The sphere is covered with saline water. A little over 70% of Sol-3's surface, in fact, is flooded with the stuff.
Water is fine. I like water.
I do not like water when it is so...festive.
The Earth's satellite, or Moon, brings tides to the sphere's waters. And they...move. Disconcertingly. It is almost like having to watch a small but extraordinary child pick the lock of its cage and proceed to drag a box of tools into an unmonitored corner. Turn your back and one of an almost endless series of accidents may befall you. I say this because arriving on a beach or lowland delta is a risky enterprise. The water...moves, almost as if it were alive. It gets closer, it fiddles with the shore a bit, and it returns into itself. Where the other end of it goes I'm sure I don't know but it is hard to properly illustrate the size of this ocean. One stands in the sand with the humans' automobiles floating through one's ear on one end and at the other is the hush and mush of the cyclopean sea.
It's quite pretty in a horrifying way. In fact, that's just the thing. It's sort of like an avalanche turned on its side. And from what I have reviewed in their histories that seems to be as apt a metaphor as any. Yet humans lie in wait for it, surf in it, float in it. Creatures of untold variation and menace abide down in those blue waters.
Yes, it is quite pretty in the way solar radiation is brilliant. And on a related note human females choose by their own free will to wear what is called a "thong". My reluctance to describe this ingenious article issues from my regrettable discovery that the males have chosen to wear them, too.
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