Fourth Instar

I see the world differently now. My eyes are drawn upward, and for short bursts of time, the rest of my body follows. I can jump, and that helps me sometimes. I can lift toys beyond others' reach, or leap to snag one from somebody else.

I am less concerned when the other two boys leave than I was in the past. I have a memory now, an indelible one, and although all the others are faint in comparison, they orbit around it like a bright star. Of course, I had memory in the past. I could think of my Great One even when he was not there. But now, I remember how they left compound after compound. And shortly afterward, I did as well.

This time, I am not so upset when I freeze in place. If anything, I am bored. I want to be doing something, but can't.

But it seems to go faster than it did before, and when I am led out the gate, I follow eagerly, glad to stretch my growing legs.

The other boys are in the next compound too, and so are others that I have seen before. And remember seeing before: here is the girl who won footraces, that is the boy that fit a lot of food in his mouth.

There are more balls to throw and toys to play with. The others are more experienced, but I'm good at throwing the ball up into the air. I want to follow it, to be surrounded by stars again, or to once again see the red sun. When I was up in the sky, I saw a large sun, dark red and brown. It hurts to look at the golden sun, but the red one was pretty. I don't see it anymore, though; it doesn't shine during the day or the night.

I am glad when new children come. Old ones leave, and the new kids are weaker than me. Some of them are familiar from the other compounds, but I don't recognize all of them.

After the small boy freezes, I watch him go away. Instead of walking to another compound, however, the nursemaid takes him in one of those colorful machines. It moves quickly away from the fence where I stand, watching until I can't see it and my head feels funny and bad.

The next morning, I wake early. It is still dark, but there are no stars. There is a strange noise. It is the larger boy, whining.

He is standing in a pile of junk that has fallen off him. But the nursemaid is nowhere in sight.

I try to go back to sleep, but I am not tired. It is a cold morning, and I am hungry. There's nobody to play with except the other boy, but he is standing at the gate from where he should have left, looking for a way out.

Gradually, the others stop sleeping. But with no nursemaid we have no food, and many of the younger children become restless. A few of the newest ones run wild, throwing anything they can find at each other as long as there isn't any authority to break it up.

But I stand alone and worry, desperately craving not even the joy of possession, but only something to eat.

I walk around the compound, and instantly recoil. There on the ground is a shimmering silver object, bigger than a person though not quite as big as a Great One. It does not move.

Maybe we can eat it. I reach down and try to scoop out a bite, but it does not come apart.

The large boy notices and joins me, tentatively probing the thing with his antennae. Nothing happens.

I have no appetite for playing. The others eventually return to running around, but running makes me tired and hungry. Going back to sleep would be nice, though, if only to get away from everything.

By the time the sun changes direction, and the time we should have gotten even more food, I'm even more uncomfortable. The others' giddy running around has given way to irritated lethargy. We have to do something.

I walk over to the gate where I entered, but can't get it open. My front legs can tilt forward just enough to hold and fight; the gate requires a Great One's agility. Yet we must get through. I push all my weight against it, never considering trying the other gate. We wouldn't know where to go, even if we did make it.

The larger boy follows me and, noticing what I am doing, joins me. There's not enough room for both of us, though, and I only get tired.

So I wave the others over like I was waving them out the gate. I'm almost as big as the nursemaid, maybe. It's hard to remember exactly what she looks like when she isn't there. But they must understand that going backwards is better than staying put, because they come.

We form a mob at the gate and, before I am really ready, somebody behind me begins to push. As the wave of force ripples through, I am pressed up against the gate. Unable to protest, I exert all the effort I can in pushing outwards as I am squeezed into agony.

It feels like days later that it gives way. I am swept forward, trying to run, and barely make it out without being trampled. We are all moving slowly, drained of energy: the smaller kids from running around, me from pushing against the gate. Most of us were pushing, and the few that weren't join us after the gate falls apart, if only because everyone else is leaving.

I feel uncertain now with everyone looking at me, but there is nothing else to do except set out down the path. I turn around more than once as we walk back towards the other compound, but they're always still with me.