Author: Joe Mills

‘Should be close, now—about two cables,’ said Kexin, peering into the watery murk through the bulb of our harvester pod. ‘Come on…’

The powerful lights showed nothing but the ubiquitous organic snow—a cloud of tiny glimmering particles that filled the seven oceans of Heptabia.

‘They should be here. They should be right here,’ he said, not bothering to keep the frustration from his voice.

‘I think I just got a blip,’ I said, scrutinising the sub’s on-board echo read. ‘Try a little higher.’