How many such single-cell organisms might there be in the Enceladus Ocean? wondered Martin. The layer on the seabed was only a few millimeters thick, but it must contain at least 100 million single-celled creatures per square centimeter, according to their analysis. If one assumed an area of 100 by 100 kilometers, this would mean 10 to the power of 22, or 10,000 billion billion cells. What did the biology professor say? A human being consists of 100 trillion cells. The Enceladus Ocean therefore contained as many cells as 100 million humans.
What if all these single-cell creatures cooperate in a giant organism? What if my idea of the aliens that created the Forest of Columns is totally wrong? What if—like in humans—only one in a thousand of these primitive cells are involved in thinking functions? This being would have the mental capacity of 100 million humans.
It would be a super-being of enormous intelligence. What would it be like? Martin tried to imagine it but failed. Could the being he imagined not also be particularly cruel? An immensely smart creature limited to the area of the Enceladus Ocean and having no counterpart… What kind of morals would it develop? Would it even need morals, if it was all alone in its world, the undisputed ruler? Did it have values, was it curious, and how would it react if, in all its omnipotence, it suddenly met others?
These ideas discouraged him. Compared to this being, if it exists, we are nothing more than a fleeting disturbance. Maybe it does not even notice us. If it has existed for millions or billions of years, it will not think in terms of days. On the other hand, what is the new column but a form of reaction?
He sighed. His musings contained too much speculation and imagination. He did not know anything about the physiology of such a super-being. The signal exchange between cells will use chemical-electrical means, as in the animals on Earth, though few there are more than two meters long. This being, though, must synchronize cells that are up to a hundred kilometers apart. Even if it is as clever as ten million humans, it must be thinking correspondingly slower.
And how can it act? Is it capable of influencing its environment? Is it to blame for the broken optical cable, which had lasted so long?
Martin shook his head again and again. If we had an unlimited amount of time, we might be able to establish contact by means of the columns. If they can decipher the symbols, we will have a common language.
Lots of ‘ifs.’ And Martin and Francesca did not have enough time. They would most probably suffocate in a few days. Searching for a way out through the Stripes is probably a crazy idea. There, the water was ejected with enormous velocity. Down here, though, hardly any current could be measured. This meant there must be a kind of nozzle in one location, or several that accelerated the water coming out. He should have Watson calculate just how wide the gap probably was. Is it ten centimeters? Or even twenty? It definitely will not be enough for Valkyrie to fit through. He had unnecessarily put a bug in Francesca’s ear, even though he should have known better. It would be better if we concentrated on how to make our farewells as dignified as possible.
It was early afternoon. The jets were creating a deep hum. Francesca had aimed the bow of Valkyrie 20 degrees upward. The vehicle was on course for the Tiger Stripes. He yawned.
“Take a nap. I am still fit,” Francesca said. She is right. I can ask Watson later to develop a model of the geyser.
Once again, Martin woke up shortly after lying down, even though he knew he was dreaming. He sat on his bed. The vehicle was empty, except for himself, his bed, and the control console, where Francesca sat looking forward. The walls were no longer covered in panels. All equipment was gone, including any technical apparatus. He was barefoot. He carefully climbed off his bed. His naked feet moved across bare steel panels.
“Francesca,” he called, but the pilot did not react. He touched her shoulder and turned her seat around. Martin abruptly jerked back and gasped. He only saw Francesca’s clothing. Her body is… gone, no, it has been replaced by many small single-cell organisms, protozoa. He recognized this living mass on her cheeks, her forehead, and her chin. She opened her eyes, but her eyeballs were also made up of a mass of tiny cells that were constantly changing. She held out her hand, but he did not shake it because he knew it consisted of protozoa.
“Phew,” he said. There was no answer, not even an echo. He knew all of this was just a product of his imagination, yet he could not get out of it.
“I,” said Francesca, who no longer was Francesca, pointing at herself.
“Not-I.” She pointed at him.
“You,” he corrected her.
“You,” was the answer.
Francesca’s eyes were big, much bigger than usual, as if she had to record everything she saw.
“Not-all.” She started to walk around in the vehicle and randomly pointed at things. “Not-all.”
“I,” she said again. “All.”
“How can I help you?” Martin asked. Francesca looked at him without comprehension.
“How can I help you?” she repeated.
“Yes, help. I help you, you help me.” He had once heard that language was not easier to comprehend if you simplified it. He tried it nevertheless. “I help you. You help I.”
He had not had such a lucid dream in a long time. Can one go insane in a dream? Francesca turned around again and bent over her console. She randomly touched letters, but without a plan.
“It doesn’t work like this,” he said, and first typed in Francesca’s password, which was “Marchenko.” Well, if the administrator only knew. This is extremely careless, Martin thought. Francesca gazed curiously at the screen. Martin displayed landscapes there, photos of Earth, of Mars, of Saturn. It was bizarre. He was in a dream, but fully conscious, and he was showing pictures, like family snapshots, to a dream figure. He also pulled up the latest research, presented drawings of the two types of cells and their still mysterious organelles, diagrams of the ice moons, the geysers, and the ocean. Finally, he opened one of Francesca’s hidden folders and found a poem from a collection by Rilke.