In Space No One Can Hear You Fix a Station, but They Can See You
The liquid hydrocarbons were coming down in sheets, but such was the climate on Titan. The dim glow that diffused through the methane fog as if it were possessed by an etherial demon was amplified somewhat by the lights on the outside of the building.
The airlock went through its purge and refill cycle, and Erich von Hammersmark, one of the Prime Minister’s advisors, walked in. A quick security check by the TI-1040s, and he was given clearance to enter the Prime Minister’s chamber. He doffed his suit helmet.
Sir Antonio d’Antangelo, the PM’s chief science advisor, and a few other men in white coats were discussing some problem with Paul Barnes, the leader of the Confederation of Saturnian Satellites.
“So what you’re saying, Tony, is that this is likely one of the old tourist traps,” Barnes said.
“Tourist trap?” Erich interjected, unbelieving. “But those were vacated over a millennium ago!”
The balding man looked up, then smiled. “How nice of you to join us, Erich,” Barnes said, adjusting his monocle.