The Titan Probe

by Brandon Q Morris

  After walking twenty meters from the ship it had become noticeably darker. Valkyrie’s searchlights did not reach this far, so he took out his flashlight to find his way. His arm computer guided him where to go to approach the center of the forest. Otherwise, he would have already lost his way.

  The more he advanced, the denser the forest became. Now and then he had to take a little detour when encountering a group of columns that were very close together. He would not be able to reach the center within an hour, particularly since walking under water was not easy. By this point he could definitely conclude the forest had grown from the center outward. Some parts of the older columns that he now saw were already flaking off. In addition, the coded signs on the columns became larger toward the interior. This meant the information density was gradually decreasing. It seemed the builder of the forest had perfected this technique over time. Marchenko looked at the sea floor, illuminated by his flashlight. It consisted of hard rock covered by a thin layer of loose material that was almost transparent.

  He was traversing an alien world. Now and then he thought he saw little fish swimming past him, but each time he was deceived. Perhaps the human brain was trained to expect life to appear in well-known forms everywhere. He felt a strange mood coming over him. Here the ocean did not resemble a giant aquarium. It was neither green nor shimmering, nor did it harbor fish or aquatic plants. Instead, it was covered in eternal darkness. No one—at least no human until Martin, and now me, he mused—had ever seen these symbols on the columns. And yet here they were. Whoever started imprinting them had not stopped and was probably still doing it today. Such an un-human patience! Would it be the least bit possible to understand such an entity? Marchenko shook his head. That question was meaningless, as was the other question that he acknowledged was bothering him even more. What is waiting for me at the center?

  The map on his display showed he had already covered half of the way to his destination. He zoomed in on the center. Did the scan show him any details that would be helpful?

  Suddenly, ‘Buffer Overflow’ appeared on the screen, and the map abruptly disappeared. Marchenko was shocked and shook the arm that held the device.

  Now green text on a black background read, ‘Rebooting. Please be patient.’ Okay, the computer was rebooting. On the screen, a green bar moved to the right with every second. Then the screen went dark again.

  ‘Cannot load font file.’ Nothing happened afterward.

  “Come on,” Marchenko said, “do not let me down now.” He tapped on the screen with his gloved fingers. First this met with no success, but then he must have touched the right spot.

  ‘Please press Reset button. Press F1 for help.’ Tshyort vasmi! he thought. The arm computer did not even have an F1 key! How could he call up the help function? He looked at the device. There also was no reset button, so instead he pressed his finger against the text. A charging indicator now appeared. Ha! Ten seconds later, a long text explained to him how to find the reset button. 'To protect the device from moisture, pressure, and cold, the reset button has been moved to the inside of the spacesuit.'

  “Tshyort vasmi!” What the ... he clenched his fists and gritted his teeth. “Please move to a pressurized environment to solve this issue,” it said. If he could only get his hands on the engineer who came up with that stupid idea! It made him snort a laugh out loud—fate was really playing a nasty trick on him now. What had he done to deserve this? Frustrated, his first impulse was to smash the computer against one of the columns, but knew it might cause his suit to leak.

  Stay calm, Mitya. You will find the way to the center even without a guide, he sensed his mother’s voice say.

  “Be quiet, Mama. You do not know what you are talking about.” Yet her words had a soothing effect and Marchenko calmed himself. He closed his eyes, inhaled deeply and exhaled a long quieting sigh.

  Inside Valkyrie, how had he known if he was moving toward the center? He remembered the stripes he had discovered when he activated the infrared range. While he had no radar, he did have a night vision device that reacted to thermal radiation. On this hard rock, the stripes or nerve pathways must be running directly on the surface.

  Marchenko reached for the tool bag. The night vision device was still attached to it, which was one positive, anyway. He quickly put it on, and at first he only saw a very, very deep green color. He raised the sensitivity to its maximum, and then he indeed saw a rather fine fluff on the sea floor. Seeing this indicated he had been literally getting on the ocean creature’s nerves the entire time! Marchenko was amused by the idea, but even more delighted about now knowing how to reach his destination.

  He studied the sea floor surrounding him. These veins of life generally ran in a straight line. But wherever one of them encountered a column, it would split in two and then rejoin beyond the column. He looked straight down and discovered he himself was such an obstacle. The nerve pathway split, ran around both sides of him, and then rejoined and resumed its original direction. This meant the cells could react very quickly. He took a few steps forward, right onto a stripe, and watched what happened. In the night vision visor, the sea floor near his feet got darker, which suggested it was cooling. Then two new tracks formed and he became an island in the stream. The entire process took less than thirty seconds. The human nervous system—as he had learned while studying medicine—was rather flexible, yet it was not able to create entirely new connections in such a short time. The degree that this ability was present was often linked to intelligence. The more agile and flexible a nervous system was in reacting to its environment, the faster the learning processes. Marchenko was amazed. If the behavior he observed here could be applied on a larger scale, the owner of this nervous system would not only possess an incredible store of knowledge, but could also learn very quickly.

  The potential was immense, but did this also create a danger? Marchenko pondered this while he moved closer and closer to his destination. He knew some people who would immediately point out the risk: human civilization could not endure against such an entity, even if said entity possessed no weapons. Was it really a good idea to transmit his experiences to Valkyrie? But it was probably too late anyway. In fact, Martin and Francesca had already revealed the existence of this being—and, someday, other researchers would come.

  Marchenko raised his arm to look at the display, but then he remembered the malfunction. How much time could have passed? He did not even have a clock to go by anymore. Based on his oxygen consumption, he estimated he had been walking for an hour. Marchenko slowly lifted his head and looked ahead through the night vision device. The nerve pathways were now coming in from all sides. They were definitely getting brighter—which meant warmer—as they seemed to indicate more activity. He walked around the next column and froze. Is this it? About 150 meters ahead of him a warm object rose above the seafloor. Was this finally his destination? He took off the infrared visor, but could not see anything in the beam of the flashlight.

  He replaced the visor and took his time during the last few meters. The columns here were significantly smaller than those at the edge of the forest—and rather worn. The symbols on them looked primitive, like a young child’s first attempts at writing. Marchenko was incredibly excited and felt like a kid peeking through a keyhole to see his birthday presents. There was no room left for fear.

  From a distance of fifty meters he could see the entire center for the first time. There were still two rows of columns ahead of him, but they were not as tall as he was. Beyond them was a clearing covered by the mulch-like material he'd seen earlier. He slowly walked across it, and the swirls created by his movements swept the material apart. After his first three steps, the mulch started to move away from him by itself. It cleared a way to the center for him. It made Marchenko think of Moses parting the waters of the Red Sea. He turned around, but no one was following him.

  Slowly, Mitya, he thought, stopping. The path that had been cleared by the organic material led to a hard, cold
rock, greenish-black in the night vision device—a kind of pedestal. It was maybe one meter high, at most, and about four meters by four meters square, and it appeared to be made of the same material as the columns. Above it, a glowing cloud hovered; Marchenko needed to turn down the sensitivity of the infrared visor in order avoid being blinded by it. According to the device, the cloud must have a temperature of at least 32 degrees—almost like a warm bath.

  The cloud seemed to be rotating, and Marchenko noticed thin threads racing across the surface. Whole areas changed their brightness—spots moved, merged with others, and then disappeared again. Now and then, arcs of warm material were shot out from the cloud, cooled down, and then were again absorbed by it. Marchenko was reminded of infrared images of the sun, with protuberances, sunspots, and magnetic field lines. However, this was not a star, but rather an intelligent being.

  He took off the night vision device. Everything looked dark immediately, so he aimed the flashlight at the cloud. In the white beam the cloud looked dirty gray, like a very dense fog. Now he could no longer see movement, but when Marchenko aimed his flashlight at a spot, the fog retreated after a short time. Sorry, he thought, and turned off the flashlight. He hoped it had not been harming the entity.

  In the darkness he felt utterly alone. A cold, prickly breeze swept through his body, and the hairs on his arms stood on end. He quickly turned on the night vision device again, even though it was only a few steps to the center. The cloud looked as if nothing had happened. It displayed an almost incredible amount of activity. Where did this entity get all the energy for it? Marchenko remembered the autopsies he’d had to perform in medical school. Compared to this being, the human brain seemed primitive, but what else could he actually compare it to? The cloud before him—was this the actual entity, or was it only a rather large node, while the personality was distributed across the entire ocean? He himself would then be nothing more than a microbe that lost its way in the blood vessels of the brain. How significant would such an intruder be for a human brain? And did the answer to this question have anything to do with what this creature thought of him, Marchenko?

  There were so many questions and so few answers. Marchenko sighed, and even as the air left his lungs, he saw a change occurring in front of his eyes—the cloud was opening from top to bottom, and at the centerline it curved inward, allowing him to see its core. This area was so bright Marchenko needed to lower the infrared sensitivity again. Were those lightning flashes and electrical discharges he was seeing? The water must have very unusual properties if it could conduct electricity in this way. Or was it simply energy quickly moving from one spot to the next? If only the astrobiologists on Earth could see this. They had always assumed all reactions here would be very slow.

  The hole into the cloud stabilized. It was now a bit taller and wider than he was. Was this supposed to be an invitation? Marchenko hesitated. What would happen if he accepted the directive? What would Francesca do in his place? She would go, obviously. She would wave to him once more and start walking directly into the cloud. While he considered this, the shape of the indentation changed. Now it resembled a small gate. It was the entrance to the inner sanctum—he recognized it from his dream. He was feeling hot and cold at the same time. What was happening here seemed completely impossible, but it was real. This was aimed at him. The cloud—the entity—was inviting him to... whatever. Marchenko felt this was a farewell, but also an enormous opportunity. He had to go forward.

  Slowly the Russian approached the platform. With every step he saw new details inside the cloud—rotating shapes, three-dimensional structures that folded and interlaced. It was almost like looking into a huge, living kaleidoscope, where instead of colored pieces of glass, there were different wisps of fog whirling around. He did not feel any fear, only a firm determination to take these last steps, right now.

  He reached the square platform, and saw there were no steps. Obviously, millions of years ago no one had anticipated a human visitor would arrive here. Yet, it was only necessary for Marchenko to take a slight hop upward to land on the platform.

  Now the cloud was right in front of him, and he could easily touch it with his glove. He carefully moved the hand toward the moving molecules. The spacesuit's glove made it seem huge. At first the cloud retreated a bit, but then it seemed to change its mind. The fog approached his palm. At the boundary layer it first seemed to cool off somewhat, but then it appeared to receive fresh energy from its interior. The infrared view showed bright lines surrounding his glove. Marchenko stood completely still, and after a minute he felt the material of the spacesuit being warmed from outside. The cloud was transferring part of its energy to him. Here, on the ice moon of Enceladus, this must be a precious gift—like receiving fresh, cool water in the Sahara Desert. Marchenko cautiously pulled back his hand, but the fog did not offer any resistance. The bright lines slid off, and then with a surprisingly quick movement, they snapped back into the interior of the cloud.

  One more step, Mitya. The thought appeared in his head, and he was not absolutely sure whether he had created it or not. But at this point he felt he had nothing further to lose. He lifted his left leg, took a step, then one with his right leg. Now he was already across the threshold to the inner sanctum he knew from his dreams. In a split second the cloud was all around him, and Marchenko stood completely still. Just for a brief moment, fear and panic flashed through his mind. He now felt at the complete mercy of something unknown, yet he also sensed he could leave any time if he so desired. He thought, No, I do not want to, and his muscles relaxed again. The same lines that had earlier surrounded his hand now tried to get in contact with his spacesuit. There were many more now, and additional ones kept coming from inside the cloud. He could not feel them; they seemed weightless. But he noticed his suit growing warmer from the outside. It felt like he was swimming in a tropical sea.

  Gravity was gone. Marchenko flinched—he felt like he was floating, but right away something anchored him again. Gravity was not gone, he now realized—it was the cloud that was holding him, and it kept him safe and warm. When he tried to move he experienced another shock. He wanted to turn around and see what was happening in his proximity, but his body did not react, even though he strained his muscles. He felt like he was being packed in cotton balls, or being spun within a cocoon that would not let him go free. Panic drove a path through his thoughts, which jumped out of its way like frightened little kids. He wanted to rear up but it was too late, and then he knew... everything was all right again.

  Marchenko tried to turn his head to see what was happening, but was still unable to do so. All at once he no longer needed to, for he could now see everything without moving a muscle. His brain contained a 360-degree panorama that his thoughts could effortlessly move through. He saw the platform in front of the cloud, followed by the first rows of columns, and then the horizon at a great distance. Besides, he realized, he could change the wavelengths in which he perceived this image. He played with his new abilities by simply thinking of them. He was already familiar with infrared, which showed him the nerves running across the ocean floor. He could even change his perspective and achieve a resolution that made the night vision device seem like a relic from another time.

  In the visible spectrum it was mostly dark, and above it, in the ultraviolet range, things were not much better. Then he reached the x-ray and gamma-ray spectrums. Now the ice opened above him and he saw space like never before—the solar system, the Milky Way, remote quasars acting as cosmic beacons. This being might be alone, but it was not lonely. He now realized it knew the cosmos far better than humanity did. Marchenko was breathing heavily.

  He changed to lower frequencies, past infrared, terahertz, microwave, where it was dark, as there was too much water above him. Then came the radio spectrum, shortwave, medium wave. All of a sudden he saw it, like an insect hovering slightly above the surface of the ice moon: ILSE. Communicating via radio waves with a blinking dot on the sea floor. They h
ave come back. They did receive the signal after all! Marchenko thought he was crying, but he felt no tears running across his cheeks. He was not crying out of grief, but for joy. They had come for him, to save him, even though he no longer needed to be saved. He needed to tell them about it, he thought, and then a voice inside his mind said to him, ‘Patience, Mitya.'

  Without warning, the scenery changed. He was no longer inside the cloud, nor at the bottom of the Enceladus Ocean. He was now sitting on a sofa in a living room. The old shelf unit and the pictures on the walls, which were yellowed by countless years of cigarette smoke, made it clear this was his parents’ former apartment. Marchenko looked around. No one else seemed to be there—except now a priest appeared in the opposite armchair, leaning forward. He recognized the man from his dream in regard to the church, although his voice sounded very different now. It took Marchenko a moment to realize the voice belonged to Devendra, the CapCom. The moment he imagined the Sikh’s face, the man in the chair transformed. Now he had a turban on his head and wore jeans and a T-shirt.

  “Nice to have you here,” he said with a smile. Now Marchenko could clearly hear the Indian accent.

  “Where am I?” Even before he uttered the question he was aware of how meaningless it was. But the words had already separated from his tongue and were rolling into the room.

  “Correct,” said the man who resembled Devendra, answering his thought. “But let us talk about something different. You probably have many questions, and so do I.”

  “Who are you?”

  “The most complicated question, right at the start. Do you know how to tell me who you are, after all?”