Rock 4.5: Skitter

  Wimpod

  There’s an excellent hiding spot nestled into the hot, dry land. A smooth hole bored through the earth with dim lights and small cracks in the wall to hide in. There are exits on two sides, letting you run away whichever way you’re approached from. The two-legs walk through here sometimes, but they’re always loud enough you can hear them coming. Sometimes they’ll chase you around if they see you, but they’re slow and big so you can always avoid them easily enough.

  You lazily flick your antennae through the air to taste it. There’s a bad taste there. Danger! You taste the air again to be sure and then pull your body down to hug the earth as you think of a plan.

  The invisible ones have returned.

  They’re quiet, invisible, and they must clean themselves before they hunt because they leave little taste in the air. You only discovered them now because of the strong winds in your hiding place. For a moment you wonder if you should just stay in your crack and wait it out, hoping they never find you. You’ve seen others try that. Sometimes it worked. Sometimes the invisible ones revealed themselves long enough to use their long, terrible tongues to pull their prey out of hiding and right into their mouth.

  You can hear two-legs approaching in the other direction. Even if you cannot smell them in the air, you can definitely hear them. You saw invisible ones before when they were eating. They were bigger than you, bigger than the biggest of your kind you’ve ever seen, but the two-legs are even bigger. Even the invisible ones must have things that eat them. They might not go near things bigger than them. You take a moment to climb to the top of the tunnel so that your back is hanging down beneath your legs. Then you scurry down the top of the hiding place, away from the invisible ones.

  When the light from the outside just starts to seep in you find the two-legs. There is a group of three of them. Beside one is a strange creature. It walks on two legs but the taste it leaves in the air is like an invisible one. It sort of looks like one, too, but bigger. Its jaws are much, much bigger. You could easily fit inside them with room to spare.

  It raises its head and begins to taste the air. Then it looks straight at you and makes a low, rumbling sound. Danger. Danger ahead. Danger behind. Danger everywhere. Nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide.

  One of the two-legs points at you and says something in their strange way of communicating. No tastes in the air, all sound.

  “Calm down, Coco. It’s just a wimpod.”

  Something snaps into your mind. This two-legs told the creature you are not a danger. You and the things like you, there is a grouping for them, wimpod. The creature is a Coco. How did the two-legs do that? Is it a special trick, like the invisible one’s invisibility or the fire of the many hot creatures nearby? The wimpod do not have any tricks. You run and hide. If you cannot run or hide you die.

  The Coco keeps looking at you but does nothing as you keep walking above the two-legs until you are behind them. The two-legs you cannot understand communicate for a while before all three of them start to move again, the Coco in tow. You follow. Maybe the Coco will scare away the invisible ones.

  The two-legs who you can understand stops and turns around. It looks up. Not at you, but to something near you. A panicked glance reveals nothing. What is it looking at?! Danger?!

  “Do you want something?” it asks.

  If you understand it, maybe it understands you. “There are invisible ones. They are dangerous to me. Not to you. They will stay away from you.”

  “Yeah, not sure why I thought I’d understand that,” it says. “Safety, maybe?”

  {I understand you,} it says without saying anything. {But can’t say that aloud.}

  How did it do that? Are these all tricks? Different tricks? The same trick? “Where is the danger you were looking at?”

  {I meant to look at you. I can’t see.}

  It cannot see. Why? Do they sense the world by sound and taste alone? No, then it still would have known where you were.

  “You’re welcome to follow us for a while. But if you’re worried about something that can climb it might be better to just ride on my shoulder or something.”

  You look down. The two-legs wants you to crawl onto it to be safe. There is a Coco between you and it. The Coco is very big and could eat you. It is a danger. The invisible ones are a danger. All options are dangerous. The two-legs presses down on the Coco. Holding it back? Attacking it? You know the invisible ones will try to eat you. The Coco might try to eat you. It is less dangerous to take shelter on the two-legs. You slowly scuttle down the side of the tunnel, keeping an eye on the Coco. It watches you but never attacks.

  Your front legs reach the ground. The Coco does nothing, just keeps its eyes on you. They’re strange, unsettling eyes, like the ones on bigger land dwellers. Rounded with no lines dividing them. Just a ring of color with a dark hole in the center. What is in the hole? If you were small enough to climb into it, where would it take you?

  You sprint the last bit as fast as you can so the Coco can’t catch you. It doesn’t move, just opens its mouth and reveals massive teeth almost as long as you are thick. Your armor wouldn’t save you.

  It doesn’t need to. By the time the Coco’s mouth is fully open you’re already climbing up the two-leg’s surprisingly soft limbs to a point near the top. You look down and see the Coco’s mouth spread wide, teeth bared as it looks at you.

  {She’s trying to show you how big her teeth are. She doesn’t want to bite you, just likes showing them to anyone she meets.}

  Showing them that it is dangerous. That it should not be attacked. “Very smart.” You look down and see something strange. The two-legs is molting, with a red layer of armor peeling away from its body revealing the soft flesh you walked up. There are two mounds beneath you with a new layer of black armor growing out of them. Why is it walking around while molting? Isn’t it afraid? Or are the two-legs really not afraid of anything? Why would they need armor, then?

  The molting makes for a good hiding place. You skitter down between the new and old armor and latch yourself onto the new. This means that the invisible ones will not be able to see you. Much safer this way. Then the other two-legs start making loud, booming sounds. Is there a threat? Are they trying to scare something away? Beneath you the two-leg’s body expands and contracts as a long stream of air is released above you.

  “Never been groped by a bug before,” it says beneath and above you. “Just glad to know there’s enough to grab down there.”

  “Yes. I am secure,” you tell it. “There is enough to grab.”

  The two-legs doesn’t answer you. Instead, it responds to another of its kind. “Fine, never been groped by a crustacean before. Happy?” It looks back down to you. “Do you think you can grab onto the red thing instead?” the two-legs asks.

  That is less safe. The invisible ones might see your legs. But the two-legs might not carry you unless you do. Reluctantly you flip yourself over and grab onto the shed armor. Then the two-legs begins to move. It does not seem to be any faster than you are despite the much longer legs. It actually seems to be slower. It is still far safer than traveling by yourself. You can hear the Coco beneath you. Why do two-legs travel with Cocos? Aren’t they afraid of being attacked by the other? Even your kind will turn on each other when there isn’t enough food. Other kinds are far more dangerous.

  “Why do you let the Coco near you? What if it ate you?”

  {She wouldn’t. I’m her mother.}

  Mother. Progenitor. Egg-layer. The meanings spring up in your mind. You don’t know what laid your egg. Another one of your kind, another ‘wimpod,’ said that he saw one once. It was bigger than a two-legs and had armor so thick that nothing could pierce it. You thought he was wrong. You have no tricks. You run and hide. You will never live long enough to become that big.

  “Why do two-legs look after their eggs? Why do the hatchlings look so different from the egg-layers?”

  {I didn’t lay her egg. I just took care of her after she hatched.} Why? Why would it help something that could eat it? How does it live long enough to grow big if it does not understand danger? {Humans do things like that sometimes. Take in another type of creature. Feed them and help them grow stronger. Protect them. Like I’m doing now with you.}

  That explains why it is carrying you. It still doesn’t make sense, though. Unless the point is to eat you. Maybe you’re wrong. Maybe you aren’t in danger – it could have just had the Coco snap you up earlier – but you don’t understand why.

  This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  “Why? What do you gain?”

  {Humans are social. We like being around other creatures. And the pokémon I travel with, they want different things. Coco sees me as her mother. My other pokémon, Nocitlālin, she wants information on humans.} The two-legs, no, the human jerks and you cling tight to the armor to stay on. “Sorry, tripped,” it says. {And you want protection. I could give it to you if you wanted to stay with me.}

  More steps bring you out of the tunnel. The temperature rises, the air’s taste changes, and more light bleeds through the shed armor. {Or I could let you go here. Whatever you want.}

  The two-legs—the human claims it could protect you. And between it and the Coco it can protect you from all but the biggest of predators. Humans move. They are never in the tunnel for long and you rarely taste the same ones more than once. It would take you to new places with new dangers and you would be relying on it not turning on you whenever it gets hungry.

  Or you could turn around and go back into your hiding place. Your hiding place that the invisible ones are still in. That means danger now. Staying with the human is danger later. That is still safer.

  “Do you want to stay with me for a while?” the human asks aloud.

  “Yes.” What other choice is there?

  “Good,” it says. “Oh, and I’m Cuicatl, by the way.”

  Time passes while you remain still. Stillness is familiar. Common. Why would you waste resources when there is no reason to act? Yet you are still being moved. Away from the familiar. Away from known dangers. Towards unknown ones. You think you made the right choice. Now you have some protection other than running or hiding. Specifically, you have someone else to run to and hide behind.

  The humans approach others of their kind. Several others. They make their own strange noises you cannot understand. Your human, the Cuicatl, makes noises you do. Asking the others to go ahead while it talks with you. You can feel it lower itself to the ground. The breathing of the Coco stills a moment later. “I put Coco away,” the two-legs says. “She’ll be back later. Just wanted to talk to you alone for a moment.”

  “Okay.” You don’t leave the comfort of her shed armor. Why would you?

  “Do you have a name?” it asks.

  Name. The word hits your mind with strange information. Humans classify things like you do. Then they make even smaller classifications that only have one individual. There is no purpose to this. You address no one or everyone. Why learn ‘names’ when the individual might be dead before you meet again?

  “No.”

  The two-legs shifts around and you cling tighter to her armor. “I was thinking I would give you one so you’d know when I was talking to you.”

  It might have a purpose. A strange one. Someone speaking to you and you alone, not to your entire kind. Something to set you apart. Almost like a trick. Like invisibility or talking to other kinds or breathing fire. You don’t know the words for what you want to say. How do you defer other than running away? How do you ask for something other than taking it? The humans live in swarms. The wimpod do not.

  The two-leg’s paw presses against the other side of the shed armor. “You can come out,” it says. “Shouldn’t be anything dangerous around.”

  If she is wrong you would be safer where you are. And it said that you can crawl out, which you could, not that it would attack you if you did not.

  “Alright. Are you male or female?”

  Egg-layer or fertilizer.

  “I can fertilize eggs.”

  “Hmm. First boy on the team. Congratulations.”

  You have done a good job by being able to fertilize eggs. The other companions around her lay eggs. She will want you to fertilize them. This must be what she gains by protecting you.

  “I think I want to name you Oquichtliyoh, or Leo for short. Means that you’re very brave.”

  Brave. Not running away. This is wrong and stupid. Running away is safest.

  “I always run away.”

  “Yes, but, this is something to live up to. Run away from less. Explore more.”

  “Not running away is dangerous.” You had thought the humans were clever. They are not. How are they still alive?

  “Sometimes things won’t attack if they think there will be a fight. At least pretending that you won’t run away can be safe sometimes.” She shifts her weight and exhales. “Do you think you can leave my shirt?”

  You slowly, reluctantly poke your antennae out. There are lots of tastes here. Humans and others. None seem to be close now. You crawl onto the outside of her shed armor and wait. “I won’t ask you to fight,” it says. “Not if you don’t want to. But sometimes when I find a bug about the same size as you are I might ask you to try and scare it off. Then you’ll get better at making things you can’t run from think they can’t eat you.”

  No. Too much risk. “What if it attacks?”

  “Then Coco or Noci—you’ll meet her later—will swoop in and save you.”

  You do not want to agree. You do not want to risk her anger by saying no. Cleverly, you do not say anything to her.

  “Just think about it. Oh, yeah, and if you want to travel with me you’re going to need a ball.”

  A ball. A round object.

  “Why?”

  “Well, it lets me move you more safely.” Safety. Good. “I can let you try one if you want. If you don’t like it, I can try another.”

  You are interested in what the humans do for safety. You hum to tell her you are willing. It reaches for the large object it carried on its back and opens it up. Inside are small crevasses for hiding in. You should have gone into that. It looks sturdier than her shed armor. It pulls out something smaller than you are. A ball. How will this help you?

  “Alright, hold still.”

  You still dart to the side when the thing flies at you. It would hurt. It would be dangerous. You can see the ball sprout open and send a web flying out. The edge hits you and pulls you in, like you’re falling backwards. Then—nothing.

  Stillness.

  Safety.

  Motion. Color. Taste. Sound. There are plants beneath you. The Cuicatl is nearby. The Great Light is lower to the ground and all the smells are a little bit different. Time passed while you were still? How?

  “What was that?”

  “I put you in a ball. You won’t feel anything and you can’t be attacked. Did you like it?”

  A perfect stillness. A perfectly safe stillness.

  Perfect.

  You rub your antennae together and chirp in happiness. “Can I go back in?”

  “Later,” it says. “Wanted to feed you first.”

  Shelter AND food? Why? What does it gain from you when you cannot protect it?

  Not food. It would not give you food and then eat you. That makes no sense.

  The Cuicatl moves something with its legs and a stream of colorful petals fall out. No, not petals. They are thin and colorful like a plant but they taste like meat in the air. When you nibble on one it also tastes like meat in your mouth. You eat the first few petals and then dart to the next, scooping them into your mouth with your mandibles and swallowing them down whole.

  Meat was rare in your hiding place. When something died it would not be long before something bigger than you reached it. You and the other ‘wimpod’ would rush the meat and eat as much as you could. Then you would be driven away. It was easier to eat the white waste the fliers dropped. It did not taste as good. Did not give energy for as long. It was safer.

  You cannot use energy from meat if you die eating it.

  “Alright, I’m going to let Coco out to eat. You can stay on my shoulder if you want. Not under the shirt, please. Nothing will attack while Coco is here. Promise.”

  You dart up the Cuicatl’s leg and settle near its head. The Coco is not nearly as tall as the Cuicatl. Height keeps you safe. The Coco suddenly appears from nowhere in a flash of red. One moment the taste is not in the air, the next it is.

  “That’s what going out of a ball looks like,” the Cuicatl tells you.

  Perfect. Predators cannot even taste you while you are in yours.

  The Cuicatl lays out the Coco’s meal, which seems even tastier than yours. And a lot bigger. Almost as big as you. The Coco tears into it, occasionally growling at its food or even pouncing at a bigger piece before tearing it apart by clamping down on it with its teeth and shaking its head.

  The Coco is horrifying. Nothing will attack while it is around.

  When it finally finishes it goes bounding back to the Cuicatl. Its breaths are fast and regular and its mouth is slightly open. It growls something out and looks directly at you. Danger?

  The Cuicatl exhales and moves its head from side to side. “No, Coco. You can’t play with him just yet. He’s skittish. Give him a while.”

  It closes its mouth and continues to look at you.

  “Right, I guess I need to take care of that. Um, Leo, do you mind if I bend down a little bit so I can touch Coco?”

  There is nothing you could do to stop her. You would rather not be closer to the monster.

  “Alright, this should be fast.” It bends down anyway. You move onto its back to stay farther away from the Coco. “This might feel weird for both of you. Just stay calm.”

  A flicker of movement crosses over you. No, not over you. In you? Around you? Like a wind moving straight through your body. It pulses alongside your blood until it finally stills. Stills and tightens, the wind becoming sturdier until it feels like it’s physically rooting you in place.

  And then it’s gone. The Cuicatl rises back to its full height and breathes deeply.

  “Alright, you should be able to talk to each other now.”

  “Hello!” the Coco growls. “I’m Coco. You’re Leo. We’re going to be friends. Do you want to play?”

  The words. They make sense. Like the Cuicatl’s. A part of her trick?

  This Coco, it wants to ‘play.’ Even the trick cannot tell you what play is.

  “What is play?” you ask the Cuicatl.

  “Oh. You might not have that. It’s like pretending to hunt or be hunted, but you won’t actually get hurt. Coco likes it.”

  You do not want it to hunt you.

  “No,” you tell it. “Do not eat me. I taste bad.”

  The Coco thumps its tail onto the ground. “I wasn’t going to eat you. I don’t eat friends!”

  You must be in the class ‘friend’ like you are in the class ‘wimpod.’ The Coco thinks you are inedible. Maybe it is safe to be around, after all. Until you shed and it eats your armor. Then it will know that you are edible. Probably edible. The invisible ones could eat you and the Coco tastes like them.

  “Maybe he’ll want to play later, Coco.”

  You will not.

  “Oh! Could you get on my head! I could wear you like, a, what’s it called?”

  “Hat?” the Cuicatl says.

  It thumps its tail again. “Yes. You could be my hat.”

  The head is very close to the teeth. It could bite you and then realize you are edible.

  “No.”

  A strange taste drifts through the air. Almost like rock. A very strange rock. Out of the corner of your eye you can see something large and grey flying through the air. Its armor does strange things to the light, causing it to shimmer against the creature’s surface and bounce off to other places.

  “That’s Noci,” the Cuicatl says. “She also travels with me.”

  {UD_Nocitlālin signals UD_Oquichtliyoh}

  “Don’t worry,” the Cuicatl says in a soft breath. “She only eats rocks.”

  Safe. Big enough to scare away predators. Not a predator itself.

  It flies closer through the air and fixes its glowing red eyes upon you.

  {Query: What are the directives of UD_Oquichtliyoh}

  You have no idea what that means. Or how you would answer it.

  “Don’t mind her, she’s just really curious.”

  Exploration can result in both discovery and death. Curiosity is good and bad at once.

  *

  The Cuicatl takes you, the Nocitlālin, and the Coco with her to her cave. There are other two-legs moving around inside. One has a strange flying sphere with long legs hanging down. It also looks at you but does not say anything. You huddle closer to the Cuicatl and it eventually drifts away.

  The darkness comes abruptly and not little-by-little. Nothing attacks you. No new tastes approach. You still climb up to the cavern ceiling above the Cuicatl. That makes you safe from attacks from the ground.

  {You can sleep in your ball if you want.}

  The Coco is curled up against the Cuicatl, squirming around and occasionally pressing its paws into the two-leg’s stomach. The Nocitlālin is floating above the middle of the cavern. Why do they not want to sleep in their balls? Is that not a choice they have.

  “That is safe,” you say.

  Perfect stillness comes a moment later.