FLASH FICTION
It Falls
By Peter Sutton
I have no eyes to see the darkness the bathyal carcass sinks down through.
It is given animation only by the bubbles that mark its passage to the abyss.
Strange currents, odd phosphorescence, mad creatures, the only witnesses.
Stars drift across the sky far away. I instinctively know where one is, a false
star, circling, it is my godcommunicator.
The being has given life before, now in its final journey it still has the power to do so. But the life it births this time is different. Unchecked by living
systems colonies of bacteria multiply logarithmically. Fungus blooms in lungs
the size of cars. Blind exotic shapes.
It was once busy, had volition, intelligence. It only became interesting to
the masters once it stopped. Or that is my assumption, for that is when my
task started.
My small presence is barely noticeable. The masters await my reports. I
will continue to report until it is gone. One data pellet per month. I will stay
and sample until no traces remain. Then I will resupply and seek another. I
will fulfil my purpose. I send the whispering presence circling above another
report.
There was a surface phase. Mobile scavengers part one. Then the gases
failed to keep it buoyant. Now it sinks. Still they come and strip the flesh.
Tentacled bullets stream past, scouts for larger cousins, eyes more complicated than those that my creators possess. They spurn the necrotising mass.
We tumble downwards.
My sensors have counted hundreds of species that have benefitted from its
death already. I know there are two more stages to come yet. I have done this
before. I will do it again. Message. Acknowledge. Another report.
The first phase draws to a close, the ever thinner soft parts squabbled over
by ever smaller scavengers, some armoured, some hunted, some seeking camouflage. The ceaseless web of life. Message. Acknowledge.
The longer, slower, second, enrichment opportunistic stage starts. More armoured beasts. Chitinous polychaetes. I watch them and they never suspect
my presence, apart from the ones I sample of course. I track genetic variation across generations; am silent witness of their triumphs and disasters.
Every month I report. Message. Acknowledge.
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SciArt in America June 2015