It’s a moth! With a large, hairy, robust but streamlined body, thick fuzzy black antennae with what looked like metallic balls on the ends, and a large coiled proboscis. But it’s wingless, the size of a large car and with six strong insectile running legs. And it uses its proboscis like a flexible spear!
It came after us just after dusk while we were looking for a tree to sleep in. Out of nowhere, you just heard the sound of branches snapping, and leaves getting crushed as it rushed at us from behind. Within moments, it speared me in the thigh and my husband in the upper arm. We’d be dead if it weren’t for our quickness and how good we’ve become at climbing trees. I guess I have to thank my husband and his stupid illness. We’ve bandaged each other up. At least some of the bleeding has stopped, my husband’s wound was worse than mine. So far no sign of poisons from its proboscis.
The moth’s body shape tells me that this thing’s relatives clearly used to be fliers. It’s been following us for days and now, as we close in on the plant, it has become aggressive; it’s guarding something. I can guess what it is.
We could kill it. My husband and I have certainly killed larger, more dangerous beasts. But killing it might eventually cause what it protects, the M-CPU, to die. The death of centuries of information. No. We’d rather die. So, instead, we’re stuck in a tree a mile from the plant.
There’s a problem. My waters just broke. No, not now. Not now!
ENTRY 11 (20.45 hours)
We’re in another tree. About 200 feet from the M-CPU. Like everything around here, it’s infested with dragonflies. Their hard bodies smack against my face like hail. The wingless moth is below, waiting, angry, protective. We’re about to climb down and make a run for it. I hope my husband is right. Otherwise, we’re dead.
The M-CPU’s smell is overly sweet, syrupy, and thick. I’ve vomited twice up here. The labour pains drown out the pain from my leg. They are getting stronger and faster, too. Can barely control my muscles when the contractions hit. If they get any worse I won’t be able to help myself, I’ll fall right out of this tree. A terrible way to die. A terrible way for an unborn child to die. I hope my husband is right.
ENTRY 12 (21.26 hours)
If I focus on talking into this portable, I will not die.
We’re cornered. But we are lucky. We made it to the plant. Dragonflies are everywhere. Their metallic bodies shine in the plant’s light. They make soft tapping sounds when they hit the plant’s screen. Oh, the pain. My husband was right, bless his always-sharp mind. The wingless moth indeed is guarding the M-CPU. And thus, now that we are close to the plant, the moth fears we’ll harm it. If we don’t move, the creature will not attack. It is not stupid. It can reason. Otherwise it would have killed us both by now…soon there will be three of us.
My body does not feel like my own.
The… M-CPU is as tall as my husband. He can look right into the flower head, which is a bulbous monitor with large soft periwinkle petals framing it. There is indeed a slot right below the head, where the green stem begins. The moth is a pollinator. Morituri36 says that below the disk is a tube that goes deep; only the proboscis of this wild creature could fit down there. It is a most unique but not an unheard-of pollination system. But there are deeper things at work here.
Maybe the moth will leave come dawn when the plant goes to sleep. But the night has just begun. As the flower opens wide, so do I. The baby will be here soon. Why do the gods create this kind of pain when bringing life into the world? Why?
ENTRY 13 (23.41 hours)
I was screaming when she came out screaming. My husband wasn’t there to catch her; I wanted him to stay near the M-CPU’s flower. So our daughter landed on the cloth he’d spread. Morituri36 laughed with joy. A blue dragonfly landed on her for a second and then flew off. I had to lean forwards and pick her up. I cut my own cord. She is in the crook of my arm as I hold this portable to my lips and record these words. A beautiful thing.
The moth has backed off. Could it be that the gift of life was enough to stop this intelligent beast in its tracks? Or does it know what my husband is doing? Our storage drive fitted perfectly into the port just below the flower head.
The flower is fully open now. It is sometimes good to be a man. My husband can stand up and watch as we wait for the download to be complete. I can only lie here in the mud and listen to what he tells me as I slowly bleed to death.
ENTRY 14 (00.40hours)
“Are you all right?” he keeps asking, with that look on his face. Don’t look at me like that, Morituri36. Like I’m going to disappear at any moment. The moth looms. I’ve washed our daughter with the last of my husband’s water. She seems happy and angry, sleeping, trying to suckle and crying. Normal. Amazing.
Just tell me what you see! I’m talking to Morituri36. Doesn’t he think I want to know? As if I am not an explorer, too. Giving birth can’t change that fact.
Morituri36, you know the portable can only record one voice. Here, take it. It’s better if you just speak into it.
*Voice recognition detects Morituri36, a male, husband to Treefrog7, Greeny Explorer number 439, 793 days in Jungle, approximately 600 miles north of Ooni, 24.44 hours*
*Allowed*
My wife is crazy. She cannot properly describe the situation we are in right now, as I speak. The trees creep in on us like soldiers. She can’t see them, but I can. Every so often, I see a pink frog with gold dots sitting in the trees just watching us. Treefrog7 doesn’t believe me when I speak of this creature. It is there, I assure you.
But neither the trees nor the frog is our biggest threat. Treefrog7 is truly amazing. It is not that she just gave birth. That is a miracle in itself but a miracle most women can perform. No. It is that we have been stalked and hunted by this beast that our explorer ethics prevent us from killing and still this woman can concentrate enough to blast a child from her loins, even as the creature stands feet away, biding its time for the right moment to spear me in the heart and her between the eyes and then to maybe make a meal of our fresh and new healthy daughter.
But Treefrog7 wants me to talk about this plant that led us to our certain deaths. The M-CPU of legend and lore. The One Who Reaches. The Ultimate Recorder. Bushbaby42’s obsession. How old must this M-CPU be? Seven, ten thousand years? Older than the plant towers of Ooni? I believe it’s a true elemental with goals of joining its pantheon of plant griots.
My wife looks at me like I’m crazy… but who knows. You look into its head and how can you not wonder? Look at it, surrounded by purple sterile ray florets the size of my arm and the width of my hand. Its deep green stem is as thick as my leg and furry with a soft white sort of plant-down. No protective spikes needed when it’s got a giant moth guarding it.
It’s deep night now. And everything’s colour is altered by the brightness of the flower’s head. An organic monitor is nothing new. It is what we know. We Ooni people have been cultivating the CPU seed into personal computers for, what, over a century? It’s how the CPU plant got its name. And explorers have seen plenty of wild CPU plants here in the Greeny Jungle. Lighting the night with their organic monitors, doing whatever it is they do. But an uncultivated M-CPU? How did Bushbaby42 find it? And where is she? We’ve seen no sign of her. Treefrog7 and I will not speak of her absence here.
So back to the M-CPU’s head. What do I see in it? How can I explain? It is a screen. Soft to the touch, but tough, impenetrable, maybe. But I wouldn’t test this with the moth looming, as it is. And I would never risk harming the M-CPU.