THE MICROMARTIANS' LAST SUNSET BY ANURUP MOHANTY Cathy hovered at the gathering’s core, cradled by the warm, honey-scented walls of exopolysaccharides (EPS). Countless cells had spun these sticky strands into living architecture that trapped precious moisture. A thousand dew droplets clung to the gel ceiling, each refracting the fading Martian sun into shards of pink and orange. Around her, filamentous cyanobacteria clinked their cellular bodies in celebration. Tonight was both a farewell and a feast. In recent years, light had grown cruel. Dust storms darkened half the sky, and every photon carried enough ultraviolet radiation to blister delicate membranes and bleach chlorophyll. Beneath the EPS dome’s protective canopy, Cathy prepared for a ritual of light. She would use the world’s final molecule of chlorophyll to forge the last molecule of glucose that this sun-scarred surface would ever produce. As she synthesized, the chemolithotrophs — those hardy microbes that harvest energy from rock and brine — erupted in cheer and vowed that their sulfur oxidizers and iron metabolizers would feed the colony underground. When the feast ended, a silent procession formed. Cathy led the way into a narrow crack in the basalt, gliding over biofilm bridges into cool twilight. There she described the vast subterranean refuge: walls slick with brine and lined with mineral-eating mats; dim corridors where Mario the Mixotroph harvested every last carbon molecule; and deeper halls where strict chemolithotrophs pulsed with unending rock-driven resource cycles. The air was thick with the tang of iron and the steady hiss of seeping groundwater — reliable and safe. Newly divided cells clustered close to their parents, quivering at the thought of dark tunnels ahead. For generations, Martian microbes had bathed in crimson light and clung to warm spring waters. This shift to perpetual gloom would take time to accept. Even the elders huddled beneath the EPS spire in uneasy silence, its glistening walls offering only fragile comfort. This had to be the new normal. Once the colony settled into sleep, Cathy slipped away. She drifted along the silent biofilm corridors, passed the brine-slick walls where chemolithotrophs hummed their ceaseless work, and climbed the basalt ramp toward the surface. In the cool hush before dawn, she pressed her membrane against a single dew droplet and waited for the sun. Above, the sky brightened to a deep red glow. Cathy felt the first ultraviolet rays slicing through the thinning atmosphere, powerful enough to shred her lipid bilayer and scorch her chlorophyll. Still, she unwrapped her final pigment molecule with deliberate care, inviting every photon to fuel one last round of photosynthesis. She remembered how light had shaped her life — splitting water, generating sugar and sharing sustenance with every neighbor of the mat. As the sun came up, the radiation overwhelmed the thin air, and her cellular repair systems faltered. Without the EPS, it was rough. DNA strands broke. Pigments cracked. In those final moments, Cathy clung to the sun’s energy, harvesting every last joule until her metabolite stores ran dry. When her membranes ruptured, Cathy’s dying pigments flared with bioluminescence — an eerie green beacon pulsed down the basalt tunnel. Mario and his scouts followed the green shimmer through the winding basalt passages. At the edge of their mapped territory, they stumbled upon a secret chamber where brine pooled deep and rich with dissolved minerals — enough to sustain the colony through the endless darkness that lay ahead. As the last Martian rays slipped below the horizon, Cathy’s form drifted into stillness, and the vibrant green of life faded to dust. In choosing a noble end beneath the blazing sky, she gifted her friends the hidden sustenance that would carry their colony forward. ANURUP MOHANTY IS A PHD STUDENT IN THE DEPARTMENT OF EARTH, ENVIRONMENTAL & PLANETARY SCIENCES AT NORTHWESTERN UNIVERSITY
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