by Neil Clarke
I wanted to slap Morituri36. How many pockets of information had we lost because of his temper? He and I are south westerners, the people of beads. Amongst our people, we say, “Many beads protect the thread.” He knows this kind of behavior will not get him far. Maybe one day I’ll push him out of one of the extra high trees he forces us to sleep in every night.
We didn’t talk to each other for hours. Then we started seeing millions of dragonflies.
The land was still spongy and muddy. There were large pools of standing water. The air smelled like wet leaves, stagnant water and spawn. An ancient CPU plant would thrive in a place like this.
The dragonflies must have loved this place, too, but the huge swarms were because of the plant. CPU plants send out strong sine waves. These types of dragonflies are attracted to the electromagnetic waves like moths, mosquitoes, suck bugs and butterflies to light.
We’d always been plagued by a few of these sine-wave drinking dragonflies because of the portable we use to type in and upload information (including this audio journal) to the field guide node. Our portable is powerful. Even hundreds of miles from civilization, we can access the network and communicate with other explorers who wish to communicate. But there is a downside to everything. Large dragonflies zooming around our heads is one of them. The sine waves intoxicate them.
Usually, there are only two or three plaguing us. Now it’s about twenty. They’re like flying jewels, emerald-green, rock-stone blue, blood-red. A few of them are of the species that glow blue-purple. But none of them stay long. They zoom about our heads for a few minutes and then zip off, replaced by another curious dragonfly. Something bigger is attracting them, of course. I can’t wait to see it. We don’t even need BushBaby42’s coordinates anymore. Just follow the dragonflies. I hope BushBaby42 is ok.
ENTRY 9 (22:20 hours)
We cannot sleep. Morituri36 is sitting beside me. For once he’s looking down instead of up. Even he can smell the beast’s scent now. It’s right down there.
The dragonflies are going mad around here. We can see the plant just starting to glow about a mile away, to the north. By the night, it’ll be glowing like a small planet. But the creature is below us. Right at the base of our tree. I hope we make it through the night without a fight. Doing battle in the dark is the worst kind of fighting.
ENTRY 10 (20:14 hours)
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 has 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 water 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 labor 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 syndrome. 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 forward 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 fit 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 alright?” 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 yet 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 an 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 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 color 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.
The plant’s screen is in constant flux. There is a sort of icon that looks like a misshapen root that moves around clicking on/selecting things. Right now it shows a view of the top of a jungle. It cannot be from around here because this jungle is during the daytime. There are green parrots flying over the trees.
Now it shows text but in symbols of some unknown language. A language of lines branching off other lines, yes, like tree branches, roots, or stems. The root-shaped cursor moves about clicking and the screen changes. Now it’s a star-filled night sky. A view of what looks like downtown Ile-Ife, not far from the towers. There are people wearing clothes made of beads, south westerners. I know that place. My home a minute’s walk from there!
The screen changes again. Now . . . most bizarre, the sight of people, humans but as I’ve never seen. And primitive shaped slow-moving vehicles that are not made of woven hemp but of metal. There are humans here with normal dark brown skin but most are the color of the insides of yams and these people have light-colored hair that settles. My wife looks at me with disbelief. It’s what I see, Treefrog7. The legend is true. The M-CPU can view other worlds. Primitive old worlds of metal and stone and smoke but friendly enough looking people. Now there are more symbols again. Now an image of a large bat in flight. The roots of a tree. The symbols. A lake surrounded by evergreen trees.
My guess? This is the plant thinking and it is deep thought. Back to my wife.
*Voice recognition detects Treefrog7, Greeny Explorer number421, 793 days in Jungle, approximately 600 miles north of Ooni, 01:41 hours*
ENTRY 15 (01:41 hours)
I feel better. It’s been about two hours. Baby’s fine. My bleeding has stopped. The moth is still there. Watching us. The download is almost done. I can stand up (though it feels like my insides will fall out from between my legs) and see the monitor for myself now.
It just showed something I’ve never seen before . . . a land of barrenness, where everything is sand and stone and half-dead trees. Where could this nightmarish place be? Certainly not Ginen. It’s almost 2 am. In a few hours, we’ll know if that moth actually sleeps.
Field guide entry (uploaded at 01:55 hours)
Wingless Hawk Moth:
The Wingless Hawk Moth is an insect of the taxonic order Urubaba which includes butterflies and moths. It is the size of a large car, has a robust grey furry body with pink dots, pink compound eyes, and hearty insectile legs for running. Its antennae are long and furry with silver ball-like organs at the tips. Its proboscis is both a feeding/sucking organ and a deadly jabbing weapon. It is the pollinator of the M-CPU. It makes no noise as it attacks and is known to stalk targets for days that it deems hostile to its plant. Nocturnal.
— written and entered by: TreeFrog7/ Morituri36
ENTRY 16 (02:29 hours)
I’m having a catharsis as my husband and I stare into its monitor and it stares back. I am looking into a distorted mirror. We are gazing into the eye of an explorer. It is like us.
ENTRY 17 (05:25 hours)
My baby is beautiful. She is so fresh and I can see that she will be very dark, like me. Maybe even browner. Thank goodness she is not dada and that she has all ten of her fingers and toes. Think of the number of times in the last eight months that I’ve been poisoned, touched the wrong plant, been bitten by the wrong creature, plus I am full of antibiotics and micro-cures. Yet my baby is perfect. I am grateful.
If we ever make it home, my people will love her. But the wingless hawk moth is still here. The sun rises in an hour.
ENTRY 18 (5:30 hours)
The M-CPU shows pictures and they are getting closer to where we are! Pictures of the sky over trees. Symbols. Clicking. The jungle at night. More symbols. I can see our backs! What?! The moth is coming, but slowly, it’s walking. It is calm, its proboscis coiled up. But what does it want? Download is done. What . . . the M-CPU’s monitor shows two eyes now. Orange with black pupils. Like those of a lemur but there is nothing else on the screen. Only black. Just two unblinking . . . Joukoujou help us, o! Now I see. Don’t come looking for us! Don’t . . .
*Voice recognition detects . . . Unknown*
*Hacked Allowance*
They will never die. No information dies once gathered, once collected.
The creatures’ field guide is thorough but incomplete.
I am the greatest explorer.
I am griot and I will soon join the others.
End of Appendix 820
BongaFish35 Pinging Treefrog7 . . . .
Request timed out.
Request timed out.
BongaFish35 Pinging Morituri36 . . .
KolaNut8 Pinging Morituri36 . . .
MadHatter72 Pinging Treefrog7 . . .
Request timed out.
Request timed out.
Request timed out.
Request timed out.
Request timed out.
Request timed out.
About the Author
Nnedi Okorafor is a novelist of Nigerian descent known for weaving African culture into creative evocative settings and memorable characters. In a profile of Nnedi’s work titled "Weapons of Mass Creation", The New York Times called Nnedi’s imagination "stunning". Her novels include Zahrah the Windseeker (winner of the Wole Soyinka Prize for African Literature), The Shadow Speaker (winner of the CBS Parallax Award), Long Juju Man (winner of the Macmillan Writer’s Prize for Africa) and Who Fears Death (winner of the 2011 World Fantasy Award for best novel), is a dark, gritty magical realist narrative that evenly combines African literature and fantasy/science fiction into a powerful story of genocide and of the woman who reshapes her world. Nnedi holds a PhD in English and currently is a professor of creative writing at Chicago State University. Visit Nnedi at nnedi.com.
Gift of the Kites
Jim C. Hines
The first time Jesse saw the black Buka was in the park. He was flying a plastic Superman kite, dueling against his step-father’s rainbow box kite.
Jesse yanked the blue nylon string, swooping his kite toward his step-father’s.
Kentaro dodged easily. “Too broad
a strike,” he called, laughing. “A true fighter kite would loop around and cut your line.”
“Get him, Jesse,” cheered Jesse’s mother, sitting in the shade on one of the picnic benches.
At twelve years old, Jesse felt a mix of pride and embarrassment at her enthusiasm. Flushing, he unwrapped a bit more line, sending his kite higher. He dove again, missed, then tugged the kite in a tight turn that nearly clipped Kentaro’s kite. His mother whistled.
“Much better,” Kentaro said, grinning. He pulled his kite through a long ‘J’ in salute. “Amazing control from a plastic store-bought kite. You’re sure you have no Japanese blood?”
A shadow caught Jesse’s attention. A black rectangular kite leapt from the horizon, corkscrewing through the sky. Jesse ran toward the fence, hoping to glimpse the kite’s owner. His Superman kite followed like an obedient blue and red puppy.
“What is it?” his mother called.
Higher and higher the black kite flew. The string was invisible to Jesse’s eyes, but given the angle, the owner had to be by the highway. The wind carried exhaust fumes to Jesse’s nose.
“It’s a Buka kite,” Jesse yelled. The black fighting kite moved like no kite he had ever seen. It flew and bucked like a thing alive.
Kentaro shielded his eyes. “I see nothing.”
Jesse’s bowels grew cold, and sweat beaded his forehead. He felt exposed, a rabbit trapped in the open as a hawk swooped down. He wanted to run away, but his legs trembled, and he could barely stand.
The Buka turned slightly. Jesse’s breath caught. Something within him knew he wasn’t the kite’s target. “Mom, look out!”
Kentaro was still searching for the kite, but the terror in Jesse’s voice brought him sprinting. His box kite crashed, forgotten. “What is it?”
