The Best of Michael Swanwick (51 page)
“Are you me?” a gentle voice asked.
“No,” she said carefully. “I don’t think so.”
Vast astonishment. “You think you are not me?”
“Yes. I think so, anyway.”
“Why?”
There didn’t seem to be any proper response to that, so she went back to the beginning of the conversation and ran through it again, trying to bring it to another conclusion. Only to bump against that “Why?” once again.
“I don’t know why,” she said.
“Why not?”
“I don’t know.”
She looped through that same dream over and over again all the while that she slept.
***
When she awoke, it was raining again. This time, it was a drizzle of pure methane from the lower cloud deck at fifteen kilometers. These clouds were (the theory went) methane condensate from the wet air swept up from the sea. They fell on the mountains and washed them clean of tholin. It was the methane that eroded and shaped the ice, carving gullies and caves.
Titan had more kinds of rain than anywhere else in the solar system.
The sea had crept closer while Lizzie slept. It now curled up to the horizon on either side like an enormous dark smile. Almost time now for her to begin her descent. While she checked her harness settings, she flicked on telemetry to see what the others were up to.
The robot turbot was still spiraling its way downward, through the lightless sea, seeking its distant floor. Consuelo was trudging through the tholin again, retracing her five-kilometer trek from the lander
Harry Stubbs
, and Alan was answering another set of webposts.
“
Modelos de la evolución de Titanes indican que la luna formó de una nube circumplanetaria rica en amoníaco y metano, la cual al condensarse dio forma a Saturno así como a otros satélites. Bajo estas condiciones en—
”
“Uh…guys?”
Alan stopped. “Damn it, O’Brien, now I’ve got to start all over again.”
“Welcome back to the land of the living,” Consuelo said. “You should check out the readings we’re getting from the robofish. Lots of long-chain polymers, odd fractions…tons of interesting stuff.”
“Guys?”
This time her tone of voice registered with Alan. “What is it, O’Brien?”
“I think my harness is jammed.”
***
Lizzie had never dreamed disaster could be such drudgery. First there were hours of back-and-forth with the NAFTASA engineers. What’s the status of rope 14? Try tugging on rope 8. What do the D-rings look like? It was slow work because of the lag time for messages to be relayed to Earth and back. And Alan insisted on filling the silence with posts from the VoiceWeb. Her plight had gone global in minutes, and every unemployable loser on the planet had to log in with suggestions.
“
Thezgemoth337, here. It seems to me that if you had a gun and shot up through the balloon, it would maybe deflate and then you could get down
.”
“I don’t have a gun, shooting a hole in the balloon would cause it not to deflate but to rupture, I’m 800 meters above the surface, there’s a sea below me, and I’m in a suit that’s not equipped for swimming. Next.”
“
If you had a really big knife–
”
“Cut! Jesus, Greene, is this the best you can find? Have you heard back from the organic chem guys yet?”
“Their preliminary analysis just came in,” Alan said. “As best they can guess—and I’m cutting through a lot of clutter here—the rain you went through wasn’t pure methane.”
“No shit, Sherlock.”
“They’re assuming that whitish deposit you found on the rings and ropes is your culprit. They can’t agree on what it is, but they think it underwent a chemical reaction with the material of your balloon and sealed the rip panel shut.”
“I thought this was supposed to be a pretty nonreactive environment.”
“It is. But your balloon runs off your suit’s waste heat. The air in it is several degrees above the melting point of ice. That’s the equivalent of a blast furnace, here on Titan. Enough energy to run any number of amazing reactions. You haven’t stopped tugging on the vent rope?”
“I’m tugging away right now. When one arm gets sore, I switch arms.”
“Good girl. I know how tired you must be.”
“Take a break from the voice-posts,” Consuelo suggested, “and check out the results we’re getting from the robofish. It’s giving us some really interesting stuff.”
So she did. And for a time it distracted her, just as they’d hoped. There was a lot more ethane and propane than their models had predicted, and surprisingly less methane. The mix of fractions was nothing like what she’d expected. She had just enough chemistry to guess at some of the implications of the data being generated, but not enough to put it all together. Still tugging at the ropes in the sequence uploaded by the engineers in Toronto, she scrolled up the chart of hydrocarbons dissolved in the lake.
SoluteSolute mole fraction
Ethyne 4.0 x 10
-4
Propyne 4.4 x 10
-5
1,3-Butadiyne 7.7 x 10
-7
Carbon Dioxide 0.1 x 10
-5
Methanenitrile 5.7 x 10
-6
But after a while, the experience of working hard and getting nowhere, combined with the tedium of floating farther and farther out over the featureless sea, began to drag on her. The columns of figures grew meaningless, then indistinct.
Propanenitrile 6.0 x 10
-5
Propenenitrile 9.9 x 10
-6
Propynenitrile 5.3 x 10
-6
Hardly noticing she was doing so, she fell asleep.
She was in a lightless building, climbing flight after flight of stairs. There were other people with her, also climbing. They jostled against her as she ran up the stairs, flowing upward, passing her, not talking.
It was getting colder.
She had a distant memory of being in the furnace room down below. It was hot there, swelteringly so. Much cooler where she was now. Almost too cool. With every step she took, it got a little cooler still. She found herself slowing down. Now it was definitely too cold. Unpleasantly so. Her leg muscles ached. The air seemed to be thickening around her as well. She could barely move now.
This was, she realized, the natural consequence of moving away from the furnace. The higher up she got, the less heat there was to be had, and the less energy to be turned into motion. It all made perfect sense to her somehow.
Step. Pause.
Step. Longer pause.
Stop.
The people around her had slowed to a stop as well. A breeze colder than ice touched her, and without surprise, she knew that they had reached the top of the stairs and were standing upon the building’s roof. It was as dark without as it had been within. She stared upward and saw nothing.
“Horizons. Absolutely baffling,” somebody murmured beside her.
“Not once you get used to them,” she replied.
“Up and down—are these hierarchic values?”
“They don’t have to be.”
“Motion. What a delightful concept.”
“We like it.”
“So you
are
me?”
“No. I mean, I don’t think so.”
“Why?”
She was struggling to find an answer to this, when somebody gasped. High up in the starless, featureless sky, a light bloomed. The crowd around her rustled with unspoken fear. Brighter, the light grew. Brighter still. She could feel heat radiating from it, slight but definite, like the rumor of a distant sun. Everyone about her was frozen with horror. More terrifying than a light where none was possible was the presence of heat. It simply could not be. And yet it was.
She, along with the others, waited and watched for…something. She could not say what. The light shifted slowly in the sky. It was small, intense, ugly.
Then the light
screamed
.
She woke up.
***
“Wow,” she said. “I just had the weirdest dream.”
“Did you?” Alan said casually.
“Yeah. There was this light in the sky. It was like a nuclear bomb or something. I mean, it didn’t look anything like a nuclear bomb, but it was terrifying the way a nuclear bomb would be. Everybody was staring at it. We couldn’t move. And then…” She shook her head. “I lost it. I’m sorry. It was just so strange. I can’t put it into words.”
“Never mind that,” Consuelo said cheerily. “We’re getting some great readings down below the surface. Fractional polymers, long-chain hydrocarbons…Fabulous stuff. You really should try to stay awake to catch some of this.”
She was fully awake now, and not feeling too happy about it. “I guess that means that nobody’s come up with any good ideas yet on how I might get down.”
“Uh…what do you mean?”
“Because if they had, you wouldn’t be so goddamned upbeat, would you?”
“
Some
body woke up on the wrong side of the bed,” Alan said. “Please remember that there are certain words we don’t use in public.”
“I’m sorry,” Consuelo said. “I was just trying to—”
“—distract me. Okay, fine. What the hey. I can play along.” Lizzie pulled herself together. “So your findings mean…what? Life?”
“I keep telling you guys. It’s too early to make that kind of determination. What we’ve got so far are just some very, very interesting readings.”
“Tell her the big news,” Alan said.
“Brace yourself. We’ve got a real ocean! Not this tiny little two-hundred-by-fifty-miles glorified lake we’ve been calling a sea, but a genuine ocean! Sonar readings show that what we see is just an evaporation pan atop a thirty-kilometer-thick cap of ice. The real ocean lies underneath, two hundred kilometers deep.”
“Jesus.” Lizzie caught herself. “I mean, gee whiz. Is there any way of getting the robofish down into it?”
“How do you think we got the depth readings? It’s headed down there right now. There’s a chimney through the ice right at the center of the visible sea. That’s what replenishes the surface liquid. And directly under the hole there’s—guess what?—volcanic vents!”
“So does that mean–?”
“If you use the L-word again,” Consuelo said, “I’ll spit.”
Lizzie grinned.
That
was the Consuelo Hong she knew. “What about the tidal data? I thought the lack of orbital perturbation ruled out a significant ocean entirely.”
“Well, Toronto thinks…”
At first, Lizzie was able to follow the reasoning of the planetary geologists back in Toronto. Then it got harder. Then it became a drone. As she drifted off into sleep, she had time enough to be peevishly aware that she really shouldn’t be dropping off to sleep all the time like this. She oughtn’t to be so tired. She…
She found herself in the drowned city again. She still couldn’t see anything, but she knew it was a city because she could hear the sound of rioters smashing store windows. Their voices swelled into howling screams and receded into angry mutters, like a violent surf washing through the streets. She began to edge away backwards.
Somebody spoke into her ear.
“Why did you do this to us?”
“I didn’t do anything to you.”
“You brought us knowledge.”
“What knowledge?”
“You said you were not us.”
“Well, I’m not.”
“You should never have told us that.”
“You wanted me to lie?”
Horrified confusion. “Falsehood. What a distressing idea.”
The smashing noises were getting louder. Somebody was splintering a door with an axe. Explosions. Breaking glass. She heard wild laughter. Shrieks. “We’ve got to get out of here.”
“Why did you send the messenger?”
“What messenger?”
“The star! The star! The star!”
“Which star?”
“There are two stars?”
“There are billions of stars.”
“No more! Please! Stop! No more!”
***
She was awake.
“
Hello, yes, I appreciate that the young lady is in extreme danger, but I really don’t think she should have used the Lord’s name in vain.
”
“Greene,” Lizzie said, “do we really have to put up with this?”
“Well, considering how many billions of public-sector dollars it took to bring us here…yes. Yes, we do. I can even think of a few backup astronauts who would say that a little upbeat webposting was a pretty small price to pay for the privilege.”
“Oh, barf.”
“I’m switching to a private channel,” Alan said calmly. The background radiation changed subtly. A faint, granular crackling that faded away when she tried to focus on it. In a controlled, angry voice Alan said, “O’Brien, just what the hell is going on with you?”
“Look, I’m sorry, I apologize, I’m a little excited about something. How long was I out? Where’s Consuelo? I’m going to say the L-word. And the I-word as well. We have life. Intelligent life!”
“It’s been a few hours. Consuelo is sleeping. O’Brien, I hate to say this, but you’re not sounding at all rational.”
“There’s a perfectly logical reason for that. Okay, it’s a little strange, and maybe it won’t sound perfectly logical to you initially, but…look, I’ve been having sequential dreams. I think they’re significant. Let me tell you about them.”
And she did so. At length.
When she was done, there was a long silence. Finally, Alan said, “Lizzie, think. Why would something like that communicate to you in your dreams? Does that make any sense?”
“I think it’s the only way it can. I think it’s how it communicates among itself. It doesn’t move—motion is an alien and delightful concept to it—and it wasn’t aware that its component parts were capable of individualization. That sounds like some kind of broadcast thought to me. Like some kind of wireless distributed network.”
“You know the medical kit in your suit? I want you to open it up. Feel around for the bottle that’s braille-coded twenty-seven, okay?”
“Alan, I do
not
need an antipsychotic!”
“I’m not saying you need it. But wouldn’t you be happier knowingyou had it in you?” This was Alan at his smoothest. Butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth. “Don’t you think that would help us accept what you’re saying?”
