Note from Steph: I organized all of my Suno music that I've been making for these flash fiction pieces and made them public. You can listen to them all at https://suno.com/@sjplovesmusic
The ice cap calves another segment into the copper-colored sea, and I log it in my report. Specimen IC-2187, mass approximately 400 metric tons, expected dissolution time: 6 hours. The same as all the others.
What I don’t log is how the liquid metal seems to reach for the ice, how the ripples move against the wind, how the surface tension changes just before each piece disappears beneath those metallic waves.
“Dr. Chen,” my AI assistant chirps, “you’re anthropomorphizing again.”
“No, ARIA, I’m observing.” I adjust my atmospheric suit’s temperature regulator. Even after three years on Kepler-186f, I haven’t gotten used to how the metallic sea affects our equipment. “The dissolution rate is increasing. That last formation should have taken at least eight hours to break down.”
“Perhaps your initial calculations —”
“Were perfect,” I snap, then feel guilty for arguing with an AI. But I’ve checked and rechecked the math. The ice shouldn’t be melting this fast.
A sound like chimes draws my attention back to the water. The latest ice fragment is already half-gone, but the way it’s dissolving… it’s almost like…
“ARIA, replay the last ten minutes of surface monitoring. Focus on the liquid-ice interface.”
The holographic display flickers to life, and I watch as tendrils of metallic liquid reach up — definitely up, definitely against gravity — to pull the ice under.
“Well,” I whisper, “that’s not supposed to happen.”
I look from the ice to the sea and back again. Hmmm.
“ARIA, check on the planetary temperature readings, please.” Maybe it’s getting hotter?
“Current planetary temperature is holding at minus forty-two Celsius,” ARIA reports. “No significant change since last week’s reading.”
Ah-ha!
“Exactly.” I pace along the shore, my boots crunching on metallic pebbles that shouldn’t exist. “The temperature hasn’t changed, but the ice is melting faster. That violates about six different laws of thermodynamics.”
“Five laws,” ARIA corrects. “And technically —”
“Not the point.” I wave at the sea, where another ice formation is doing its disappearing act. “Look at the consumption rate. Three months ago, we lost twelve tons of ice per day. Last month, forty tons. This week?” I check my data tablet. “One hundred and twenty-two tons. Daily.”
“Perhaps the sea is thirsty,” ARIA says, and I swear there’s a hint of sarcasm in her algorithmic voice.
“Very funny. But…” I stop pacing. “What if it is? What if the liquid metal isn’t just dissolving the ice, but using it? Converting it?”
“Into what, Dr. Chen?”
“I don’t know. But look at the surface composition readings from the past year.”
A graph appears in my heads-up display. The metallic content of the sea has remained constant, but the molecular complexity has increased by 300%.
“It’s not just melting the ice,” I whisper. “It’s becoming more complex. More organized. Like…”
“Like it’s building something,” ARIA finishes, all traces of sarcasm gone.
In the distance, another ice sheet cracks and slides toward the waiting waves.
Image made with Midjourney.
Prompt provided by NoGENver, GoOnWrite.
Flash Fiction written by S. J. Pajonas with assistance from Claude 3.5 Sonnet.
Listen to this story on YouTube at https://youtu.be/st2JMDChbrY
