Eponym
By
Robot Commander Esquire
Copyright © 2014 Robot Commander Esquire
All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to any actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
This work is provided free of charge to you, dear reader. In return, reviews, ratings or comments are appreciated!
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The horizon brightened to the west, slowly turning from deep purple to a luminous blue-green. Light crept steadily eastward, playing in the bits of spray thrown into the air by the early morning breeze. Past row after row of ancient reefs, it finally found purchase on a jagged rocky shore.
Nearby, two young insect-like creatures tended to a larger mature brood-mother. Her body lay on the ground, nearly broken by the final act of her preordained life. As the star moved higher on the horizon it crested over a large bowl-shaped structure, illuminating several hundred translucent yellow eggs.
Each egg identical to the next, the warmth of the light caused motion to stir in all but one. The brood mother, exhausted from her efforts, had placed one of the last eggs a bit too harshly. Fine delicate cracks radiated from the bottom upward, and where the other eggs were clear, its interior appeared clouded and murky.
For seven long days the young caretakers tended to the fading brood mother. She lay in silence, patiently waiting for what would ultimately be the final act of her life. On the eighth morning, as the light crested the nest, the now brown opaque eggs stirred to life. At first the movements were slight and slow. As the eggs warmed in the early morning light the tempo quickened, taking on a new degree of urgency.
A thick rope of viscous liquid arced through the air as the first egg burst open. Small claws emerged into the humid morning air and a shrill cry rang out over the sound of the waves on the beach nearby. Two powerful reverse-jointed legs stretched for the first time as the small creature struggled to escape the confines of the remaining shell.
Several other eggs followed suit, repeating the scene in near identical fashion hundreds of times over. Awakened by the sound of their cries, the brood mother's many legs struggled to raise her from the ground. Bracing herself on her strong hind-legs, with one final selfless act, she deposited a large mass of small unfertilized eggs upon the ground. As the final spheres fell from her body, the brood-mother collapsed in a lifeless heap. Her caretakers, one at each of her sides, lifted her now-limp body and carried it away from the sea.
Similar to the eggs she had deposited in the nest, these were almost perfectly clear and yellow. A pungent mix of pheromones rose from the pile, and the young insectoids clambered over one another in a violent attempt to reach the mound first. Upon hitting the air the spheres began growing cloudy as time progressed. The range of pheromones also shifted, and as each of her young gorged themselves on the eggs they took on the pheromone character it possessed at that time. Once they had their fill the young insectoids began to make their way further inland, leaving the sea behind them.
All but one of the eggs hatched early that morning. Standing like a lone sentinel, the final egg began to move imperceptibly under the hot mid-day light. The egg rocked slightly as a tiny pincer-tip broke through the shell, sending a stream of thick cloudy liquid running down the exterior. A large flake of shell broke free as it once more pushed its way through the encasement until finally, at last, the young insectoid was free.
Underdeveloped limbs strained to lift and move the weight of its frail body. As it moved towards the mound of eggs, which now had taken on a foul pungent odor, it fought against seemingly insurmountable odds. As if by sheer determination alone, finally it reached the mound of eggs. There was no pleasure or comfort to be found in this now-rancid meal. As if to spit in the face of fate, the small insectoid ate until it was full, disregarding the state of the food.
Further inland, the caretakers had reached a large pit with the brood-mother in tow. In its depths, large maggot-like creatures moved in grotesque choreography. Their pulsating gelatinous bodies writhed throughout the basin in a constant search for food. Pausing for a moment at the top, the caretakers raised the brood-mother's body between them before allowing it to tumble into the maggot pit below. Razor sharp beaks lined the maggot creatures mouths, and they descended upon the fresh carcass. Piercing the thick carapace, they made quick work of the succulent tissues inside. Once the softer parts had been consumed they returned to finish every last bit of her body, hard chitinous exoskeleton included.
The western horizon began to grow dark with the approach of night as the runt labored to reach his next goal. Further inland, its brood-mates had found their nursery. Already, even at this young age, they were vying for position in a fiercely competitive social structure. Smell played a large part of this ranking, as each insectoid had its own distinctive pheromone profile. Those insectoids that had eaten the freshest clutch-eggs, typically the larger more developed brood, enjoyed a higher status by default.
Shrill insectoid cries were audible as the runt approached the nursery. Its tiny frame, exhausted from the sheer effort to reach the nursery, fell into the chaos of the recessed feeding area amidst its brethren. The nursery caretakers, whose impressive forms towered over the tiny insectoid young, tossed bits of partially eaten maggots into the nest for the young to fight over.
As the runt's smell carried throughout the nursery, the other insectoids backed away from his repellent odor. Their shrill cries and clicking noises served as warnings for the runt to keep his distance. He took his place at the bottom of their caste, waiting on the fringes of the nursery at the off chance of getting his own bit of food.