Matt Dovey

If Mx Milia N weren't so intimate with their fishship, they wouldn't have noticed anything amiss until they were in a rush to depart. The immense ichthycraft streamed through the upper-atmosphere of 82G-Eridani's gas giant as easily as it had any other in their decades together: its interior high-boned hallways glowed with bioluminescent vitality, its softflesh walls were firm to the touch, and the gill-filtered air smelt clean.

No, it wasn't the fishship itself that unsettled Milia: it was the fungalsquid, the bathyteuthic service drones that constantly attended the stellar-sunfish, inspecting, tidying, and repairing.

Read the rest at Flash Fiction Online #147 →
(exclusive until 19th June 2026)

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