He wasn't listening. "See that slot up there?"

"Sure. What about it?"

"If we crossed that little glacier, we could get up to it."

"Why?"

"I think it leads into another valley—which might be even better. Nobody has been up there. I know—I was in the topo gang."

"I've been trying to help you forget that," I told him. "But why look at all? There must be a hundred thousand valleys on Ganymede that nobody has looked at. Are you in the real estate business?" It didn't appeal to me. There is something that gets you about virgin soil on Ganymede; I wanted to stay in sight of camp. It was quiet as a library—quieter. On Earth there is always some sound, even in the desert. After a while the stillness and the bare rocks and the ice and the craters get on my nerves.

"Come on! Don't be a sissyl" he answered, and started climbing.

The slot did not lead to another valley; it led into a sort of corridor in the hills. One wall was curiously flat, as if it had been built that way on purpose. We went along it a way, and I was ready to turn back and had stopped to call to Hank, who had climbed the loose rock on the other side to get a picture. As I turned, my eye caught some color and I moved up to see what it was. It was the crystals.

I stared at them and they seemed to stare back. I called, "Hey! Hank! Come here on the bounce!"

"What's up?"

"Come here! Here's something worth taking a picture of."

He scrambled down and joined me. After a bit he let out his breath and whispered, "Well, I'll be fried on Friday!"

Hank got busy with his camera. I never saw such crystals, not even stalactites in caves. They were six-sided, except a few that were three-sided and some that were twelve-sided. They came anywhere from little squatty fellows no bigger than a button mushroom up to tall, slender stalks, knee high. Later on and further up we found some chest high.

They were not simple prisms; they branched and budded. But the thing that got you was the colors.

They were all colors and they changed color as you looked at them. We finally decided that they didn't have any color at all; it was just refraction of light. At least Hank thought so.

He shot a full cartridge of pictures then said, "Come on. Let's see where they come from."

I didn't want to. I was shaky from the climb and my right side was giving me fits every step I took. I guess I was dizzy, too; when I looked at the crystals they seemed to writhe around and I would have to blink my eyes to steady them.

But Hank had already started so I followed. The crystals seemed to keep to what would have been the water bed of the canyon, had it been spring. They seemed to need water. We came to a place where there was a drift of ice across the floor of the corridor —ancient ice, with a thin layer of last winter's snow on top of it. The crystals had carved a passage right through it, a natural bridge of ice, and had cleared a space of several feet on each side of where they were growing, as well.

Hank lost his footing as we scrambled through and snatched at one of the crystals. It broke off with a sharp, clear note, like a silver bell.

Hank straightened up and stood looking at his hand. There were parallel cuts across his palm and fingers. He stared at them stupidly.

"That'll teach you," I said, and then got out a first-lid kit and bandaged it for him. When I had finished I said, "Now let's go back."

"Shucks," he said. "What's a few little cuts? Come

I said, "Look, Hank, I want to go back. I don't feel good."

"What's the matter?"

"Stomach ache."

"You eat too much; that's your trouble. The exercise will do you good."

"No, Hank. I've got to go back."

He stared up the ravine and looked fretful. Finally he said, "Bill, I think I see where the crystals come from, not very far up. You wait here and let me take a look. Then I'll come back and well head for camp. I won't be gone long; honest I won't."

"Okay," I agreed. He started up; shortly I followed him. I had had it pounded into my head as a Cub not to get separated in a strange country.

After a bit I heard him shout. I looked up and saw him standing, facing a great dark hole in the cliff. I called out, "What's the matter?"

He answered:

"GREAT JUMPING HOLY SMOKE!!!"–like that.

"What's the matter?" I repeated irritably and hurried along until I was standing beside him.

The crystals continued up the place where we were. They came right to the cave mouth, but did not go in; they formed a solid dense thicket across the threshold. Lying across the floor of the ravine, as if it had been tumbled there by an upheaval like the big quake, was a flat rock, a monolith, Stonehenge size. You could see where it had broken off the cliff, uncovering the hole. The plane of cleavage was as sharp and smooth as anything done by the ancient Egyptians.

But that wasn't what we were looking at; we were looking into the hole.

It was dark inside, but diffused light, reflected off the canyon floor and the far wall, filtered inside. My eyes began to adjust and I could see what Hank was staring at, what he had exploded about.

There were things in there and they weren't natural

I couldn't have told you what sort of things because they were like nothing I had ever seen before in my life, or seen pictures of—or heard of. How can you describe what you've never seen before and have no words for? Shucks, you can't even see athing properly the first time you see it; your eye doesn't take in the pattern.

But I could see this: they weren't rocks, they weren't plants, they weren't animals. They were made things, man made—well, maybe not "man" made, but not things that just happen, either.

I wanted very badly to get up close to them and see what they were. For the moment, I forgot I was sick.

So did Hank. As usual he said, "Come onl Let's go!"

But I said, "How?"

"Why, we just—" He stopped and took another look. "Well, let's see, we go around— No. Hmm... Bill, we will have to bust up some of those crystals and go right through the middle. There's no other way to get in."

I said, "Isn't one chopped up hand enough for you?"

"I'll bust 'em with a rock. It seems a shame; they are so pretty, but that's what I'll have to do."

"I don't think you can bust those big ones. Besides that, I'll give you two to one that they are sharp enough to cut through your boots."

"I'll chance it." He found a chunk of rock and made an experiment; I was right on both counts. Hank stopped and looked the situation over, whistling softly. "Bill—"

"Yeah?"

"See that little ledge over the opening?"

"What about it?"

"It comes out to the left further than the crystals do. I'm going to pile rock up high enough for us to reach it, then we can go along it and drop down right in front of the cave mouth. The crystals don't come that close."

I looked it over and decided it would work. "But how do we get back?"

"We can pile up some of that stuff we can see inside and shinny up again. At the very worst I can boost you up on my shoulders and then you can reach down your belt to me, or something."

If I had my wits about me, maybe I would have protested. But we tried it and it worked—worked right up to the point where I was hanging by my fingers from the ledge over the cave mouth.

I felt a stabbing pain in my side and let go.

I came to with Hank shaking me. "Let me alone!" I growled.

"You knocked yourself out," he said. "I didn't know you were so clumsy." I didn't answer. I just gathered my knees up to my stomach and closed my eyes.

Hank shook me again. "Don't you want to see what's in here?"

I kicked at him. "I don't want to see the Queen of Sheba! Can't you see I'm sick?" I closed my eyes again.

I must have passed out. When I woke up, Hank was sitting Turk fashion in front of me, with my torch in his hand. "You've been asleep a long time, fellow," he said gently. "Feel any better?"