Whatever caused it, the bulge immediately suggested itself as an obvious location for a city, as it could serve as something like a High Street peninsula running all the way around the moon. The city was concentrated at first on the hemisphere facing Saturn, which looms overhead four times larger than Luna from Earth. This was felt worth having in one’s sky, especially since Iapetus’s orbit is at a seventeen-degree tilt from the plane of Saturn’s rings, giving it a perpetually changing view of the gorgeous mobile. Almost all the other moons see the rings only edge-on. From the Iapetus bulge one also has a view down to the rest of the moon’s surface, twelve or sixteen kilometers lower than the bulge, so there is always a broad icescape below to balance the sublime ringed pearl above.
What color the moon’s surface is depends on where you are looking, because the leading hemisphere of Iapetus is quite black, while the trailing hemisphere is extremely white. This stark discrepancy, noted by Cassini in October of 1671 when he discovered Iapetus, is a result of the moon being tidally locked. The same hemisphere always leads the charge into the night, and black dust shed by the retrograde moon Phoebe (the other one out of the plane of the rings) therefore always falls on that side. In four billion years the dust has accumulated to a depth of only a few centimeters. Meanwhile the trailing hemisphere of the moon, gathering frost from the ice subliming off the darker leading side, is among the whitest ice in the whole system. The result is a two-toned moon, the only one in the solar system.
When people came to occupy Iapetus, the top of the equatorial band was smoothed and fitted with a rock- and-aluminum foundation. They then began to use seashell genes to shape the structures of the equatorial city. Some of the flat top of the bulge has been left open for spaceport runways and the like, but most of the bulge is now covered by a long clear gallery tent, placed over buildings that line the great boulevard of the High Street, alternating with farms, parks, gardens, and forests. As the air under the tent is always kept warm, the interior architecture can be very open, with Saturn often left visible, framed by gaps in ceilings and roofs. Seashell biomimicry allowed the builders to extract and deploy calcium under mantles, and these soft living tissues were genetically engineered to shapes that allowed the architects to layer bioceramic stuctures one on the next, building structure on structure, like corals, until the area under the tent by now is almost full. Like most bioceramics structures, the beveled and layered shapes have been induced to produce scalloping, fanning, notching, and other conchological features, so that the buildings look like great seashells stacked one on the next. Sydney is often referenced because of its iconic opera house, but in fact the bulge now looks more like a Great Barrier Reef made of scallops layered and everywhere holed, as if by tube worms, to let in the view of Saturn overhead.
On the black hemisphere, Cassini Regio, the bulge bisects an area where people once upon a time went out in hoppers or rovers and blew the black dust away to make patterns out of exposed white ice. Anytime you can easily make such a contrast in the landscape, people have written out their thoughts for the universe to read. Before the Saturn League was formed, when the first arrivals from Mars had come for Titan’s nitrogen, and were exploring the other moons as well for whatever else might be plundered and taken back to the red planet, people had come here and etched white out of the black. An exhalation no stronger than a leaf blower’s would do the job, and soon great fields of Cassini Regio were covered like Newspaper Rock with petroglyphs. There were white-on- black figures in abstract patterns, beasts, stick people, Kokopellis, writing in many different alphabets, portraits, landscape features, trees and other plants; on and on it went. Later some entire areas were cleared completely to white and then painted with collected black dust to a greater or lesser depth, achieving shadings that had a sometimes trompe l’oeil depth of field, proportioned for viewing such that they looked normal when viewed from the bulge, with others designed to be viewed from space.
Graffiti on Iapetus! Later it was declared a mistake and a scandal, a moral stupidity, even a crime, in any case disgusting; and there were calls for the entirety of Cassini Regio to be reblacked. Someday it may happen, but don’t hold your breath, for the truth is we are here to inscribe ourselves on the universe, and it is not inappropriate to remind ourselves of this when blank slates are given us. All landscape art reminds us: we live in a tabula rasa, and must write on it. It is our world, and its beauty is entirely inside our heads. Even today people will sometimes go out over the horizon and scuff their initials in the dust.
WAHRAM AT HOME
Wahram returned to Saturn a haunted androgyn. Despite all his theories, he was still in the tunnel. He tried to get back into the pseudoiterative of his life on Iapetus, and indeed in some ways it was easy; it wasn’t a life he was ever going to forget. For a day or two it was possible to feel odd to be in a city you hadn’t been in for years and yet magically wake up knowing right where to go, the little grocery around the corner where you could get fresh bread and milk and all that; then the intervening years sloughed away and it was just home again. Off for the walk to work, down the long esplanade by the north window wall, overlooking the immense drop down the slope of the bulge. Black-tipped whites at the border of the Cassini region: a vast Chinese landscape painting, black brush tips on white paper. At the notch of one little small square, the council offices were up in a squat clear-walled tower, offices with lots of people he knew; it was like dropping back into an earlier reincarnation. He could reenact it meticulously; he could perform it like an actor in a play set in the previous century; he could make it a daily devotional, live ordinary life as a deja vu that he invoked himself-but no.
No. Because the much more strict pseudoiterative of the tunnel still filled his mind, and overlaid the sensations of the present moment. And as Iapetus in the present was for the most part an Iapetus reenacted, much more vivid to him was that more recent past consisting of what he had just lived through with his so- mercurial friend. And he wondered about her. The mercurialities of Swan were infinite, but she had gone through quite a bit down there, and so had he. She had protected him at the elevator door, just as a matter of course, the obvious thing to do, with no time to think; just an animal response. And with far too much time to think, he had helped her through her radiation sickness.
So when he thought he wasn’t thinking of anything, he found himself whistling snatches of Beethoven, and hearing over it a skylark filigree of inhuman virtuosity. He wondered what they had really sounded like, and if Pauline had recorded the entire time and could carve out and play back the music they had made-another kind of transcription. All those poor musicians… Maybe a record was always a distorter of memory, not to be sought. Better to hear it by way of reenactment. He would only really hear it again if they did it again.
No. He needed to think about something else, and bring himself into the present. Possibly he would see Swan again somewhere, and they would whistle then, or not. Probably not, this being the world. So… recent or not, the past was the past; the present was the only reality. So really, it was necessary to start up a new pseudoiterative that did not rely so fully on his habits from three or four lives back. He needed a new Iapetus, with the memory of Swan properly encoded into it.
So he would walk down High Street to the park with the best view of Saturn for an evening constitutional, for a communing with the great ringed god, and perhaps a chance to see Titan-his-true-home spangling over the giant like a jewel; and just the act of trudging to the park would bring a whole host of feelings to him; and in the park a small gathering of musicians would pass around the chance to start up a tune and have everyone join in, and he could either listen, or venture to whistle along-even to whistle the start of some movement when it was his turn- end of the Sixth, end of the Seventh-and they all would join in on their instruments and off they would go. With Saturn overhead, and some truly gifted musicians in the little band, he would be snagged by the moment, fully entangled, and Swan would be there with him in his mind. What a temper she had.
Then on days when the council and various work groups weren’t meeting, he could tram around the city four degrees, and come to the gate for the ski boats, and get in one and take off down the gigantic side of the Iapetus bulge, in this region an undulant slope of black-tipped white billows, in some parts like a shaken sheet of snow, in others like frozen waves in a waterslide. There were moguls the size of big hills. Down the great hill of the bulge’s side the ski boats would slide, carving lines and performing jumps and rollers, if desired; but also one could simply cut a line and keep to it on a long traverse, or even fly straight down the slope, a forty-five-degree drop, and even at the highest speed the descent took all day. Rides went on so long that many people slid down on larger boats to have a party, and on some days Wahram tried that too. Then at the bottom they got into funiculars for a ride back up, during which everyone was in high spirits, often expressed in song. People shared schnapps and sang Schubert. Wahram had done these things long before, in the first year he had lived in Iapetus, but somehow they had dropped out of his habits and been forgotten. Now thinking of Swan had brought them back into his life.
Even his work brought Swan to mind, as the council and its staff were discussing what to do about the light
