Michael Swanwick
Slow Life
Different evolutionary backgrounds lead to _very_ different perspectives.
"It was the Second Age of Space. Gagarin, Shepard, Glenn, and Armstrong were all dead. It was _our_ turn to make history now."
-- _The Memoirs of Lizzie O'Brien_
The raindrop began forming ninety kilometers above the surface of Titan. It started with an infinitesimal speck of tholin, adrift in the cold nitrogen atmosphere. Dianoacetylene condensed on the seed nucleus, molecule by molecule, until it was one shard of ice in a cloud of billions.
Now the journey could begin.
It took almost a year for the shard of ice in question to precipitate downward twenty-five kilometers, where the temperature dropped low enough that ethane began to condense on it. But when it did, growth was rapid.
Down it drifted.
At forty kilometers, it was for a time caught up in an ethane cloud. There it continued to grow. Occasionally it collided with another droplet and doubled in size. Finally it was too large to be held effortlessly aloft by the gentle stratospheric winds.
It fell.
Falling, it swept up methane and quickly grew large enough to achieve a terminal velocity of almost two meters per second.
At twenty-seven kilometers, it passed through a dense layer of methane clouds. It acquired more methane, and continued its downward flight.
As the air thickened, its velocity slowed and it began to lose some of its substance to evaporation. At two and a half kilometers, when it emerged from the last patchy clouds, it was losing mass so rapidly it could not normally be expected to reach the ground.
It was, however, falling toward the equatorial highlands, where mountains of ice rose a towering five hundred meters into the atmosphere. At two meters and a lazy new terminal velocity of one meter per second, it was only a breath away from hitting the surface.
Two hands swooped an open plastic collecting bag upward, and snared the raindrop.
"Gotcha!" Lizzie O'Brien cried gleefully.
She zip-locked the bag shut, held it up so her helmet cam could read the bar-code in the corner, and said, "One raindrop." Then she popped it into her collecting box.
Sometimes it's the little things that make you happiest. Somebody would spend a _year_ studying this one little raindrop when Lizzie got it home. And it was just Bag 64 in Collecting Case 5. She was going to be on the surface of Titan long enough to scoop up the raw material of a revolution in planetary science. The thought of it filled her with joy.
Lizzie dogged down the lid of the collecting box and began to skip across the granite-hard ice, splashing the puddles and dragging the boot of her atmosphere suit through the rivulets of methane pouring down the mountainside._ "I'm sing-ing in the rain."_ She threw out her arms and spun around. _"Just sing-ing in the rain!"_
"Uh ... O'Brien?" Alan Greene said from the _Clement_. "Are you all right?"
_"Dum-dee-dum-dee-dee-dum-dum, I'm ... some-thing again."_
"Oh, leave her alone." Consuelo Hong said with sour good humor. She was down on the plains, where the methane simply boiled into the air, and the ground was covered with thick, gooey tholin. It was, she had told them, like wading ankle-deep in molasses. "Can't you recognize the scientific method when you hear it?"
"If you say so," Alan said dubiously. He was stuck in the _Clement_, overseeing the expedition and minding the website. It was a comfortable gig -- _he_ wouldn't be sleeping in his suit _or_ surviving on recycled water and energy stix -- and he didn't think the others knew how much he hated it.
"What's next on the schedule?" Lizzie asked.
"Um ... well, there's still the robot turbot to be released. How's that going, Hong?"
"Making good time. I oughta reach the sea in a couple of hours."
"Okay, then it's time O'Brien rejoined you at the lander. O'Brien, start spreading out the balloon and going over the harness checklist."
"Roger that."
"And while you're doing that, I've got today's voice- posts from the Web cued up."
Lizzie groaned, and Consuelo blew a raspberry. By NAFTASA policy, the ground crew participated in all webcasts. Officially, they were delighted to share their experiences with the public. But the VoiceWeb (privately, Lizzie thought of it as the Illiternet) made them accessible to people who lacked even the minimal intellectual skills needed to handle a keyboard.
"Let me remind you that we're on open circuit here, so anything you say will go into my reply. You're certainly welcome to chime in at any time. But each question-and- response is transmitted as one take, so if you flub a line, we'll have to go back to the beginning and start all over again."
"Yeah, yeah," Consuelo grumbled.
"We've done this before," Lizzie reminded him.
"Okay. Here's the first one."
_"Uh, hi, this is BladeNinja43. I was wondering just what it is that you guys are hoping to discover out there."_
"That's an extremely good question," Alan lied. "And the answer is: We don't know! This is a voyage of discovery, and we're engaged in what's called 'pure science.' Now, time and time again, the purest research has turned out to be extremely profitable. But we're not looking that far ahead. We're just hoping to find something absolutely unexpected."
"My God, you're slick," Lizzie marveled.
"I'm going to edit that from the tape," Alan said cheerily. "Next up."
_"This is Mary Schroeder, from the United States. I teach high school English, and I wanted to know for my students, what kind of grades the three of you had when you were their age."_
Alan began. "I was an overachiever, I'm afraid. In my sophomore year, first semester, I got a B in Chemistry and panicked. I thought it was the end of the world. But then I dropped a couple of extracurriculars, knuckled down, and brought that grade right up."
"I was good in everything but French Lit," Consuelo said.
"I nearly flunked out!" Lizzie said. "Everything was difficult for me. But then I decided I wanted to be an astronaut, and it all clicked into place. I realized that, hey, it's just hard work. And now, well, here I am."
"That's good. Thanks, guys. Here's the third, from Maria Vasquez."
_"Is there life on Titan?"_
"Probably not. It's _cold_ down there! 94 degrees Kelvin is the same as -179 degrees Celsius, or -290 degrees Fahrenheit. And yet ... life is persistent. It's been found in Antarctic ice and in boiling water in submarine volcanic vents. Which is why we'll be paying particular attention to exploring the depths of the ethane-methane sea. If life is anywhere to be found, that's where we'll find it."
"Chemically, the conditions here resemble the anoxic atmosphere on Earth in which life first arose," Consuelo said. "Further, we believe that such prebiotic chemistry has been going on here for four and a half billion years. For an organic chemist like me, it's the best toy box in the Universe. But that lack of heat is a problem. Chemical reactions that occur quickly back home would take thousands of years here. It's hard to see how life could arise under such a handicap."
"It would have to be slow life," Lizzie said thoughtfully. "Something vegetative. 'Vaster than empires and more slow.' It would take millions of years to reach maturity. A single thought might require centuries...."
"Thank you for that, uh, wild scenario!" Alan said quickly. Their NAFTASA masters frowned on speculation. It was, in their estimation, almost as unprofessional as heroism. "This next question comes from Danny in Toronto."
_"Hey, man, I gotta say I really envy you being in that tiny little ship with those two hot babes."_
Alan laughed lightly. "Yes, Ms. Hong and Ms. O'Brien are certainly attractive women. But we're kept so busy that, believe it or not, the thought of sex never comes up. And currently, while I tend to the _Clement_, they're both on the surface of Titan at the bottom of an atmosphere 60 percent more dense than Earth's, and encased in armored exploration suits. So even if I did have inappropriate thoughts, there's no way we could -- "