A Voyage through the Micro-Verse to Save Life on Planet Earth

“Stay with the ship,” I tell Barron Wolfe as Lyra, Gyro, Rand and I hop from Cyclops’ deck onto the lowest platform of the Microsian colony, the nearest thing to a dock that I have seen since our departure from Duckweed Base.   I tighten the strap of my satchel, feeling the weight of its contents resting against my hip.   I signal to Rand, indicating for him to lead the way.   To my right, there is no partition or seawall to prevent an accidental misstep and tumble into the enclosed sea, or to prevent waves from flooding into the city – an obvious contrast to seaside communities from our world.   But of course, there are no waves on this sea, and no tides.   Other than Cyclops the waterfront is devoid of other boats or vessels.   I reckon that if the Microsians make use of watercraft, such vessels would be submarine in nature, and are harbored below us, in some manner of underwater harbor.    The multitude of Microsians observe...

Day 16: 1230 hours They are watching us! Lyra, Gyro, and Barron have joined me topside, but nobody has yet found words to adequately express any emotion, let alone a vague analysis of the moment.   We, my   crew and I, stand side-by-side, silently transfixed on a scene that I can barely put into thought, let alone language.   Could this be how British explorer James Cook felt, after Europeans had been crisscrossing the Pacific for a century, when he then discovered a thriving society, hundreds of thousands strong, on an isolated archipelago in the middle of that ocean? Not only watching, but evaluating us! The nearest platform of this incongruous micro metropolis, one built at the same level as the captured sea, is approximately two centimeters away.   The waterfront is lined with the bipedal forms, each seemingly identical to the next, an observation that I attribute to the effect of distance.   Below the glimmering surface of the mi...