by Robin Hawdon
The red ant hesitated. 'How many?' he repeated cautiously.
'Yes,' said Dreamer.
'I don't understand.'
Dreamer was at a loss; the question seemed simple enough. 'Well . . .' he said, 'how many are there for breeding and where are the Royal Quarters? We never hear them mentioned.'
Again there was that strange, searching silence. Dreamer could sense Snake's Tongue and Joker showing an alert interest in the exchange.
Fleet answered with a question of his own. 'Do you have more than one Queen?'
Again Dreamer found the question puzzling. 'Of course,' he replied. 'We have only one Queen of Queens naturally, but there are several younger Queens. How else would the colony survive?'
'Where do these other Queens come from?' asked Fleet.
Dreamer hesitated. It seemed an extraordinary query. Snake's Tongue took it up. 'They are the offspring of the Queen of Queens, the next generation.'
'Ah,' said Fleet. He pondered this for a moment. 'You mean they return to the nest after the mating flight?'
'Some of them,' answered Snake's Tongue. 'The rest go off to found colonies of their own.'
'And your . . . Queen of Queens, as you call her, she allows them to return? She is not afraid of their usurping her position?'
'Of course not. She is the supreme being, the Great Mother. All worship her; why should she be afraid?'
There was a long moment of silence. This was evidently a quite new concept to the red ant. Snake's Tongue then asked cautiously, 'Do you then have only one Queen?'
'Yes,' came the answer. 'She is the founder, the creator of the colony. She would not tolerate others intruding on her position.'
'Then does she rule alone?' asked Snake's Tongue.
'Rule?' repeated Fleet curiously. 'The Spider rules. Her only role is to breed. To breed soldiers as fast as possible. To give us our strength.'
'Does she have no contact with The Spider then, or any of your elders?'
'Elders?'
'Your old ants, your wise ones.'
'We have no old ants. Our Queen only founded the colony three summers ago. And why should wisdom only come with old age?'
Further silence. To the prisoners these things were a revelation; and to Dreamer especially, many things were becoming clearer.
Fleet was continuing: 'When you mention contact, do I take it that your leaders consult with your Queen?'
'Certainly,' answered Snake's Tongue. 'She is the ultimate ruler, the last of her generation. She is directly descended from the first Queen of All Queens, who founded our colony countless summers ago. She knows and understands more of life than any elder can possibly do.'
'So they go to her for advice?'
'Yes. Does The Spider not go to your Queen for advice?'
'No one goes to her. She would kill them instantly. Her task is to protect her brood.'
There was a horrified pause. 'Even from her own kind?' asked Snake's Tongue.
'Who knows? Even her own kind have a taste for young larvae in times of hunger.'
The three smaller ants considered the implications of this apparently barbaric regime. Dreamer then asked, 'Where then are her quarters?'
Fleet replied, 'Far down under the mound. Deep in the earth where she first dug her nest.'
'She never leaves there?'
'No. She lives there almost cut off from the mound itself. There are only a few narrow passages used by the captured slaves who are trained to look after her. They bring her food and help tend the larvae. She will dwell there for her whole life, hatching and caring for her brood.'
'And when her life is finished?' Dreamer asked the question spontaneously, only realizing after he had done so what a crucial one it was.
Fleet's answer came in a flat, unemotional voice. 'Then the colony is finished.'
Again there was silence. Dreamer felt a sense of horror and at the same time of deep tragedy as he contemplated the image of the gigantic creature doomed to spin out her solitary, suspicious existence in the dark confines of her self-made prison far beneath their feet, where her only objective was to produce ever more of these fierce fighting insects to rampage their conquering way across the land, until she was too old and exhausted to replenish their forces and brought the whole massive created structure to an end with her own demise.
Snake's Tongue was evidently thinking similar thoughts, for he commented quietly, 'A sad system.'
'Perhaps,' replied Fleet, matter-of-factly. 'It is evidently not as long-lasting as yours, but neither would it seem to be as vulnerable. And, though it may be a brief existence, it is a glorious one.'
'Is glory what matters most?' asked Snake's Tongue.
Dreamer could sense the red ant stiffening proudly. Yet he did not react aggressively. 'To us, yes,' he said. 'There may be other ways, but that is how we are. It is Nature's way. It is as the Lord of the Stars intended.' And he turned and left abruptly, as if he wished to have no further discussion on the subject.
The three pondered the matter for a long moment after he had gone. Then Joker summed up the situation with a dry comment: 'Seems an awful lot of bother for nothing.'
'Yes, indeed,' answered Snake's Tongue. 'However, it's not much consolation to us. If the colony was only founded three summers ago, then it has a good few more to last. Which means they'll have a lot more territory to conquer.' He paused. There was a tiny, almost undetectable hint of emotion in his stern soldier's voice, as he said, 'Well, we do have a Queen to report to.' He quickly controlled the lapse and added brusquely, 'It's imperative we try to escape. We must eat as much of this food as we can and then make ready.'
Not another word was said as they ate and filled their crops with extra food. Then they rested and waited for the night outside to approach.
16
That first night out in the clearing had been a cold one. The worker-ants had huddled together in groups for warmth but they had had a long, uncomfortable time of it. The early hours of dawn had been the worst, before the temperature began to rise and when the brightening light left them feeling exposed and helpless to the eyes of passing predators.
Old Five Legs stretched his stiff painful joints in the reluctant knowledge that they could not survive many more such nights in the open. However, he reflected, at least they had not had to endure the fatal consequences of a night frost. He peered towards the darkened shape of the mound. Everything seemed quiet there. He could just make out the shadowy figures of the guards posted at every tunnel mouth. They were going to make very sure that none of the workers got back to the comfort of their quarters, he thought.
He looked around him at the gently stirring, muttering groups of ants nearby. It was hard to tell what the prevailing mood might be after this first testing period. Had the defiance worn thin through the cold and the discomfort? Or had the sense of determination survived? What we need, he thought, is a good feed: that would bolster morale. He called to the other senior worker-ants nearby. They held a brief, low-voiced discussion and then the others dispersed around the clearing to organize food-scavenging parties.
Just as Never-Rest was leaving Five Legs asked him, 'Where is Still One? Have you seen him this morning?'
Never-Rest waved a feeler towards the birch sapling some way across the clearing, near the edge of the forest. 'He's with his beloved aphid-bugs. They're not going to suffer because of the revolt.' And he went off on his mission.
Five Legs set off at his own pace for the birch sapling. On the way he stopped here and there to converse with some of the groups of worker-ants, enquiring after their well-being, sounding out their resolution. He was pleased to find that the rigours of the night had, if anything, strengthened the general determination. There was a grim resentment against their treatment, a deep-rooted anger that their feelings should be rejected in so autocratic a manner; and nowhere was fear in evidence, nor was it ever suggested that their cause was hopeless, though Five Legs knew that deep down many must secretly be feeling both.
He reached the sapling and gazed up into the delicate green mist of budding spring foliage. Sure enough the slim figure was there, pottering about on one of the lower branches. Five Legs called up and the other peered down over the edge of his branch.
'Greetings, Five Legs,' he called back. 'How are you after that long night?'
'Stiff, cold and bad-tempered,' replied the old ant. 'Can I have a word with you?'
'If you can manage to climb, why don't you come up here?' replied Still One. 'I can give you something which may make you feel better.'
Five Legs did not hesitate long. It was a while since he had bothered to climb a tree, and even longer since he had mingled with an aphid-bug herd, but he remembered the joys of both from his youth and suddenly the invitation seemed very appealing. He flexed his ancient leg muscles and began the climb.
As he went, puffing and heaving, the ground with its attendant smells and noises fell away beneath him, and the clean, bright air of that altogether different upper world surrounded him. He reached the junction where Still One's branch met the main trunk and paused to recover his breath. He stared down through the young, bursting web of leaves at the diminished scurrying world of the clearing below, and he thought: yes, I know why you like it up here so much. You have a perspective on it all from here. And an escape as well. That's something we could all do with from time to time.
He headed along the branch towards the distant figure and soon he was weaving his way between groups of aphid-bugs. They paid him little attention as he passed; merely stared at him with their large, contented eyes, munched away at the young greenery, and nuzzled their clusters of tiny, rounded eggs, which clung stickily to the leaves and the fissures and crevices of the bark. Eventually Five Legs came to where Still One was busy arranging one such cluster in a more secure formation in the join between two leaf stems. The old ant gave a sigh of relief and made himself comfortable against a twig stump. He gazed around him, nodding appreciatively.
'It's a pleasant spot you've got yourself here. And a pleasant job too.'
'Yes,' said Still One simply, without stopping his work.
Five Legs watched him for a moment. 'You don't think you should be refusing to work also?' he asked.
Still One nodded towards his herd. 'There is no reason for them to suffer because of our problems. And we may have need of their honey-dew.'
Five Legs nodded. Still One pushed and prodded until he had the eggs arranged to his satisfaction, then he went to a nearby fissure in the bark surface, scraped at something with his mandibles, returned and laid a small lump of coagulated honey-dew at Five Legs' feet. 'Eat that,' he said. 'Freshly gathered yesterday. That will make you feel better.'
Five Legs hesitated. 'Have we the right, do you think? I know we're in revolt, but old habits die hard. I'm remembering what nearly happened to poor Bug-Rump.'
'They have our sleeping quarters – we have their honey-dew. It's a fair exchange,' replied Still One with a twinkle of amusement. 'And we'll only take the ration we're entitled to. We'll see that theirs is preserved. Dew-Lover can come for it whenever he likes.'
'That's what worries me,' said Five Legs. 'He probably will. And in a vile temper too.'
'Yes,' answered the other. 'He has a difficult disposition. Poor Dew-Lover, it must be hard to live with.'
'Hard for others to live with. I wish I could feel your sympathy for him.' Five Legs took the honey-dew and tasted it, relishing the clean, sweet tang of it as it melted and trickled down his throat. 'The first of the year,' he murmured. 'That's a marvellous taste.'
Still One watched him as he sat savouring the sensation, feeling the soothing warmth flooding through his tired limbs, the calming glow washing the worries from his brain. 'That's better,' he sighed contentedly.
'What did you want me for?' asked the younger ant after a few peaceful moments had passed.
'Ah, yes,' answered Five Legs, dragging his mind back to the realities of the situation. 'I don't know how long we're going to have to wait out here, but it's been a long night and it's going to be an even longer day. I want your help to keep up morale. We can keep everyone busy to some extent, with foraging parties and so forth, but there's bound to be a lot of sitting around with little to do, and that's when imagination starts to work, fear creeps in and resolve begins to crumble. I thought some of your stories could be of great use then to keep up the weaker ones' spirits, help the simpler ones to understand what this is all about.'
'Certainly,' replied Still One. He paused. That strange immobile quality had fallen upon him. 'Do you understand what it's all about?' he asked.
Five Legs pondered. 'Sometimes I think I do. Sometimes I'm not so sure any more. The trouble is, there's no precedent for what's happened. In all my summers I've never known such a thing. I could never have conceived of a spontaneous rebellion taking place like this.' He paused for a moment, lost in serious contemplation. 'But what I do know,' he added, 'is that it's important, whatever it is.' He looked across at Still One. 'Do you know what it's about?'
As always, the moment's silence. 'It is about the right to choose,' said Still One eventually.
'The right to choose?' queried Five Legs, puzzled.
'I've noticed that a creature will seek to preserve his life under almost any circumstances. The only time he will readily risk it – cast it away even – is when you take away his right to choose. Perhaps because that is his life.'
Five Legs nodded. 'Yes, I think you're right.' He thought a moment longer. 'But it's very hard for all to have the right to choose, because all choose differently.'
'Ah,' murmured Still One, 'but therein lies the secret. The whole secret of a peaceful world.' A small, rotund aphid-bug wandered up and nuzzled him gently. He stroked it absent-mindedly with a forefoot. 'If everyone were to choose his own way – for himself alone – and none were to seek to impose his way on another, then the strife would cease. For what is certain is that there are as many different ways as there are creatures on the earth.'
Five Legs thought about this for a moment. 'But are there not times when a way has to be imposed, for the benefit of everyone as a whole? For instance, are we not trying to impose our way on the Council now?'
'No,' replied Still One. 'The workers have made a spontaneous decision that they do not wish to obey the Council's will unless certain conditions are met. The Council is free to meet those conditions, or not as it chooses. The conditions are not being forced upon it. Of course it means both sides having to make compromises ultimately, but the point is that they will have chosen those compromises themselves, in the light of the other side's wishes, not had compromises imposed upon them, against their own wishes.' The aphid-bug wandered on its way, and Still One gazed into the distance. 'There is a very small story about it. Shall I tell you?'
'Yes,' answered Five Legs, his honey-dewed brain telling him that nothing could be better than one of Still One's stories at this moment.
'Three ants were out on a journey over strange territory,' said the Story Teller in his gentle tones. 'They followed a trail over a long distance until they came to a spot where the path divided into three and each of the three new paths went off in a different direction. And the three ants each wanted to take a different path. And they discussed the problem, and the discussion turned into an argument, and the argument turned into a fight, for each of the three wanted the other two to go on his path. But, just when it seemed that they were about to kill each other over the issue, one of the ants called a stop to the fighting and said, "Look, if we feel so strongly about it, let us each take a different path. Surely it is not worth dying for?"
'So they took their leave of one another, and each set off on his chosen path, and each travelled a long and difficult route, until at last they came to the end of their paths. And there – lo and behold – they had all come to the same place.'
Silence. Five Legs nodded dreamily. 'I like that story,' he said. 'That is a good story.' He sighed. 'It sometimes makes li
fe very difficult though, when there are so many different paths and so many different opinions over which to take.'
The Story Teller twinkled. 'Yes indeed,' he replied. 'But, as I said, that is life.'
A voice cut across the peaceful scene from below: 'Five Legs, are you there?' There was an authoritative command in its tone. Both ants peered down over the edge of the branch. Black Sting stood at the foot of the tree with Great Head at his side and Dew-Lover and two soldiers at his rear. 'We wish to speak to you.'
Five Legs looked at Still One. 'Oh dear,' he said, 'I knew this interlude was too pleasant to last. I'll have to go down and face them.' He hesitated, contemplating the other. 'You're a strange ant, Story Teller, but a wise one. I trust you more than any of the others. May I ask you to come with me?' He added wryly, 'That isn't just an order of course – you have the right to choose – it's just that I'd like some moral support.'
Still One acknowledged the joke with an amused nod and said, 'Since you choose to ask me, then I choose to come.'
'Thank you,' said Five Legs and turned to descend the tree.
When they reached the base Black Sting waited for them to approach, stern, unmoving, magnificent. At his side Great Head took a step forward. The two most venerable members of their respective castes faced each other with the composure that age and experience brings.
'We thought it was time we had a talk, Five Legs,' said Great Head. 'Just a private talk between you and us to see if we couldn't resolve this situation between us. The elders of the Council have asked Black Sting, in the light of the danger in which our colony finds itself, to take Thunderer's place for the moment as leader and he has agreed. We thought that perhaps you and he ought to discuss the matter before things became any more, er . . . unpleasant.'
Five Legs glanced at Black Sting. The big soldier stared back, grimly inexpressive. 'Certainly,' replied Five Legs. 'Would, er . . .' – he found himself uncertain as to whether to address Great Head or Black Sting directly. 'Would you object if the Story Teller stayed with me?'