Matyom and Case trudged across Titan’s frozen dunes. Headlamps framed their vision, pushing back the total darkness of almost eight Earth days’ worth of night. Golden fog hung lazily, tinting everything they saw. Matyom had been told once, by his cosmonaut guardian Robert, that Titan smelled like a popsicle of fish, asphalt, and oil. To Matyom, it had always smelled of the warm plastic on the inside of his howlsuit helmet. He liked that smell: it meant he was exploring.