In the antipodes, Halloween is out of season, it’s spring here and all about rebirth and hope. So rather than talk about spooky things, this month I’ve mixed my interests in monsters and marine critters to talk about monsters from the deep.
As I’ve been writing the initial five Ghost Assassins of Bijou novellas, I’ve leaned into my training and expertise as a marine biologist. Bijou is a marine planet, with an equatorial archipelago of extinct volcanic islands making up the minor terrestrial habitat. Much like we Earthlings, the human inhabitants of Bijou are limited to the land and the coastal fringes and surface of the ocean. As the stories have progressed, it’s become obvious that, also like us, the human residents of Bijou know next to nothing about most of their planet. Unlike us, however, they do have relationships with the sentient inhabitants of their ocean—especially with the belosa, a cuttlefish-like creature, some of whom choose to be living spaceships for the ghost assassins.
I could have created an entirely new creature to fill this role, but the shape and motion of cuttlefish lends them beautifully to being spaceships. They’re also intelligent, have distinct methods of communication and are well studied. This made it (relatively) easy to take an extant creature and develop it into one of science fiction. And there’s so much more life in the depths that we can use in this way.
The deep sea is Earth’s largest habitat, offering a massive 97% of the habitable space available to life on our planet. Which is remarkable, given how little we know of the lives and range of creatures that exist there. It’s estimated that we know less than 10% of the existing species of the deep sea. What monsters lurk beyond our reach and understanding?
Let’s set the scene in our search for monsters from the deep.
The deep sea is defined as beyond the reach of light, on average this happens at around 200m of depth. No plants live beyond this depth. The water is cold (~2°C), and the pressures are immense (an additional atmosphere of pressure for every 10m of depth). Around 70% of the sea floor is abyssal plains, but there are a multitude of other habitats including: seamounts, canyons, troughs, ridges, cold seeps, hydrothermal vents, polymetallic nodule fields, and asphalt fields or brine pools. Life in these habitats requires extreme (to us) adaptations.
Many animals at these depths have foregone the need to move. Why waste energy on locomotion when the food comes to you? Others have abandoned the sun as their source of energy and rely instead on the energy contained in inorganic chemicals that leach through Earth’s crust at vents and seeps. Oxygen isn’t always required, and life has found ways to exist in extremes that should kill. Creatures are diverse, often long-lived, and can be surprisingly large.
Onto the monsters!
Let’s start with Cnidarians (the C is silent)—jellyfish, corals, anemones and hydroids. These creatures have a mouth that also serves as their anus, they also have muscles, reproductive organs and tentacles. Already so much fun. But best of all, they kill with an explosion of tiny poison-tipped harpoons. Imagine visiting a strange planet, where simply brushing past a delicate feather-like shrub results in your body being swamped with a neurotoxin that stops your heart. The feathers wrap around you and the creature spends the next century feasting on your remains. Or your spaceship emerges from hyper-drive into the slow drifting tentacles of a massive space-jelly. There is no escape. Death is slow in the gut sac behind the creature’s dual-function mouth/arse—but it’s inevitable.
I’m not going to bother talking about marine worms, because…well…Dune. We all know what that looks like. All I’ll add is that the penis worm doesn’t hunt—it waits. To capture passing soldiers, the penis worm vomits out its toothed throat then retracts it, dragging the flailing prey with it. Death by penis worm—so noble.
Molluscs include a wide variety of life-forms including snails (gastropods); clams (bivalves); chitons; and squids (cephalopods). This group is rich pickings for premade monsters filled as it is with active predators armed with deadly toxins, camouflage and more terrifying tentacles. Probably the most frightening thing about molluscs is the weird feeding organ they all possess. It’s called a radula, a movable belt covered with teeth. The radula can scrape flesh from bones, drill holes in the hulls of space stations and inject toxins into unwary interplanetary explorers. Abandon all hope, weary travellers.
Crustaceans are equipped with many limbs. So many limbs. Delicate antennae that detect movement, taste, electrical currents to focus the hunt. Legs and more legs enable them to skitter over the barriers protecting a newly established colony. They swim through space and time using the oar-like appendages under their tails. Hidden beneath desert sands, they’ll spy on you with stalked eyes, then snap you up with claws and pincers that hold, slice and dice. Some of them move so fast they can teleport. You’ll never see the parasite before it steals your body for its own purposes—leaving you a more witless zombie than usual.
Next on our list of monsters from the deep are the armoured echinoderms—starfish, sea cucumbers, urchins, brittle stars, crinoids and the like—distinct in the animal world with their 5-sided symmetry. Ravenous and relentless they glide across the vast freeze-dried plains on hydrostatic tube feet. They’re impervious to your weapons. When they catch you—and they will catch you—they’ll hover over your trapped body and extrude their stomach out through their mouth. Once you’re digested, they draw their stomach inside and glide away. Behind them, the hollow husk of your once perfect body wafts in the currents of an alien breeze.
When you stare out at the night sky, filled with stars and mysteries, some of those stars aren’t what you think they are. Giant angler fish drift the universe on cosmic tides, their bodies invisible against the blackness of the void. Some of those distant stars are bioluminescent lures, hung out to draw in unsuspecting colonists searching for planets within the Goldilocks range. Once the unspeakably enormous maw closes its needled teeth around your interstellar generation-ship, the lights wink out—forever.
If, these macro monsters don’t offer you the perfect character for your next space horror…then what about the dangers of the micro monsters of the deep. Imagine bacteria that deplete the sulphur in your skin, leaving you with lesions that can’t heal and a compromised metabolism. Maybe the archaea in your gut are replaced by those that feed on, rather than produce, the methane you require for digestion? Deep sea viruses are more likely to be lysogenic, meaning they replace sections of your DNA with their own to reprogramme your metabolism for their own needs and they need to be cold…so very, very cold.
Honestly, I could write so much more but I think I’ve made my point. There’s no need to reinvent biology in the search for monsters. The way I imagine and extrapolate monsters from living creatures is, if it can swim it can probably also fly, if it can live in the dark expanse of the ocean, it’ll do just fine in space and if it’s small it can become very, very big.
Need more inspiration? Then, let your fingers lead you down a penis wormhole of online research. Or head to your local library and flick through any number of books about sea life (because it lives in my bookshelf, I referred to Peter Batson’s 2003 edition of, Deep New Zealand: Blue Water, Black Abyss, in my research for this blog). Finally, if you enjoy a field trip head to your nearest aquarium or marine research lab on an open day.
As I’ve been writing the initial five Ghost Assassins of Bijou novellas, I’ve leaned into my training and expertise as a marine biologist. Bijou is a marine planet, with an equatorial archipelago of extinct volcanic islands making up the minor terrestrial habitat. Much like we Earthlings, the human inhabitants of Bijou are limited to the land and the coastal fringes and surface of the ocean. As the stories have progressed, it’s become obvious that, also like us, the human residents of Bijou know next to nothing about most of their planet. Unlike us, however, they do have relationships with the sentient inhabitants of their ocean—especially with the belosa, a cuttlefish-like creature, some of whom choose to be living spaceships for the ghost assassins.
I could have created an entirely new creature to fill this role, but the shape and motion of cuttlefish lends them beautifully to being spaceships. They’re also intelligent, have distinct methods of communication and are well studied. This made it (relatively) easy to take an extant creature and develop it into one of science fiction. And there’s so much more life in the depths that we can use in this way.
The deep sea is Earth’s largest habitat, offering a massive 97% of the habitable space available to life on our planet. Which is remarkable, given how little we know of the lives and range of creatures that exist there. It’s estimated that we know less than 10% of the existing species of the deep sea. What monsters lurk beyond our reach and understanding?
Let’s set the scene in our search for monsters from the deep.
The deep sea is defined as beyond the reach of light, on average this happens at around 200m of depth. No plants live beyond this depth. The water is cold (~2°C), and the pressures are immense (an additional atmosphere of pressure for every 10m of depth). Around 70% of the sea floor is abyssal plains, but there are a multitude of other habitats including: seamounts, canyons, troughs, ridges, cold seeps, hydrothermal vents, polymetallic nodule fields, and asphalt fields or brine pools. Life in these habitats requires extreme (to us) adaptations.
Many animals at these depths have foregone the need to move. Why waste energy on locomotion when the food comes to you? Others have abandoned the sun as their source of energy and rely instead on the energy contained in inorganic chemicals that leach through Earth’s crust at vents and seeps. Oxygen isn’t always required, and life has found ways to exist in extremes that should kill. Creatures are diverse, often long-lived, and can be surprisingly large.
Onto the monsters!
Let’s start with Cnidarians (the C is silent)—jellyfish, corals, anemones and hydroids. These creatures have a mouth that also serves as their anus, they also have muscles, reproductive organs and tentacles. Already so much fun. But best of all, they kill with an explosion of tiny poison-tipped harpoons. Imagine visiting a strange planet, where simply brushing past a delicate feather-like shrub results in your body being swamped with a neurotoxin that stops your heart. The feathers wrap around you and the creature spends the next century feasting on your remains. Or your spaceship emerges from hyper-drive into the slow drifting tentacles of a massive space-jelly. There is no escape. Death is slow in the gut sac behind the creature’s dual-function mouth/arse—but it’s inevitable.
I’m not going to bother talking about marine worms, because…well…Dune. We all know what that looks like. All I’ll add is that the penis worm doesn’t hunt—it waits. To capture passing soldiers, the penis worm vomits out its toothed throat then retracts it, dragging the flailing prey with it. Death by penis worm—so noble.
Molluscs include a wide variety of life-forms including snails (gastropods); clams (bivalves); chitons; and squids (cephalopods). This group is rich pickings for premade monsters filled as it is with active predators armed with deadly toxins, camouflage and more terrifying tentacles. Probably the most frightening thing about molluscs is the weird feeding organ they all possess. It’s called a radula, a movable belt covered with teeth. The radula can scrape flesh from bones, drill holes in the hulls of space stations and inject toxins into unwary interplanetary explorers. Abandon all hope, weary travellers.
Crustaceans are equipped with many limbs. So many limbs. Delicate antennae that detect movement, taste, electrical currents to focus the hunt. Legs and more legs enable them to skitter over the barriers protecting a newly established colony. They swim through space and time using the oar-like appendages under their tails. Hidden beneath desert sands, they’ll spy on you with stalked eyes, then snap you up with claws and pincers that hold, slice and dice. Some of them move so fast they can teleport. You’ll never see the parasite before it steals your body for its own purposes—leaving you a more witless zombie than usual.
Next on our list of monsters from the deep are the armoured echinoderms—starfish, sea cucumbers, urchins, brittle stars, crinoids and the like—distinct in the animal world with their 5-sided symmetry. Ravenous and relentless they glide across the vast freeze-dried plains on hydrostatic tube feet. They’re impervious to your weapons. When they catch you—and they will catch you—they’ll hover over your trapped body and extrude their stomach out through their mouth. Once you’re digested, they draw their stomach inside and glide away. Behind them, the hollow husk of your once perfect body wafts in the currents of an alien breeze.
When you stare out at the night sky, filled with stars and mysteries, some of those stars aren’t what you think they are. Giant angler fish drift the universe on cosmic tides, their bodies invisible against the blackness of the void. Some of those distant stars are bioluminescent lures, hung out to draw in unsuspecting colonists searching for planets within the Goldilocks range. Once the unspeakably enormous maw closes its needled teeth around your interstellar generation-ship, the lights wink out—forever.
If, these macro monsters don’t offer you the perfect character for your next space horror…then what about the dangers of the micro monsters of the deep. Imagine bacteria that deplete the sulphur in your skin, leaving you with lesions that can’t heal and a compromised metabolism. Maybe the archaea in your gut are replaced by those that feed on, rather than produce, the methane you require for digestion? Deep sea viruses are more likely to be lysogenic, meaning they replace sections of your DNA with their own to reprogramme your metabolism for their own needs and they need to be cold…so very, very cold.
Honestly, I could write so much more but I think I’ve made my point. There’s no need to reinvent biology in the search for monsters. The way I imagine and extrapolate monsters from living creatures is, if it can swim it can probably also fly, if it can live in the dark expanse of the ocean, it’ll do just fine in space and if it’s small it can become very, very big.
Need more inspiration? Then, let your fingers lead you down a penis wormhole of online research. Or head to your local library and flick through any number of books about sea life (because it lives in my bookshelf, I referred to Peter Batson’s 2003 edition of, Deep New Zealand: Blue Water, Black Abyss, in my research for this blog). Finally, if you enjoy a field trip head to your nearest aquarium or marine research lab on an open day.
RSS Feed