Most of the northern hemisphere of Mars used to be an ocean. Geological and paleontological evidence agrees on that. But is this sea completely gone or can the northern polar cap the planet be seen as the last shield of a lost waterworld? The more this habitat is studied, the more it reveals that this huge glacial shield indeed still houses great bodies of saltwater beneath it. Though some of these are so salty as to be toxic to most life. A few lakes interconnect with each other and possibly underground chambers, creating enough circulation for more complex ecosystems to exist. Standing atop these, with the creaking ice beneath your feet and peering down into the briny blue, one can almost deceive themselves into thinking they’re standing somewhere in Greenland in the winter. But that illusion is broken as one goes beyond the horizon, being greeted by a dry tundra and beyond that the red wasteland.
One of the few Martian animals here which add a certain marine vibe are the king mauks (Areoalca bonomii). These aliens have become quite popular among Earthmen, as they quite adorably resemble penguins, loons and similar waterbirds. The common name mauk is even a contraction of “mars auk”, referring to the extinct auk birds of our planet’s Arctic. That such an alien could come about through convergent evolution is not quite surprising, considering that Nothornitha already have a general likeness to flightless birds. Unlike a penguin and indeed unlike any other nothornithes, mauks cannot actually stand up on their legs. When they are out of the water, they instead always slide on their bellies, with their legs cumbersomely pushing them forward. It is an aspect that makes them resemble seals more than penguins. In some ways this is also an atavism back to the locomotion found in more archaic periostracans.
Mauks live their entire lives upon the great ice shield, exploiting the subglacial lakes opened by seasonal cracks. Should they ever accidentally slide the glacier fringes down into the tundra, they will become forever lost and easy pickings for predators, as they are too slow and clumsy to survive in any other environment. No, these animals, uniquely among remaining higher life of Mars, feel most at home in the water. Here they can be elegant and swift, gently gliding through the brine with the gently paddling kicks of their flippered toes. Most of their diet consists of soft-bodied prey such as selpies, as well as onychognaths. They have also been recorded diving all the way to the deep bottoms of the lakes and raking the soil for worms and sortaxes. It is a glimpse into a world that may have once been. Ironically though, there is no evidence that the mauks are some ancient relic from the oceanic times of Mars, as there is no known fossil record of such nothornithes. Combined with molecular studies on their relationships with the ptannus of the surrounding tundra, this suggests that mauks are, geologically speaking, relatively recent creatures that evolved in response to the new realities of life on the red planet.
It perhaps goes without saying that mauks, living in perhaps the most extreme environment on Mars, are the most cold-adapted of all periostracans. Their skin is covered with a dense, water-repellent fur, similar to some Arctic seals, while their internal carapace is covered both in- and outside by layers of fat. The carapace itself is uniquely honeycombed by small, air-filled pneumatic chambers, which acts as an extra layer of insulation. Using the bone shell as a form of insulation is indeed unique not just among periostracans but among Antitremata as a whole. During the long winter months, when the ice is too thick to go fishing for food, the small colonies of mauks will collectively dig deep burrows into snowhills and hibernate there, tightly cuddled to each other, not unlike the extinct polar bears of yore. In spring, when the ice begins to thaw and starbursts erupt out of the glacier, they become active again and begin diving down into the subglacial lakes in search of food. Once they have restocked their winter fat, they begin to breed.
Uniquely among nothornithes, mauks give “live birth”, though instead of true viviparity they do so through ovoviviparity. This means that the leathery eggs are not laid but are simply kept inside the body inside a well-circulated ovary until they hatch. This is undoubtedly another adaptation towards the cold, as there would be no way in the white desolation of building a nest and mauks do not have the protective skin-pouches of penguins. Mauk hatchlings are highly precocial and already able to swim and slide. The parents encourage their young to forage for food on their own at a very young age, though are still watchful over them. In the water, young mauks may fall prey to rhosons and chelicerous onychognaths, while on the ice they can become easy pickings for flying predators. As adults, they have nothing to fear but the forces of nature themselves.
Mauks have only small brains and their social behaviour seems somewhat stunted in comparison to their Earth counterparts. Their colonies are small and have no organization. As each parent is able to forage for food by themselves when carrying eggs, they also have no need to build nests or form monogamous breeding pairs, which also removes the need for elaborate displays or pebbling behaviour. Sometimes mauks will fight, quite violently in fact, over access to diving spots. During very harsh winters, cannibalism has been reported.
It is a life out in the desolate, white wastes, though evolution does not particularly care if it is a pleasant one. A dull mind is a blessing in these conditions.
