Get Lucky

by Hugh Macnab

you humans and the e-cash is quite substantial after all.’

  ‘So, we’ll be safe?’ asked Shylock.

  ‘Most certainly Sir,’ replied the ant. ‘I’ve been to this department once before.’

  ‘Once?’ said Bb. ‘And you think that’s enough experience to make our trip safe?’

  ‘As long as I can still pick up the pheromone-trail,’ replied the ant. ‘We’ll, be fine.

  Before Bb could say anything further, the bell rang and the lift doors slid open revealing the entrance to several diverging dark gloomy roughcast circular tunnels. A damp earthy smell hung heavily in the air doing nothing to help settle Shylock’s growing feelings of concern, although it was undoubtedly an altogether much more pleasant smell than that of the lunchtime snack growing in the lift.

  ‘Now, let me see,’ said the ant. ‘We’ll be fine if we just take the right tunnel to start with.’

  ‘You don’t even know which tunnel to take?’ asked Bb, his own concern etched into his voice, as the lift door slid closed behind him.

  ‘Yes, yes! Of course I know,’ replied the ant. ‘It’s this one over here, I think.’

  ‘Think! Think!,’ Bb almost shouted.

  ‘Yes,’ said the ant. ‘Getting started is always the difficult part because I can sense so many different pheromone-trails criss-crossing here. We’ll be al-right by the time we are in the tunnel. Come on, this way.’

  Neither keen on following, nor staying, but realising that they had to get to their destination, the three companions reluctantly followed their guide into the poorly lit, gloomy tunnel.

  Sure enough, although they came to many tunnel splits and junctions, their guide never once hesitated, always appearing to know just where to go. Slowly their confidence in him grew.

  ‘He seems to be doing fine?’ Shylock said to Bb.

  ‘She,’ corrected Permission.

  ‘She?’ queried Shylock.

  ‘Yes,’ said Permission, explaining. ‘Male-ants only have wings until they mate, which is usually pretty early in their short lives. Then they die. Whereas, there are usually thousands of wingless female workers who are infertile. They usually do all the work.’

  ‘So this is a worker ant?’ asked Shylock.

  ‘Yes,’ said Permission. ‘And quite capable of undertaking simple tasks.’

  ‘Like operating a lift and finding their way around in a tunnel-complex?’ suggested Bb.

  ‘The perfect guide,’ said Shylock, suddenly aware that their very own perfect guide had halted just up ahead and was stalk still, antennae twitching.

  As one, all three stopped, bumping into one another. The ant’s fear was infectious, the short hairs on the back of Shylock’s neck alert and spreading cold shivers down his spine. ‘What’s wrong?’ he whispered.

  ‘Raiders!’ came back the one-word response. However, before they could even absorb the thought, they were surrounded by ants - almost twice the size of their guide - blocking the tunnel both ahead and behind them. The dim light glistened off the raiders shiny metallic bodies, and grotesquely large pincers (a genetic option) hovered threateningly in the air in front of each of them.

  Silently the travellers stood as the one of the Amazonian ants conversed with their guide in a series of staccato chittering sounds. Permission took Shylock’s hand, and surprisingly, Bb took the other. ‘What are we to do?’ she asked.

  ‘Wait,’ and try not to worry,’ replied Shylock, concealing his own fear. ‘Let’s just wait and see.’

  ‘You do know that some species of ants are omnivores, don’t you?’ asked Bb, squeezing Shylock’s hand tightly.

  Amazonia?

  Having been herded from tunnel to tunnel, Raider in front and Raider pincers clicking at their rears, the three travellers were relieved when the tunnel unexpectedly opened out into a huge subterranean cavern. Although the lighting was still very poor, they found that they could see clearly enough. The chamber had a high arching rocky ceiling and, all around, the rough rocky walls were potted with large dark caverns. Immediately ahead of them, on a raised platform, lay a huge hexagonal bright red cushion embroidered with fine silver and gold braid patterns. At each of the six corners of this cushion stood what was unmistakably a guard - at attention, pincers raised.

  The threesome and their guide were hustled forward until they stood in a line immediately in front of the central cushion, and persuaded to kneel with simple encouragement from a couple of guiding pincers. A fearful expectation almost paralysed them where they knelt. Shylock could feel Permission shake and tried to reassure her. He also noticed that several thousand ants had appeared in the cavern openings around the walls of the chamber, and he couldn’t help but compare them to crowds in the past, come to see a Christian face the lions.

  A sudden fanfare of clicking pincers and rubbing forelegs proclaimed the arrival of a larger-still ant, black as night. ‘The Queen,’ whispered their guide, in awe.

  She crossed to the raised platform in the middle of the chamber, mounted the cushion and lowered herself royally, until she lay on the soft comfortable red cushion, legs dangling from each corner.

  ‘Sssso,’ she said, addressing the kneeling foursome. ‘Who have we here? Tell me, pray do. Workersss or sssussstenance. That isss the quessstion. How do you plea?’

  ‘Neither,’ said Shylock, impulsively. ‘We are neither workers, nor sustenance.’

  ‘Neither? Sssurely that wasss not one of the choicesss?’ said the Queen.

  ‘No matter,’ said Shylock. ‘It is the answer we give.’

  ‘But, I asssked you a sssimple quessstion?’ said the Queen. ‘You did not underssstand. Ssshall I repeat it?’

  ‘No, thank you,’ replied Shylock. ‘We heard you quite well.’

  ‘Then, who are you that you refussse to anssswer the quessstionsss I asssk?’

  ‘Exterminators,’ said Bb, interrupting the Queen.

  Well, surely an atomic explosion could not have had a more dramatic effect. As one, the ants in each of the many caverns in the surrounding walls disappeared. Others, present in the main chamber, also vanished hastily into their nearest respective tunnels. Suddenly, only the six guards - who had quickly formed a line between themselves and the Queen - and the Queen herself, were left facing them in the chamber.

  ‘Ssso,’ said the Queen. ‘You have been sssent to exterminate usss? Isss that correct?’

  ‘Possibly,’ said Bb.

  ‘Ssstrange,’ replied the Queen. ‘That our extermination ssshould be thought of asss negotiable?’

  ‘Everything’s negotiable,’ replied Bb, sounding very natural.

  ‘Hmmm,’ mused the Queen. ‘I’m ssstill not usssed to this democracy thing. It’s ssso different from total sssubssservience!’

  ‘It must be very difficult for you,’ said Permission, sympathetically.

  ‘And, are you an exterminator asss well?’ asked the Queen, turning to Permission.

  ‘No,’ she replied, following Bb’s lead. ‘I’m a negotiator. I intercede where suitable justification can be found.’

  ‘Ssso,’ said the Queen, considering Permission’s response. ‘If I can prove to you sssome reassson why I ssshould not be exterminated, you will negotiate on my behalf?’

  ‘Exactly,’ said Permission.

  ‘And offering us the choice of being slaves or tasty refreshments doesn’t exactly dispose us favourably,’ added Shylock.

  ‘Now, now,’ said the Queen. ‘We mussst let by-gone’sss be by-gone’sss. No point in bringing up thingsss that we can’t change now, isss there?’

  ‘No point at all,’ interceded Permission, in her best reconciliatory tone. ‘Perhaps we have misjudged you. Or it may even be that others - who sent us here - have misjudged you, and who would we be to judge the rights or wrongs of that?’

  ‘Quite ssso,’ agreed the Queen. ‘You are obviousssly very good at your work, if you don’t mind me sssaying'

  ‘Why thank you, your Majesty,’ replied Permission, getting Shylock’s a
ttention by squeezing his hand. ‘Perhaps my other companion here can help in this matter. Please allow me to introduce Judge Winston III.’

  ‘Judge!’ repeated the Queen. ‘You are a judge? My, my, thisss iss unusssual.’

  ‘And one who has been already been threatened by your good self, and who is not a particularly merry magistrate at this moment in time,’ Shylock said.

  ‘Threatened!’ replied the Queen. ‘Sssurely not. Did I not sssimply asssk if you were here to work – a tasssk which many consssider not only to be a duty, but an honour?’

  ‘Or sustenance, as an alternative I believe,’ added Bb.

  ‘Ah…yesss…well…’ blustered the Queen.

  ‘Perhaps your Majesty simply meant to ask if we were here to help sustain your well being. To offer help, in whatever way possible?’

  ‘Yesss! Yesss! Precisssely what I meant,’ agreed the Queen. ‘How clever of you to underssstand ssso accurately.’

  ‘So,’ said Shylock. ‘If I now understand you properly, you offered us the honourable opportunity to work with you, or alternatively, you were simply enquiring as to whether or not we were here to help you?’

  ‘Oh, yesss! That’s it. Exactly right,’ agreed the Queen, quickly.

  ‘So am I to exterminate her your honour?’ Bb asked, addressing Shylock.

  ‘Not just yet,’ he replied. ‘ we must present the case for and against, then judge.’

  ‘But who will present the case for extermination?’ asked Bb, sounding concerned.

  ‘Oh, I can do that,’ offered their guide, who up until this point had remained totally silent. ‘It’s quite simple really. Everyone they capture