The Age of Discovery, Chapter 13: The Grass of the Serengeti


Day 9: 0530 hours…

Dawn is breaking.  Last night we anchored the ship to a decaying aquatic weed stem, about two hundred twenty centimeters depth – all hands glad for the respite after our adventure on the surface.  I am pleased to report that the night passed uneventfully. 
As I enjoy my mug of coffee on the observation level of the pilothouse the faceted dome reveals the first sunrays piercing the pond’s depths.  Through the heavy leaded glass warm watery light strikes green algal protists, which illuminate into iridescent emeralds.   And there are thousands upon thousands of them all around us, creating an ever-changing green waterscape that extends in all directions to the furthest visible distance.  This harmless multitude is to other single-celled pond organisms what grass is to the herding beasts of the African Serengeti – food in abundance.  I am admittedly curious about the organisms that rely on this plentitude.
“Good morning, Skipper,” says Gyro cheerily as he enters the pilothouse. 
I return his bright salutation, adding, “How about we get the ol’ girl ready for departure?” 
“Aye, skipper!” my steersman answers.  He picks up the voice pipe: “All hands – prepare for departure!  Make free all mooring lines and retract! “ He turns to me with eyebrows raised.  “Speed and heading, Captain?”
The green algae cells cavorting hither and yon were a clue that we were in the midst of an active food chain.  I was eager to unfold its secrets as the sun rose higher.
“Ahead one quarter,” I say.  “Nice and slow.  Two degrees left rudder, and elevators minus five.   Let’s try to learn what dines on these little green beasties.”



Gyro sends two bells on the engine order telegraph to Barron back in the engine room.  Through the deck I can feel the vibration of our steam turbine increasing, then a slight surge as the screw begins to spin, the almost-imperceptible shudder through metal and glass as the turbine gains speed.  Through the glass of the observation dome I can see our overnight anchorage sliding astern.  We are underway.

 0800 hours…
We are entering a transitional pond microhabitat, not yet definable as shallows, and yet not as fathomless as the open water. 

Cruising at slow speed near the surface, Cyclops encounters a large single-celled organism common throughout the pond – Paramecium. This particular species is different than the others we have seen, it’s color being the most differentiating attribute – it is green!

A closer inspection reveals that the green coloring comes from smaller green bodies inside the large protozoan. And these smaller green bodies are organisms themselves – algae cells – not dissimilar from the free-swimming algae cells that are so plentiful in this region.  The green cells inside do not appear to be the paramecium’s breakfast.  We wonder what function they serve, or if their home inside Chez Paramecia is simply a safe place to live, out of harm’s way.   And if so, how might the paramecium benefit from this curious living arrangement? 

0830 hours...
A curiosity – when we pass over the green paramecium, the Cyclops’ shadow blocks the light from hitting the organism – and to our astonishment, the organism immediately moves back into the sunlight! Could the paramecium be moving back into the light for the benefit of its little green guests? We have observed that green microorganisms gather in sunny patches throughout the pond. Further observation is needed to learn the connection between green organisms and sunlight.

1215 hours...
As has been the case all morning, single-celled algal protista surround us, and now as the midday intensifies, there are more than ever!  The cells are rising all around the ship, using their twin flagella to swim ever upward, gathering in masses on the underside of the surface, as close to unfiltered sunlight as they can get.  It is remarkable how their craving for photons drives their entire population.  And growing everywhere within the surface mass of green algae – bubbles of oxygen!

Without warning Gyro sounds the bubbles above alert, and for good reason!  Oxygen bubbles, found wherever there is a large algae population, are particularly bothersome.  

“Bubbles above!  Bubbles above!” shouts the steersman. 

In much the same way Cyclops was recently stranded on the surface of the pond, we could easily become ensnared by air bubble surface tension and find ourselves unable to escape. We must avoid these oxygen bubble rafts at all costs, but at the moment, as the bubble raft expands down from the surface, we are in peril of becoming trapped!

“Jonathan,” advises Lyra, “that bubble mass is expanding very quickly, and we are getting awfully close to it.  We need to stop rising, or we’re going to get trapped.”

“Skipper,” calls Gyro from the wheel, “ I suggest we flood the surplus oxygen storage tanks.  The added weight will trim us, and prevent us from rising into the bubble raft.”

I spin to the voice pipe, tapping it twice to alert all hands of an impending announcement. “Barron, flood the reserve O2 tanks.  Repeat: flood the oxygen reserve tanks with water – now!”

I glance at the oxygen tank indicators while watching the looming bubble raft now less than a ship’s length above us.  The gages show a full store of oxygen.  Hurry, Barron!  No sooner do I send this impatient mental directive to my engine master, than do we hear the sound of metal pipes creaking as water rushes into the holding tanks.  Oxygen streams out the stern release ports.  The O2 level indicators drop from ninety percent to less than ten in a few seconds.  The floor sinks beneath my feet as Cyclops drops safely away from the treacherous bubble raft.

“That was close!” exclaims Lyra.  “I only wish we’d had a chance to observe this massing behavior… and maybe bring one aboard.  We could learn so much about this light-motivated behavior.”

“We have bigger problems,” says a booming voice from the companionway.  “Skipper, I’m afraid escaping that bubble trap cost us our oxygen reserves,” Barron grumbles, as he enters the wheelhouse.  “Now our oxygen supply is dangerously low.”

“A hefty price to avoid an even heftier problem,” I respond.  “And while it worked, I’d like to know why our control surfaces weren’t able to turn us away from that bubble raft.”

“All I know is that the rudder isn’t responding to the helm either,” adds Gyro.  “The elevator system and the rudder are connected to the same cable assembly.  Something must be jammed in there. “
“Gyro’s right,” confirms Barron.  “Something must be interfering with the free-movement of the control cables.  It’s an external problem.”

“I’ll go,” says Lyra, never one to shy away from extra vehicular adventures.

“Then go below and suit up,” I tell her.  “But no side trips!”

“Side trips?” she mutters just loudly enough for me to hear.  “I really do not know what you’re talking about.”

*****
Author's note: Microscopic Monsters is now being featured on Best Science Fiction Blogs

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