Its slow downward slide stopped abruptly. The vehicle’s forward treads had bumped into a ridge of ice. A quick sensor check of the ridge’s density showed that it should be able to hold Alpha’s weight indefinitely, particularly since Alpha was now partially buoyed by the water.
Other programs within the computer complex tested the water. It was liquid water, despite the frigid -180-degree-C. temperature of the atmosphere. Logic circuits concluded that the water could remain liquid because its sheathing of ice protected it from the air’s freezing temperature.
But how did the water become liquid in the first place? the master program demanded. Reviewing the geology program, the central computer inferred that the water was heated deep below Titan’s surface by tidal friction, the relentless squeezing of the moon’s interior by the inexorable gravitational pull of massive Saturn.
The biology program, activated by the detection of liquid water, directed the sensors in the sunken forward part of Alpha to scan the water for biological activity and to take samples.
For hundreds of billions of nanoseconds Alpha remained half immersed in the ice-covered lake, its forward sensors busily recording the activities of the protocellular organisms drifting lethargically in the frigid water. But the sensors also reported that the lake surface around Alpha was swiftly refreezing. Within another two trillion nanoseconds Alpha would be locked in the ice. The drive engines were powerful enough to break the ice, according to the propulsion specifications and a sensor scan of the ice’s tensile strength, but the data on the ice were tenuous enough to raise a warning flag for the master program’s attention.
The master program weighed the importance of acquiring additional data against the importance of avoiding being locked permanently in the ice. With the incoming data safely recorded and the water samples adequately stored in sealed and heated containers, Alpha engaged its drive treads in low-low reverse gear and slowly began inching backward out of the lake.
Data was of primary importance, of course—second only to survival.
2 January 2096: Morning
To Urbain, Eberly’s office looked ascetic, almost sterile. The walls were bare, not a picture or decoration anywhere—although, of course, they were smart walls, Urbain thought, and could be programmed to show anything. But Eberly had them totally blank. His desk was bare also, except for the phone console and a stylus resting with geometrical precision beside the desktop touchpad. The man must be pathological, Urbain told himself.
Eberly himself was neatly dressed in charcoal gray slacks and a lighter gray tunic that disguised his bulging belly. He stood behind his utterly cleared desk, smiling handsomely as he gestured Urbain to one of the chrome and leather visitor’s chairs. Supplicant’s chairs, Urbain said to himself.
“I’m terribly sorry that we couldn’t meet yesterday, as you asked,” Eberly said, as Urbain sat in the slightly yielding leather seat.
“It was the holiday,” said Urbain, as he sat down. “I understand.”
With a shake of his head, Eberly replied, “It wasn’t merely the holiday. Believe it or not, my calendar was just impossible. In fact, I had to move several appointments around to make room for you this morning.”
His voice was soft, ostensibly friendly. His smile looked unforced, although Urbain was certain that the man had practiced it for many years. His eyes, though, were hard as a glacier’s ice.
“I appreciate your taking the time to see me,” Urbain replied stiffly, as they both sat down, the desk between them.
“So,” Eberly said, steepling his fingers and tapping the fingertips ever so gently, “what can I do for you?”
“For the scientific research team, not for myself alone,” Urbain said.
“Of course.”
Feeling edgy, uncertain, Urbain said, “You know that we have lost contact with Titan Alpha.”
“I heard that the rover has gone off on its own, yes.”
“We will shortly be placing a dozen observation satellites in orbit around Titan.”
“To find your wandering probe. I understand.”
Urbain could see the light of suppressed laughter in Eberly’s eyes. It amuses him that I must come crawling. He bristled at the man’s insolent attitude. “This is a very serious matter.”
“I understand that.”
“It is necessary that we build more spacecraft platforms and instrument them.”
“To restock your stores,” Eberly said.
“To do so, we will require materials, equipment and trained personnel.”
“And to obtain them you need the approval of my department heads in logistics, supplies and human resources.”
“Yes.”
Eberly’s cold blue eyes shifted away from Urbain for a moment. “I haven’t received any such requests from those department heads.”
“I have not spoken to them,” Urbain said. “I came directly to you. Time is of the essence, and I—”
With a slight sigh, Eberly said, “The correct protocol is to make your requests to the proper department heads.” Before Urbain could sputter a protest, he raised a hand and went on, “However, in your case I’m more than willing to cut through as much of the red tape as I can.”
“You will help us?”
“I’ll do everything I can,” Eberly said, with apparent sincerity.
“I … I am grateful. Very grateful.”
“You must realize, though, that it will be difficult, perhaps impossible, to abruptly shift personnel and material priorities to accommodate your request.”
“But it must be done!” Urbain insisted. “You don’t understand how important this is. What does it matter if a few dozen technicians are moved from their ordinary jobs? This is for science! For knowledge!”
“Dr. Urbain, you may not believe that I fully support your scientific work. But I do. I truly do. Please believe me.”
Urbain bobbed his head up and down. “I would hope so. I would appreciate your complete support.”
“As I said, I’ll do what I can.”
Urbain tried to hold on to his swooping temper. I am in need, and he plays cat-and-mouse with me. Aloud, he said to Eberly, “We must have those replacement spacecraft. It is vital.”
Eberly’s placid smile waned. “When we ran against each other for this post of chief administrator,” he said, his tone hardening slightly, “I campaigned on the position that this habitat should not be governed by a scientist.”
“Yes, I well recall.”
“Well, that doesn’t mean that I’m against science. I’m all in favor of your work.”
“Perhaps so.” Grudgingly.
“As I said, I’ll do what I can for you,” Eberly went on smoothly, “but you can’t expect me to turn this habitat upside down for you. I’m responsible for the well-being of all ten thousand of our inhabitants, not merely the scientists.”
In a cold fury Urbain replied, “Science is not merely one of the pursuits of this habitat. I remind you, sir, that the reason this habitat exists, the reason we have come to Saturn, is for scientific research and study.”
They both knew that was not exactly true. The reason that habitat Goddard existed was to serve as a place of exile for thousands of dissidents and malcontents. The scientific exploration of ringed Saturn and its moons was an excuse, a rationale, and little more. Urbain hoped to turn that rationale into a triumph of discovery, to make the habitat truly a center of scientific triumph.