Chapter 4: Into the Murk
Morning—at least according to our clocks—comes without fanfare. There is no sunrise on Titan’s 16-day cycle that aligns with our 24-hour routine, so Aegis gradually brightens the hab lights to simulate dawn. I wake to a soft golden glow and the smell of coffee. Blessed, wonderful coffee.
Yawning, I unstrap from my sleep sack and float down. Valentina is already up, humming as she pours brewed coffee from our small French press (yes, we brought a French press to Titan—priorities). I see Jack rubbing sleep from his eyes, and Commander Patel doing light stretches.
“Morning,” I mumble. I catch the coffee Valentina slides my way and take a sip. It’s strong and bitter, just how I need it. “Any news from Earth?” We had no emergencies, so we let the delayed messages wait for morning.
Patel nods toward the console. “Got a packet overnight. Congratulatory messages mostly. Mission Control says excellent work on EVA-1. They got our data dump. There’s a note from Director Choi—she says she popped champagne for us. Says the whole world was watching.
I smile at the thought. On Earth, last night, our friends and colleagues celebrated our historic landing. By now those champagne bubbles have long fizzled. Here on Titan, our day begins anew in quiet isolation.
“Anything from family?” I ask, a bit hesitantly. We have a limited personal comm allotment due to bandwidth, but a short email can come with the data packet.
Patel’s expression softens. “Yes. You have a message from your sister. Jack, one from your fiancé—she says she loves you and ‘don’t do anything stupid’.” He smirks; Jack rolls his eyes but grins. “Valentina, you got several from your kids—drawings attached. They drew you on Titan apparently.”
Valentina beams proudly. “Ah, can’t wait to see those. I bet they made me look like a superhero.”
Probably accurate, I think. We’re likely heroes to a lot of kids (and adults) right now. That’s a strange, humbling thought.
We spend a few quiet minutes reading our messages on the screen. I devour my sister’s note: she’s ecstatic I’m on Titan, demands lots of photos, and reminds me to stay safe (“don’t fall into an alien ocean, you hear?”). I chuckle at that last part. I promise her silently I’ll try not to.
After this touch of home, it’s time to focus. Today’s plan: Big EVA to “Little Kraken” lake. We’ve got a raft-like sensor package to place in the liquid to analyze its composition and search for any signs of life (like strange organic chemistry, or perhaps bio-signatures). We’ll also drill a core sample on the shore. This will be our farthest walk yet—about 500 meters to the lake and back. Not huge, but in these conditions, a decent trek.
But first I have to check my experiment. Had our sample eaten any of the hydrogen. My heart sinks as the readout shows zero change from the night before. You couldn’t make it easy, could you Titan? Let’s see what we can dig up today.
We suit up after a quick breakfast (oatmeal, not as exciting as yesterday’s stew). I make sure to pull on extra socks; even with heated boots, I expect the chill near that lake to be biting. Titan’s humidity is near 100% methane—if that condenses on us it could create a real “coolant bath” effect.
Aegis confirms all systems green. We load up a lightweight sled with our gear: the lake sensor float (a one-meter wide contraption that looks like a yellow life raft bristling with instruments), the drill kit, sample containers, and safety ropes. Jack and I will haul the sled; low gravity makes this easy, though the air drag might make it a bit harder than the Moon.
Before stepping out, the Commander addresses us, his tone serious. “This is a major EVA, folks. Stay vigilant. If anyone feels unsafe or has suit issues, speak up immediately. Keep tethers secure, especially near the liquid. We have no idea how stable the shoreline is.”
We all nod. The memory of Valentina’s minor plunge yesterday is fresh; a bigger mishap in deeper liquid could be deadly. If someone fell fully into the methane, their suit would protect them for a short time, but the extreme cold would rapidly sap heat, and getting out of a methane pool would be a nightmare in these suits. We are decidedly not designed for swimming.
I push away a flash of anxiety by focusing on the science. This is what we came for, after all. “All set, Aegis?” I ask as I click my helmet into place.
“Ready when you are,” she replies. “I’ll be monitoring continuously. Good luck out there, team.”
One by one, we exit the airlock with our equipment. The landscape outside looks marginally brighter—perhaps because the Sun is a tad higher in the sky than yesterday at this local time. Still, everything is cast in bronze and long shadows. Titan’s weather seems calm again: no rain, gentle breeze. Our weather station data showed a slight temperature drop overnight to -181°C. What’s a couple degrees between friends?
We trudge toward the lake, tethered together in pairs this time: I’m tied to Jack (we’re Team 1) and Patel with Valentina (Team 2), with a gap of about 10 meters between the two teams’ ropes. This way, if one pair runs into trouble like thin ice, the other pair can anchor and assist. In theory. It makes me vaguely nervous to be split into two teams, but we’re still all close enough to talk and coordinate.
Jack and I take the lead, pulling the little sled. It glides well on the smooth ground. Aegis’ voice comes through now and then with a status or suggestion: “veer left 5 degrees to avoid an incline” or “surface density changing, take it slow.” The AI is watching our path via our suit cams and some ground-penetrating radar from the lander. It’s like having a guardian angel guiding us through the fog.
As we approach the lake, the ground transitions from the pebble-strewn dune field to a flatter, slightly depressed area. It’s likely an old lakebed that extends when the lake is fuller. The soil becomes damper. I notice a sheen on the ground—a thin layer of liquid methane pooling in low spots. It’s like walking on a partially frozen marsh that’s covered in a layer of oil. Each step we take leaves a little footprint that quickly fills with brackish fluid.
“Eyes sharp,” Commander Patel warns. “If the ground becomes too soft, we turn back.”
“Copy,” I reply. I’m scanning the terrain carefully. About 50 meters ahead, the shoreline is visible—an abrupt boundary where the dark liquid begins. Even in Titan’s dim light, the lake’s surface has a mirror-like reflectivity. There’s a faint mist just above it, likely methane fog hovering over the temperature difference at the liquid-air interface.
We reach a point a few meters from the edge. I feel my boots starting to sink more with each step. I poke the ground with the butt of my sampling pole. The crust here is definitely thinner. It doesn’t break entirely, but feels spongey. “We should deploy the float here at the edge, rather than risk going further in,” I say.
Patel agrees. “Let’s secure ourselves and then two of us will push the float out.” He directs Valentina to drive a piton stake into firmer ground behind us and attach a tether as a fixed anchor. We loop our ropes through it. Now if the surface gives way, we hopefully won’t slide straight into the lake.
We unload the yellow sensor float from the sled. It’s designed to be simply pushed out onto the liquid and it will… well, float, obviously. It has a small radioisotope power source to keep it warm and powered for years, sending data back to us (and eventually to Earth). Among its instruments: thermometers, sonar, a microfluidic lab to sample the liquid, and even a camera on a little mast. We jokingly nicknamed it “Duckie” during cruise, because it will bob around like a rubber ducky in the bath. Time to let Duckie loose.
Jack and Valentina take one side of the float each. I hold onto Jack’s tether from behind as he edges a bit closer to the water. The methane lake laps gently—if you can call such a viscous liquid’s motion a lap—maybe more of a thick ripple. It’s eerie how calm and silent it is. On Earth a lakeshore would have waves, chatter of birds, rustle of trees. Here: utter quiet and the black mirror of Kraken’s little sibling.
They give the float a firm shove onto the liquid. For a heart-stopping second, it sticks on something, then a slight push from a wave catches it and it glides out. We all cheer as Duckie moves a few meters into the lake, rocking gently. Its systems light blink green. Aegis confirms, “Float is stable. I’m receiving telemetry. Liquid depth at edge is one meter and increases to estimated 5 meters further out.”
Our little probe is now tasting Titan’s seas for us. I can’t help but clap my gloved hands in excitement. “Good job, Duckie! Swim free,” Jack laughs.
Valentina pretends to wipe a tear. “They grow up so fast.”
Commander Patel chuckles, then says, “Alright, let’s get that drill going. We need a core sample of the wet shoreline.”
We move perhaps two meters back from the actual water’s edge, where the ground still seems semi-solid. I set up the tripod drill, a manual one with battery assist (no gas or anything that could contaminate). The bit is designed to go about a meter down. This could capture layers of sediments—perhaps telling a history of the lake’s ebb and flow, and any chemical changes over time. If life exists, maybe traces or microfossils might show up in the layers.
As I start the drill, the bit grinds into the icy mud with a crunching sound. Progress is steady. The core slowly ekes out and fills the sample tube. Everything is going smoothly—until the drill suddenly lurches forward, deeper than expected. “Huh.” I stop it. We might have hit a void or softer pocket.
Suddenly, without warning, the ground under us shudders. It’s like standing on a wet sponge that someone just squeezed. I hear a sharp crack and then a sploosh—the sound of something heavy hitting liquid. The crust under my feet is giving way.
“Move back!” Patel shouts. But before I can react, I feel my legs sink. The crust collapses and a wave of cold slush surges around my thighs. I gasp—a reflex, though my suit prevents any cold from directly touching me, the shock of sinking triggers panic. I flail to pull back, but my lower body is stuck in a mush of half-frozen mud and liquid methane.
“Mira!” Jack’s voice. I see him bracing himself and tugging my tether line from behind as it goes taut. The line yanks at my waist, preventing me from sliding further in. Valentina is at my side in an instant, grabbing my arm. The two haul me backwards with all their might. I scramble, kicking to help. For a moment, it’s like trying to climb out of quicksand. The sludge holds me with viscous claws.
But together they manage to drag me onto firmer ground a meter back. I roll onto my side, legs coated in dark brown goop. My heart is racing. That was way too close. The collapsed area is now a gaping muck-filled pit connected to the lake, gently filling with more liquid methane. If I hadn’t been tethered or if all of us had been on that spot… I shudder.
“You okay? Any suit breach?” Jack is kneeling beside me, checking my readouts. I look at my suit’s integrity display—pressure stable, no leaks detected. The suit did its job.
“I’m… I’m okay,” I manage, catching my breath. “Just my pride that got soaked.” I try to joke, but my voice shakes.
Aegis breaks in, concern evident: “Mira, I registered a sharp drop in your external temperature sensors. Are you injured?”
“I’m fine, Aegis. Just took an unplanned bath.” I slowly stand, with Jack and Valentina’s help. Methane and mud cling to my suit legs, dripping. Already, some are re-freezing into a weird slurry. The thermal system in the suit is fighting to keep it from turning into an ice block around me. I feel a dull cold seeping, but nothing serious.
Patel’s voice is firm and calm—the tone of a leader in crisis. “Alright, enough. We have what we came for. Jack, Valentina, start back to base, slow and steady. Mira, you too—no arguments. We need to get you cleaned off and warmed.”
“But— the core sample—” I protest weakly, looking at the half-finished drilling rig. We’ll lose that data if we leave it.
“The core is probably compromised anyway by the collapse,” Patel says. “We have plenty to analyze already. Safety first. That’s an order.”
I nod, chastened. He’s right. A part of me is furious that Titan almost literally swallowed me for my curiosity. Another part of me is annoyed we have to retreat early. But mostly, I’m just grateful my team reacted fast. A few more seconds and I might have been waist-deep or worse. That’s nightmare territory.
We carefully retrace our steps, giving a wide berth to the unstable zone. The trek back is tense and quiet. Everyone’s alert for any further ground weakness. My sodden suit sloshes a bit, but gradually the outer layer warms and sheds the liquid as vapor through the chemical barrier filters. I marvel that the suit designers anticipated something like this—they built these like hazmat dive suits for a reason.
Jack stays right by my side, one gloved hand on my arm as if ready to grab me if I start sinking again. I’m both touched and mildly embarrassed at needing the escort. Valentina leads the way now, ironically picking a safer path this time.
Aegis keeps chiming in with status and likely trying to lighten the mood: “I’ve begun analyzing the float’s initial data. The lake’s methane concentration is 74%, ethane 22%, nitrogen 3%. pH is roughly 7, neutral. Fascinating, isn’t it?”
“Thrilling,” I mutter, still shaky.
Jack attempts a gentle tease to cheer me up. “You know, Mira, I thought you were keen to find life in the methane, not join it.”
I let out a laugh despite myself. “Figured I’d go say hello personally.” Then I add with a wry tone, “Thanks, by the way. You two likely set a record for fastest rescue on Titan.”
“Anytime,” he replies softly. I can imagine his warm smile behind the visor.
We reach the lander without further incident, to my relief. Once inside, Commander Patel has me strip off the EVA suit immediately to check for any frostbite or issues. I’m fine—just trembling a little from adrenaline comedown. He has me drink a hot electrolyte beverage and orders me to rest for a bit. I grudgingly sit and wrap myself in a foil thermal blanket, mostly to appease him.
“Don’t scare us like that,” Valentina says, offering a sympathetic pat on my shoulder before he goes to stow gear. “I already took one dip; we don’t all need a turn.”
“I’ll try to keep my competitive spirit in check,” I respond. “No more swimming contests.”
Patel turns to inspect our data devices. “We still have plenty of results to go through. Even partial core is something. And Duckie will keep transmitting from the lake.” He’s talking to himself as much as us. I can tell he’s wrestling with the decision to abort early, wondering if we should’ve done something differently. A leader’s burden.
“Aegis, bring up the float cam,” I say. Might as well see what our new toy is seeing. On the main screen, a grainy image appears: a panoramic view from the float. It shows the dark expanse of the lake, the far shoreline lost in fog, and our own distant figures near the shore before we left. Looks like it captured my little incident—one frame shows a human-shaped form half sunk in muck. Yikes.
“Let’s maybe not replay that bit,” Jack says quickly, noticing it too. He taps a control to fast-forward the footage. The float’s current view shows gentle ripples on the liquid and the orange sky above.
Something catches my eye on the video feed. “Hold on—what was that?” I point. A few frames back, a distortion, like a brief glint or splash? Jack rewinds a few seconds. We watch intently. There: on the right side of the frame, near the shoreline opposite from us, there’s a ripple. Then a small wave emanating outward, disturbing the mirror surface. It fades quickly. It could just be a bit of wind or a chunk of something falling in. But the lake had been eerily still. Why a ripple now?
“Could be methane rain droplets?” Valentina offers. “Or maybe the ground shifted somewhere and sloshed it.” True, my mishap did churn the shore. But this seemed a little later and further away.
Aegis magnifies the region. Nothing now, just black liquid. “Not enough data to determine cause of ripple,” she states. “I will keep watch.”
I exchange a glance with Jack. Both of us have the same unspoken thought: Could it have been something alive, breaking the surface? Titan has no fish, of course… as far as we know. It’s far-fetched, likely just a natural occurrence. Still, a tiny thrill runs up my spine.
Once my nerves settle, I dive into analyzing what samples and data we did get. The partial core—about half a meter of sediment—was preserved in the drill tube even after the collapse. I carefully extract it and examine the layering. There are distinct bands: lighter, ice-rich material at bottom, darker gooey organics above. That indicates cycles of wetting and drying perhaps. We take subsamples for chemical analysis. I’m eager to see if any organic compounds concentrate in certain layers—maybe residues of possible biological activity?
Meanwhile, Aegis helps Valentina and Patel parse the float’s science data. “The float’s chemical sensors are detecting trace complex organics in the liquid—beyond just methane/ethane. Benzene, polyaromatics, even traces of what could be amino acids.”
“Amino acids? In the liquid?” I exclaim, coming over. That’s big—amino acids are building blocks of life. They have been theorized to form in Titan’s environment, but finding them dissolved in the lakes is amazing.
“Could be from tholin particles dissolving,” Jack says thoughtfully. “Titan’s got a lot of prebiotic gunk.”
“Still, it’s a rich soup,” I say. “All the ingredients… if life was going to emerge anywhere cold, this is it.” My earlier scare fades a bit as intellectual excitement takes over again. This data alone will make for a dozen science papers. And we just scratched the surface.
Later in the day, after we’ve all relaxed and gone over initial results, Commander Patel convenes us for a discussion. We sit around the table once more, sipping rehydrated chicken soup for lunch. It feels a bit somber, likely because we tasted real danger out there.
Patel clears his throat. “I want to commend you all on your professionalism during the EVA, especially during the incident. Quick reactions prevented a worse outcome. That said, we need to assess how we approach tomorrow’s tasks with appropriate caution. Titan’s surface is more treacherous than it looks.”
I nod; I won’t underestimate it again. “Perhaps we use the drone next time for scouting unknown terrain,” I suggest. We have a small quadcopter drone in our cargo, meant for aerial surveying within a kilometer or so. We hadn’t used it yet, saving it for exploring farther afield. But maybe even for near trips, it could identify hazards.
“Agreed,” says Patel. “Aegis can pilot it to preview the area before we set foot.”
Jack smirks, “So Aegis gets to have all the fun flying while we trudge below? Figures the AI gets the easy job.”
“I’m happy to trade, Jack,” Aegis retorts with a simulated sniff. “I’ll walk and you navigate deadly methane lakes.”
We all laugh, tension easing.
Valentina gestures with her spoon. “On a serious note, what’s our next move regarding that anomaly on the float cam? The ripple.”
We fall quiet, considering. It was a small thing, could be nothing. But what if it isn’t?
“Could just be geology,” Jack says, not sounding fully convinced. “Gas bubble from underwater? Tectonic shift causing a burp?” Titan does have cryovolcanic activity in places. Possibly a bubble of methane or nitrogen from below popped.
“Or an animal coming up for air,” Valentina says half-jokingly, wiggling her fingers in a spooky motion. I can’t tell if he’s trying to tease me or legitimately entertain the idea.
“Titanian Nessie, is that you?” I play along lightly, but inside I’m churning. An animal? Unlikely…life here, if any, would probably be microbial. Complex organisms in that cold would be extremely slow metabolism, maybe not even possible. Yet, we truly don’t know.
“Let’s not jump to monsters just yet,” Patel says dryly. “We’ll keep an eye out. The float’s cameras and sensors will stay active. If it detects something consistently, that’s data. For now, assume it was a random event.”
Everyone nods, though I notice Jack’s pensive frown. I’m glad I’m not the only one haunted by that brief ripple.
As evening approaches (artificially, by our lights and schedule), I find myself with Jack on maintenance duty outside. My suit is cleaned and dried, and I insisted I was fine to help Jack check the reactor coolant and our comm antenna before we call it a day. Patel agreed, likely figuring it’s good for me to get back on the proverbial horse after the fall.
We both exit the airlock together, the first stars of our habitat glowing softly behind us. The sky is indeed darker now—Titan’s long dusk is finally sliding toward night. Sunlight, as weak as it was, has mostly gone. The entire horizon is a deep rust color fading to inky purple overhead. I look up, straining to see any pinpricks of starlight. Nothing obvious. The haze still makes the sky opaque. Perhaps when it’s fully night and if the clouds thin a bit, maybe a star or two will peek through.
Jack finishes adjusting the high-gain antenna. “That should boost our bandwidth a bit. Earth will get their goodies faster.” He turns to me. “How’re you feeling? Honestly.”
I think for a moment. “Honestly? Still a little shaken. And sore in weird places. But I’m okay. Thanks to you.”
He waves it off, but I catch a satisfied smile. “Team effort. You’d do the same for me.”
“Of course,” I say without hesitation. An image flashes of him sinking and me yanking him out; I realize that scenario would scare me just as much. Because…it’s him. The thought surprises me with its intensity.
We decide to climb a short ladder on the habitat’s side to get a higher look around in the fading light. From atop the lander’s equipment platform, we have a 360 view. The dunes, the distant glimmer of the lake (now mostly a black expanse blending with the horizon), the shadow of our habitat cast by its own lights.
“This place,” Jack murmurs, “it’s so hostile, but so…peaceful.”
I nod, understanding. The quiet and calm can lull you, even as the danger waits beneath. “I feel like Titan is testing us. Seeing if we’re worthy of its secrets,” I say, half-laughing.
“Nearly drowning you in goo is a heck of a test,” he replies. Then he pauses, and in a more serious tone, adds, “When I saw you fall in…I was really scared, Mira.”
My breath catches. In the darkness, our helmet lights are off to let our eyes adjust, so I only see his outline. But the emotion in his voice is clear.
“I was scared too,” I admit softly. “But knowing you guys had me…that made all the difference.”
He reaches out slowly and takes my gloved hand in his. It’s a gentle squeeze—friendship, support…maybe something more, lingering just at the edges. Through two layers of gloves we can’t feel warmth, but the gesture still sends a warmth through me.
“You don’t have to be fearless all the time,” he says quietly. “We’ve got each other’s backs here. That includes you, superwoman.”
I let out a soft laugh. “Noted. I’ll try to remember that.” I squeeze back, then release—just in case Commander Patel comes out and catches us slacking. Still, my heart feels lighter.
We climb down and prepare to head in. Just before we do, I sweep my gaze one more time toward the lake. It’s almost fully dark now. We left a navigation beacon at the float’s drop site, and I can see its faint blinking out there, reflected on the liquid. Beyond that… as my eyes adjust, I notice a faint luminescence on the horizon above the lake. A patch of the hazy sky with a dull whitish glow.
I frown. “Jack, do you see that, to the north?” I point.
He turns, visor narrowing. “Yeah… weird. It’s like a diffuse light.”
Aegis chimes in our ears: “Likely Saturnlight reflecting off the haze. The Sun is fully down, but Saturn is still above the horizon in that direction.”
Ah. Saturnlight—like moonlight on Earth, except here Titan’s “moon” is Saturn itself. The planet must be still hanging low, its glow scattering through the clouds. We can’t see Saturn directly, but its presence is revealed as an oval patch of slightly brighter sky. It’s ghostly and beautiful.
Under that gentle Saturnlight, something on the lake surface catches my eye. Three, four faint points of light, flickering. At first I think it’s reflections of stars. But there are no stars visible… and these are moving, dancing. Could it be the float’s beacon? No, that’s a steady blink and only one.
It looks almost like… will-o’-wisps skimming the water. Tiny, pale glows that wink in and out. Bioluminescence? The word hits me like an electric shock. Could any organism in that cold environment produce light? It seems energy-costly… but some weird chemical reaction or cold fluorescence? Or maybe just static electricity phenomena?
I blink and strain to see, but as quickly as they appeared, the lights vanish. The lake is dark once more.
“I swear I saw lights on the lake,” I say urgently to Jack. “Did you—?”
He hesitates. “I saw something. Not sure what.”
We stare longer, but nothing. I bite my lip. If I mention this to the commander, will it sound like I’m seeing things? Perhaps I am, after an emotional day. Jack and I decide to record a note about it in the log, just in case. Aegis confirms the float’s low-light camera didn’t capture any obvious lights besides the beacon. Maybe it was just an illusion. But deep down, I feel a mounting excitement edged with concern. If there is something alive out there, something more than microbes… everything about our mission could change.
As we re-enter the habitat, I catch Jack’s eye and see my own excitement mirrored there. Neither of us says it aloud, but we’re both thinking it: We are not alone on Titan.
End of chapter 4
