The Dog Said Bow-Wow by Michael Swanwick Read Free Book Online

currently, while I tend to the
Clement
, they’re both on the surface of Titan at the bottom of an atmosphere sixty 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…”
    “Hey, Alan,” Lizzie said. “Tell me something.”
    “Yes?”
    “What are you wearing?”
    “Uh…switching over to private channel.”
    “Make that a three-way,” Consuelo said.
    Ballooning, Lizzie decided, was the best way there was of getting around. Moving with the gentle winds, there was no sound at all. And the view was great!
    People talked a lot about the “murky orange atmosphere” of Titan, but your eyes adjusted. Turn up the gain on your helmet, and the white mountains of ice were
dazzling!
The methane streams carved cryptic runes into the heights. Then, at the tholin-line, white turned to a rich palette of oranges, reds, and yellows. There was a lot going on down there — more than she’d be able to learn in a hundred visits.
    The plains were superficially duller, but they had their charms as well. Sure, the atmosphere was so dense that refracted light made the horizon curve upward to either side. But you got used to it. The black swirls and cryptic red tracery of unknown processes on the land below never grew tiring.
    On the horizon, she saw the dark arm of Titan’s narrow sea. If that was what it was. Lake Erie was larger, but the spin doctors back home had argued that since Titan was so much smaller than Earth,
relatively
it qualified as a sea. Lizzie had her own opinion, but she knew when to keep her mouth shut.
    Consuelo was there now. Lizzie switched her visor over to the live feed. Time to catch the show.
    “I can’t believe I’m finally here,” Consuelo said. She let the shrink-wrapped fish slide from her shoulder down to the ground. “Five kilometers doesn’t seem like very far when you’re coming down from orbit — just enough to leave a margin for error so the lander doesn’t come down in the sea. But when you have to
walk
that distance, through tarry, sticky tholin…well, it’s one heck of a slog.”
    “Consuelo, can you tell us what it’s like there?” Alan asked.
    “I’m crossing the beach. Now I’m at the edge of the sea.” She knelt, dipped a hand into it. “It’s got the consistency of a Slushy. Are you familiar with that drink? Lots of shaved ice sort of half-melted in a cup with flavored syrup. What we’ve got here is almost certainly a methane-ammonia mix; we’ll know for sure after we get a sample to a laboratory. Here’s an early indicator, though. It’s dissolving the tholin off my glove.” She stood.
    “Can you describe the beach?”
    “Yeah. It’s white. Granular. I can kick it with my boot. Ice sand for sure. Do you want me to collect samples first or release the fish?”
    “Release the fish,” Lizzie said, almost simultaneously with Alan’s “Your call.”
    “Okay, then.” Consuelo carefully cleaned both of her suit’s gloves in the sea, then seized the shrink-wrap’s zip tab and yanked. The plastic parted. Awkwardly, she straddled the fish, lifted it by the two side-handles, and walked it into the dark slush.
    “Okay, I’m standing in the sea now. It’s up to my ankles. Now it’s at my knees. I think it’s deep enough here.”
    She set the fish down. “Now I’m turning it on.”
    The Mitsubishi turbot wriggled, as if alive. With one fluid motion, it surged forward, plunged, and was gone.
    Lizzie switched over to the fishcam.
    Black liquid flashed past the turbot’s infrared eyes. Straight away from the shore it swam, seeing nothing but flecks of paraffin, ice, and other suspended particulates as they loomed up before it and were swept away in the violence of its wake. A hundred meters out, it bounced a pulse of radar off the sea floor, then dove, seeking the depths.
    Rocking gently in her balloon harness, Lizzie yawned.
    Snazzy Japanese cybernetics took in a