.... Now the little Spaceship had settled lower so that the swirling orange haze was like a veil around it. A thousand feet away, outside this port, Nixon could see a dim blur of smooth almost vertical cliff-face sliding upward as they sank. "Nona, come." It was Tork, here on the floor with Nona. A line of Gorts went past, dragging a wheeled apparatus. Nixon recognized it as the little electronic gun which had spat its flash at him, back there on the bank of the Florida bayou. Tork called a command to the Gorts, and then he herded Nona away and stood looking up into Nixon's down-turned face. "You, giant," he said. "You will take orders from me now? You will do what I tell you?" "Maybe," Nixon said slowly. He had come to dislike Tork's small arrogance. "Are you going to turn me loose?" "That is impossible," Tork said shortly. "I want you to know, if you are helpful it will be for your good. Can you understand that?" "You've said it enough so I reckon I should," Nixon retorted. "When we land, I will direct you," Tork said. "The home--the place where we will keep you--to your size it will be quite close. I will direct you to it."