I knew that one clear print would ease Joan's frustration and bitterness, and give her a sense of accomplishment. But I didn't expect anything sensational. Venus is a frozen wasteland from pole to pole, and the dust-bowl deserts of Mars are exactly like the more arid landscapes of Earth. Most of Earth is sea and desert and I felt sure that Jupiter would exhibit uniform surface features over nine-tenths of its crust. Its rugged or picturesque regions would be dispersed amidst vast, dun wastes. The law of averages was dead against our having landed on the rim of some blue-lit, mysterious cavern measureless to man, or by the shores of an inland sea. But Joan's eyes were shining again, so I didn't voice my misgivings. Joan's eyes were fastened on the little camera as though all her life were centered there. "Well, Richard," she urged. My hands were shaking. "A few pictures won't give _me_ a lift," I said. "Even if they show mountains and crater-pits and five hundred million people gape at them on Earth." "Don't be such a pessimist, Richard. We'll be back in a month with impermeable space suits, and a helmet filter of the Silo type. You're forgetting we've accomplished a lot. It's something to know that the temperature outside isn't anything like as ghastly as the cold of space, and that the pebbles we've siphoned up show Widman-statten lines and contain microscopic diamonds. That means Jupiter's crust isn't all volcanic ash. There'll be something more interesting than tumbled mounds of lava awaiting us when we come back. If we can back our geological findings with prints--" "You bet we can," I scoffed. "I haven't a doubt of it. What do you want to see? Flame-tongued flowers or gyroscopic porcupines? Take your choice. Richard the Great never fails." "Richard, you're talking like that to hide something inside you that's all wonder and surmise." Scowling, I broke open the camera and the plates fell out into my hand. They were small three by four inch positive transparencies, coated on one side with a iridescent emulsion which was still slightly damp. Joan's eyes were riveted on my face. She seemed unaware of the presence of the crewmen below us. She sat calmly watching me as I picked up the top-most plate and held it up in the cube-light. I stared at it intently. It depicted--a spiral of mist. Simply that, and nothing more. The spiral hung in blackness like a wisp of smoke, tapering from a narrow base. "Well?" said Joan. "Nothing on this one," I said, and picked up another. The spiral was still there, but behind it was something that looked like an ant-hill. "Thick mist getting thinner," I said. The third plate gave me a jolt. The spiral had become a weaving ghost shroud above a distinct elevation that could have been either a mountain or an ant-hill. It would have been impossible to even guess at the elevation's distance from the ship if something hadn't seemed to be crouching upon it.