The gears of the landing mechanism grind as the ship sets down on Titan, Saturn’s moon. The airlock doesn’t have any windows, but I’ve seen pictures of the place. Rich with the most precious resource of all, but desolate. Totally devoid of life, as is every other planet humanity has laid eyes on. But the water buried beneath the surface of those planets saved the Earth.

     “Suits,” says Kieran. He adjusts the fit of his dive suit, checking each and every strap.

     “I’ll be sorry to see him go.” McKenna is beside me. “He’s a baby, and a pretentious scholarly one at that, but he’s not a bad squad leader.” This is Kieran’s gap year before his doctorate. Why he decided to work for Aqua-Delve, the world’s largest water mining corporation, is beyond me, but this is his last job before he goes back to school.

     “Yeah. Wonder who we’ll get next.” I don’t bother to check my equipment, though McKenna is fiddling with a buckle on her suit. I’ve been doing this long enough to know when something’s off, and right now my suit fits me like a glove.

     The whole crew is assembled in the airlock. Outgoing McKenna, quiet Hayes, whose first name I’ve never learned, brilliant Leon, studious Kieran, and me. The eldest, I suppose. 

     Leon, our engineer, flicks switches on the control panel above the door. The airlock cycles, the door behind us hissing shut, and the hatch to the ground unfolding into a ramp that leads us to the gray-brown dirt of Titan.

The faceplates of our helmets brighten. That’s not the right word for it, but it’s not like they give off light. They just make it less dark for us. We’re far from Sol, and what light reaches us is blocked by the haze of Titan’s atmosphere. 

     I glance around. Something in me wants to stare at the dusty landscape, but the clanking of tech reminds me to get to work. The ship landed us on a hill, but a short ways down is our prize. The Kraken Mare. A huge lake. Of methane of course, so of no use to us, but it means the crust here is fragile. McKenna, Hayes, and I drag the huge drill down from the ship and begin the process of getting it down the hill without crushing ourselves.

     “They… should… put wheels...on this...thing,” McKenna huffs, both hands braced against the drill. Thought the gravity is light, the atmosphere is heavy, and the drill is already a gigantic hunk of metal.

     I step around the side to bring some of the weight off her and grin. “They wouldn’t want to make our jobs too easy, would they?” 

     Huffing and puffing, we bring the drill down to the edge of the lake. Kieran stands on the beach taking a sample of the gray-brown dirt.

     “You know you’re not supposed to do that,” I say. Officially, Aqua-Delve makes sure every planet they harvest H2O from is devoid of even microbial life. Unofficially, water is too scarce a resource. Lives on Earth and Mars are saved by two hydrogen atoms and a single oxygen.

     Kieran waves me off. “It’s unofficial. Research purposes.”

     “And even if you did find anything, they couldn’t do anything but give you a bad recommendation. Which they wouldn’t because you’d hold it over their heads.” McKenna has finished wiring the drill to the ship.

     Kieran frowns. “You’re ignoring the ethical component.”

     “Yes, you’re evil,” I tell her.

     “Better than old,” she teases. “I may be Evil McKenna but you’re Old Estelle.” 

     “You’re only two years younger than me!” Lie. I am six years McKenna’s senior.

     She doesn’t even bother dignifying that with a response. 

     Kieran straightens up, emptying the dirt from the tester back onto the ground. “You’re both ancient.” 

     Several yards away, the drill starts to whir. Leon hurries back towards us. “We’re up and running.” A terrific cloud of dust kicks up. It’ll be over an hour before we can lay pipes. Hayes is already heading back to the ship. Kieran pulls his tablet out of his suit pocket and sits cross-legged on the ground to read. I should probably go back to the ship. 

     For some reason, I don’t.

     I don’t usually explore the planets or moons we land on—they’re all the same after the first fifty jobs—but something about Titan is alluring. Wrangling the drill, I hadn’t really gotten a good look, but the part of me that wanted to stare at the landscape finally can. It’s not special. Not really unlike the training grounds on Luna, really. The dirt’s more brownish, and thicker, but even the gravity is similar. But something about Titan reminds me of Earth. Maybe it’s the atmosphere, just a roiling mass of gray clouds. The landscape is eerily similar—the lake of course, hills, the pebbly dirt. Except for the fact that everything is different, it could be Earth.

     I can see a cleft between two rocks. Nothing unusual, but I draw closer. Light flickers from it as I draw closer and realize that it’s larger than I originally thought. There’s slope just level enough to climb down. The light is nothing unusual—Titan is covered in cryovolcanoes, but this flickering is like

     candlelight 

     reflecting off the walls of our home as we sat down to Pesach dinner. Only my mother was even remotely Jewish, and we all shared the nationless blend of heritage and feature and brown skin that Earth had become, but my mother had been odd in the way she clung to her great-great-and on and on grandparent’s heritage. So we’d made supper. My mother had saved her water rations for weeks to make matzah ball soup. We even had a costly orange for the seder plate—but we couldn’t afford lamb. We had grown the herbs and so had plenty, and had bowls of salt on the table. Eggs were expensive as well, but not so much as the orange, so we had one for each person. My father had made usual food as well, broccoli and soybeans and cashews and chicken that I had watched mother buy and helped her flavor like gefilte fish. We had matzah instead of bread, but it was still a feast. We had our fanciest seder plate, patterned with an extinct dragonfly. My mother poured the

     water 

     reflects the light. Not water, methane, of course. Titan doesn’t have surface H2O. The liquid is the reason the light flickers. I pick my way down, further down into the light. Light that is almost definitely not from a cryovolcano—but what else could it be? Liquid laps against the cavern wall and it’s suddenly warm

     on my face 

     as my mother prompted me, the youngest at ten years old. Mah nishtana. Halailah hazeh. I couldn’t sing. I froze, hot shame spreading down to

     my feet 

     brush small rocks down into the pool. I’m fully in the cavern now and the ceiling glows. It is not a cryovolcano. —Hello— a voice says and I jump in 

     shock 

     ran up my legs as I flung myself into the basement, crying. My parents called. “Estelle come back. It’s alright, it’s okay to forget.”

     “Mah nishtana hailah hazeh mikol haleilot,” I spat through my sobs, my vocal cords unfrozen now that no one was looking at me. I never wanted to have them see me again I was never coming back up

     above 

     me the ceiling sparkled. Voices echoed in my head. 

     —Estelle Yael Martinez-Horowitz— —Aqua-Delver, Sol-Daughter, Earth-Child—

     Somewhere I am stammering to myself—no words, just sounds of disbelief. This isn’t real. Methane seas and gray-brown dirt are no place for life. A dragonfly buzzes over the surface of the liquid. My faceplate registers water.

     —Take off your helmet— 

     Titan’s atmosphere is mostly nitrogen. 

     My hands lever the helmet off my head and I breathe. A scream bubbles up from my stomach but stops at my throat. Years of carefully contained oxygen tanks on methane planets. Hazard, combustion warnings. Oxygen should not be here. I dip a hand into the 

     clear water 

     coursed down my throat. Ever the child of the Water Wars, I had grabbed my cup as I fled the table. My father had poured the final drops into my cup while his held no more than a swallow. I mopped my tears. Crying wasted water. I pressed my 

     palms 

     against the rock. I slip off my gloves and feel the mossy sides of the cave. Light flickers under my touch. I am breathing oxygen. 

     —Do you see— says the voice. —You must—

     My hands tremble as my head is

     rumbling

     filled the air, thrumming through the wall I was curled up against. I started up—there was no warning, there had been no air raid sirens—and was thrown back against the wall as an explosion shook the ground. Somehow I stayed conscious and saw the gray-haze of the sky. My vision dipped in and out of focus in time with the ringing in my ears, the shards of the bomb around me blurring into cylinders, their blue-wave logos wavering. I blinked at the one that had sunk its way into the flesh of 

my arm 

     is hidden beneath the white of my suit. I can still feel the scar where they put the

     stitches

     criss-crossed around my arm as I stared down at it. Dazily, I lifted my chin and a face floated into my view.      “You’re going to be fine,” the man told me. “No internal bleeding. You’re a very strong girl. Those Europeans wouldn’t send bombs if our country was made of people as strong as you.”  The man’s shirt had a blue wave logo and turquoise lettering. Where had I seen that?

     “Aqua-Delve,” I mumbled. 

     He smiled and his voice was so reassuring.  “That’s right. Aqua-Delve has saved you. We’re going to save the world.”

     —Did they?— 

     “Yes.” I find sure footing. “Yes! They saved my life. They cared for me until I was old enough to work! They take the water from planets that don’t need it and give it to people who do. We were a population dying of thirst and they gave us life!”

     —Will you take our water Estelle Earth-Child?— 

     “My planet needs it. We must save ourselves.” My will is iron. Kieran will want to study this place certainly.      There is a reason they stopped screening for life. Earth needs water.

     —We are old, Estelle Yael Martinez-Horowitz. We have watched your planet for a long while but are now too old. But we may still see a little.— 

     Unwillingly, I see it in their mind's eye. This is not my memory; this is a clear image. 

     We are in a city, we sink into the ground. An elevator shaft leads down. Shiny turquoise lettering. Aqua-Delve. A hidden reservoir. Lakes worth of water, hidden far from thirsty mouths. So much that thousands could drown. All the farms in the world could not need this much. Our dried-up lake beds dream of this much water. Dams of the past are broken by this flood.

     I stumble backward and trip over a rock. “We need that! We can’t have another war!” My hands scrabble in the dirt but I can’t find purchase.

     —You think all that came from planets, Estelle Earth-Child? You believe your people cannot mix one oxygen and two hydrogen? That that amount of water came all from planets?— 

     They sound angry now, and I tremble at the force of their voices.

     —You think we have not watched as your people travel the solar system, as they have stolen water from planets with potential? Do you believe that your planet is the only one with the potential for cyanobacteria? For an oxygen-rich planet? Do you believe that all life needs that? Do you think you are alone in the universe?— 

     The last line is delivered with such ferocity that I choke on my own breath. I feel tears course down my face. Bright images rush before my eyes and I feel myself collapse back into the ground.

​

     —Drink, my child.— The lights dance. I do as I am bid, cupping handfuls of water from the pool. It rushes down my throat. My blood seems to sparkle. For a moment, my whole body itches and then it is gone. 

     When I scramble up to the surface, I leave my helmet and gloves behind.

     Kieran finds me first. I see piping laid across the ground, ready to deliver water. How long have I been missing? He hurries up, relieved at first, then shocked when he sees me helmetless in the nitrogen air. The first thing he says is "Shit Estelle, where's your helmet?" Everyone else hurries over. I gesture to the cavern mouth, green, dancing light playing up over the slope. "Come with me."

​

     I watch as my crew stands stock still under the barrage of realization. They do not crumple or cry as I did, but Hayes whimpers.

     —It is easier for them. You are the only one to remember the war. They do not fight us.—  

     I stand patiently by the side as they wake from their trance and remove their helmets. They drink from the pool and I see them change as I must have. Nothing is different—yet we are no longer all the way human. We take our helmets with us when we leave but as we stride through the nitrogen air back to the ship, we do not put them on. Our suits are no longer air-tight, and Titan’s wind finds its way in and caresses our skin. We revel in the temperature of -179 degrees. We drag the empty pipes and the drill back to the ship. They may have other uses.

     McKenna steps fully out of her suit and hangs it over her arm. She bends down and runs a hand through the gray-brown dirt. “It’s beautiful.”

​

     This is the final message from the crew of the ship GA4516, formerly of the Aqua-Delve Corporation, to the citizens of Earth. Estelle Yael Martinez-Horowitz recording. Captain Kieran Smith is with me, as are Rue Hayes, McKenna Adichie-James, and Leon Wang. To all the people of Earth: we ask something of you. Look underneath your cities. Look hard at the bombs that fell among your homes. Ask questions of the corporation that stopped the war and think.

     We have other work. We have a ship, equipment. We are no longer quite human. We will journey the system and beyond and do our best to restore the planets that Aqua-Delve has drained. It was pure greed that made you keep mining, hoarding, stealing. You stole it and with it, the potential for humanity to have companions in the universe. Yes, you, the people of Earth, are responsible. The universe needs safeguarding from you. Until humanity is old enough to do it for themselves, that is our calling. Over and out.