Adrift on Solar Seas

The silver sail bounces above my head, my skiff bobbing along the fiery waves. I gaze through my protective visor as the plasma ebbs, flows, and pops all around me. My headphones filter out most of the overwhelming noise, the constant drone like a million voices humming all at once.

I'm on a solo mission, sent out to gather data about the large sunspot that suddenly appeared a few days ago. The powers that be want to know if it will pose a significant risk to electrical infrastructure. Ironic, really, we've built all of this equipment to allow sailing and communicating on the literal surface of the sun, but we can't seem to adapt it for terrestrial use. That seems a little suspect to me, but what do I know? I'm just the guy who carries the machinery and presses record.

The waves become choppy; I grip onto the handle of the tiller for dear life. I can see the dark umbra of the sunspot in front of me, the plasma around it reactive, gouts erupting into the sky high above me. My boat may be resistant to the fierce heat, but one direct hit from a gout could still bore a hole straight through my sail, or even tip over the entire ship. Cautiously, I make my way toward the center of the sunspot.

The dark spot is enormous, the size of Earth's moon. The light dims as I drift over the shadow, still ringed by solar brightness. It's awe-inspiring, even after a dozen similar missions. I ready my recorder and drop the probe into the center. It will record until the sun's heat completely burns through, roughly 24 hours from now. Its last gasp will consist of a cacophony of rings and hums, the unadulterated sound of the solar surface.

I tap the comm button inside my suit on my left wrist. Embedding buttons inside the suit is the only way to keep them functional in this environment. "Mission accomplished," I murmur to whoever is listening, "I'll be headed back shortly."

If anyone responds, I don't hear it. I've already deactivated the comm link. I sit quietly, absorbing the brightness all around me, resting on what passes for darkness on the solar surface. The roar is constant, a screaming, ringing ululation like billions of cicadas.

Eventually, I gather myself to head out of the darkness. I stretch my arms before grasping the tiller once more. Almost done.

Passing out of the umbra isn't any easier than heading into it. The plasma ripples and dances high, bouncing my little craft to and fro. I pass through again, and change course, headed away from the dock, away from any other human presence, into the furthest reaches of the solar sea.

No one has ever been out this far, and they may not be again for decades, centuries even. If home base has noted my course deviation, it won't matter. They'll never be able to catch up to me in time.

Soon enough, they'll discover my falsified physical results, along with the recording I left behind. Doc says it's terminal, maybe less than three months to live. Three months of agony, my body literally rotting around me.

Fuck that.

I've always pushed myself, pushed my body to do what others thought was impossible, so why stop now? I'll give myself a sendoff worth remembering.

The auxiliary engine is overheating, not that it matters much. This bit of plasma will serve as well as any other. I cut off the engine and bring in the sail, folding it lovingly into the bottom of the ship. Taking a deep breath, I climb onto the edge of the railing.

The heart of all creation roils beneath me, mesmerizing patterns of orange and red. They say it'll fizzle out one day, but for now, it's alive and more vibrant than anything I've ever seen in my life. Turning around, I let myself fall backwards, becoming one with the source of all light in the universe.