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as
Desio
accelerated into a semi-synchronous orbit that placed us approximately 17,000 kilometers above the planet. Our orbital speed was double the rotational speed of the planet and we would be experiencing one full planet day (twenty-six Earth hours) in a little under half that time. Soon we would be enveloped in darkness as the planet and
Desio
, albeit at different velocities, rotated away from the massive blue sun.
    Meanwhile, as we continued to gaze ‘down’ at the planet, the eye and mind became more adept at resolving and assimilating smaller and smaller details, of which we took great pleasure pointing out to each other.
    The most prominent feature was, of course, the imposing ocean: A slightly iridescent blue-gray with minor variations attributable to (so speculated) the upwelling of colder water by ocean currents, changeable winds across the water’s surface, and the relative distribution of phyto-plankton. The number and intensity of bright flashes of light, called sun glints, radiating out into space suggested that the ocean was extraordinarily calm. This, together with consistency in coloration, imparted a polished, shiny look to the planet.
    Occupying the extreme poles there were identically sized (and nearly circular) ice caps—crystalline plateaus criss-crossed by an intricate web of cracks and fissures. Clearly visible along their jagged fringes were hundreds of islands created by the calving off of giant chunks of the fractured ice. These ice islands, in turn, appeared to be dividing and diminishing as they made their way into the warmer waters now encompassing most of the planet.
    Tiny puff balls of cirrocumulus clouds, too numerous to count, dotted the colder regions bordering the ice shelves. Closer to the equator, bands of cirrus clouds thinned and stretched themselves into twisted shapes like white whiffs of smoke while elsewhere they coalesced into denser patches resembling tufts pulled from a cone of cotton candy. The atmosphere was not lacking more dynamic weather systems, though in comparison to Earth’s they were, despite our expectation, less common and more benign. Rarely did clouds congregate into dark disturbances, and rarer still did flashes of lightning brighten the clouds from within.
    Great land masses were noticeably absent, replaced by tiny islands strewn like so many brown, tan, yellow and gold-colored pebbles across the planet’s one vast sea.
    Putting all I saw together, I learned from Paul how the absence of continental masses was radically affecting the formation of planetary weather; of how, ultimately, the meteorological data we obtained here could reveal much about Earth’s climate.
    While each of us enjoyed and commented on the planet’s visual treats, the ship’s daunting array of scientific instruments tirelessly performed their job of collecting and storing massive amounts of data. Only a fraction of that information would be evaluated in the near term. The far greater portion, and in far greater detail, would be analyzed during the return voyage and in the months, and probably years, subsequent to our return home.
    As I previously remarked, I was interested in the crew’s behavior, and none more so than Doctor Melhaus’s. When at last he entered the mission room he displayed no sign of excitement and I wondered if he had taken the time to appreciate the planet’s beauty. Before I could ask he exclaimed, to no one in particular: “We have a lot of work to accomplish in a relatively short time, don’t you think we should get started?”
    Kelly and I glanced at each other, but it was Thompson who answered him, saying, “We’ll get to it soon enough. I appreciate your work ethic, Doctor. There is, however, one item of business we can discuss as a group. You’re aware, I take it, that we have prior permission to name the planet. I want to hear suggestions.”
    “I see no reason whatsoever to change it from the star map coordinates logically assigned.”
    “You