Consuelo was there now. Lizzie switched her visor over to the live feed. Time to catch the show.
* * *"I can't believe I'm finally here," Consuelo said. She let the shrink-wrapped fish slide from her shoulder down to the ground. "Five kilometers doesn't seem like very far when you're coming down from orbit -- just enough to leave a margin for error so the lander doesn't come down in the sea. But when you have to _walk_ that distance, through tarry, sticky tholin ... well, it's one heck of a slog."
"Consuelo, can you tell us what it's like there?" Alan asked.
"I'm crossing the beach. Now I'm at the edge of the sea." She knelt, dipped a hand into it. "It's got the consistency of a Slushy. Are you familiar with that drink? Lots of shaved ice sort of half-melted in a cup with flavored syrup. What we've got here is almost certainly a methane-ammonia mix; we'll know for sure after we get a sample to a laboratory. Here's an early indicator, though. It's dissolving the tholin off my glove." She stood.
"Can you describe the beach?"
"Yeah. It's white. Granular. I can kick it with my boot. Ice sand for sure. Do you want me to collect samples first or release the fish?"
"Release the fish," Lizzie said, almost simultaneously with Alan's "Your call."
"Okay, then." Consuelo carefully cleaned both of her suit's gloves in the sea, then seized the shrink-wrap's zip tab and yanked. The plastic parted. Awkwardly, she straddled the fish, lifted it by the two side-handles, and walked it into the dark slush.
"Okay, I'm standing in the sea now. It's up to my ankles. Now it's at my knees. I think it's deep enough here."
She set the fish down. "Now I'm turning it on."
The Mitsubishi turbot wriggled, as if alive. With one