by Anthology
By the time he had reached Fifty, they had four full-length pipes in the ground, hoses firmly attached.
Todd threw the switch.
And hot water sprayed everywhere.
Shorty screamed, as she and Zoe ran from the mound. The connectors were secure—Shorty had done her job. But arcs of hot, pressurized water were shooting out of leaks in the hoses. Water jets, backlit by the setting sun, glowed like Roman candles.
Todd slammed the switch closed.
“What just happened?”
“Those were new hoses!” Todd flicked hot water off his face. “Were.”
“Do you think enough water got down there?” Zoe asked.
“Doubtful.”
“Are there more hoses in the truck?” Todd asked.
“In the ute?” Shorty said. “Nah. Heaps more lances, but no more hoses.”
“I’ve got hoses,” Zoe said. “This is a farm, after all.”
“But these are special,” Todd said. “The hot water would ruin a regular hose.”
“Oh.”
“We’ll bring more hoses tomorrow. I think we’re done for the day. It’s getting dark, anyway.”
“Ready to haul it back to Adelaide?” Shorty asked. “My professor should be back from the bush by now.”
“It’ll be nice to finally meet her,” Todd said.
As Todd and Shorty loaded the equipment into the ute, Shorty said, “Do you think the ants chewed through the hoses?”
“I sure hope not,” Todd said. “But we should spray them with repellent anyway.” He turned very serious. “Have you been keeping up with all the reports of ant activity around here?”
“No, why?”
“They’re all over southern Australia,” Todd said. “Port Pirie, Broken Hill. They’re invading factories, bakeries and clean rooms. They ate a wedding cake in Wyalla.”
“What are they doing?” Shorty asked.
“Well, an individual ant has a tiny brain,” Todd said. “But a super-colony has more neurons than a rat brain.”
“Smarty ants, eh?”
“And what are they doing? Anything they want. Unless we stop them.”
As the sky turned red and they started the long drive, Shorty looked back at the farm.
Zoe was furiously slapping her shovel against the ground.
***
II. JACOB
Back at the University of Adelaide, Todd sat under the light of the Southern Cross, studying the construction of ant nests.
You could determine a nest’s structure by pouring in cement or hot metal, and then digging it out after it hardened. Some nests had one vertical shaft, with side tunnels of decreasing size—like an upside-down Christmas tree. Some had four or five main shafts. Others were as big as a football field, with chambers large enough to hold a watermelon.
The different structures helped the heat and air flow. Or prevented flooding. Which was exactly what Todd was trying to cause.
How did these meat ants construct their nests? Where were the queens’ chambers? In the morning, could Todd improve the placement of the lances?
“C’mon, Todd,” Shorty said, handing him a tinny of Coopers. “The barbie’s just about ready.”
Southern Australia was being overrun by ants and she was worried about a barbecue? Where were her priorities?
“I’m not hungry,” Todd said, lying. “You go on without me.”
“You know, the barbie’s in your honor,” Shorty said. “And my advisor’s returned from the back o’ Burke.”
That got Todd excited. He had read Vauna D’harwala’s books on the ecology of the outback. His knowledge was deep, but narrow. Focused on ants. Hers was very broad. She was sure to have insights he’d missed. “Thanks!”
“No worries,” Shorty said.
No worries, Todd thought. No worries. What an odd statement. From what he saw, the country ran well. Petrol was pumped, Maccas were cleaned, stubbies and sangers delivered. Everything worked, but with a more relaxed attitude than America. Even in the midst of an ecological disaster. Ants are taking over? She’ll be right, mate. They’re stealing food, driving people from their homes? No worries, mate, no worries.
Maybe, despite Shorty’s cheerful attitude, she was terrified on the inside. He was.
And so he sat at a picnic table, an uneaten burger in front of him. Grad students tossed a Frisbee in the starlight.
He toyed with his French fries, imaging them as lances piercing the ant hill of the burger.
“Dr. Todd McDaniels, I’d like you meet Dr. Vauna D’harwala.”
Todd looked up, stunned.
He had read all of Vauna’s books, but none of them gave any personal information or showed a picture.
As he stared at her face, he became keenly aware that he—like everyone else at the barbie—was white; in his case, almost literally. Pale, colorless, nearly albino. He drowned himself in sunscreen to keep from burning.
He moved in international circles and was far too socially adept to ever comment about someone’s skin color or accent.
And yet he was trained as a biologist to differentiate organisms by the finest subtleties of color and shape.
And so for perhaps two or three seconds too long, he found himself acting the biologist, staring at Vauna’s skin—her beautiful skin!—which was the darkest black he had ever seen, as if her face had been delicately carved from onyx, and polished to satiny smoothness.
He had never met an Aborigine before.
And after those two or three seconds, he felt the deepest shame and embarrassment.
Awkwardly, he stuck out his hand in greeting.
Perhaps sensing his discomfort, Vauna shook it and said, “What have you got there?”
“A b-burger,” Todd stammered.
“First one you’ve had in Oz, then?”
“Uh, yeah.”
“Well, let me do it up proper for you.” Vauna snatched away the plate.
It was a politic move, and Todd was thankful for the reprieve.
When she returned a few moments later, they could begin again.
“Give this a go,” she said with a smile. His burger was now twice the thickness.
He carefully dissected it. Aside from the regular hamburger stuff, it now included: a second patty, a slice of beet, pineapple, and an entire fried egg.
It was too tall for him to get his mouth around.
“Now that’s a real Aussie burger,” Vauna said with a laugh. “And there…” She pointed at two small, dark medallions. “Is some kangaroo meat for you. I like to call it ‘marsupan.’”
And now Todd laughed, too, the earlier awkwardness almost forgotten.
He held up a finger and said, “Just a sec.” He put his palms together and closed his eyes to silently say grace.
He thanked the Lord for his food. But more for the chance to come to this foreign land and share in God’s love. What better way was there to express God’s love than to help his new friends with their problems?
Like the ants he saw when he opened his eyes, crawling toward his burger.
“Ewwww,” said one of the undergrads, backing away. Todd and Vauna both leaned in closer.
“Iridomyrmex…” he said.
“…purpureus,” she said.
And they laughed together again.
Todd slid his plate to the side, away from the stream of ants that now ran up one leg of the picnic table, across the top, and down the other leg.
“Do you notice something odd about these ants?” Vauna asked.
“Quiz time!” Todd exclaimed. “I love quiz time!”
He studied the stream of ants. Each scout tapped her antennae on the abdomen of the ant in front, sending rhythmic signals and chemical messages. There didn’t seem to be anything unusual happening.
Todd looked up, and Vauna’s smile glowed with a scientist’s greatest joy: the thrill of discovering something that no one else on the planet knew.
“I give up,” Todd said, intrigued. “Tell
me!”
“Look at the direction they’re going,” Vauna said. “I was here this morning when you and Shorty were at the Rhodes farm and—-”
“Disgusting!”
A woman appeared and started spraying Windex on the plastic table cover.
“Wait!” Todd shouted. “Don’t do that! We’re doing an experiment—-”
Too late.
Cleaner was sprayed and ants were wiped away. The woman walked off, muttering, “Scientists!”
New ant scouts appeared to replace the disappeared ones. They followed the trail pheromones left by their nestmates until they reached the Great Windex Ocean.
An ant traffic jam formed at the edge of Windex, until some brave ones started palpating, tracking the shoreline. Then they met ants coming the other way.
The ants exchanged non-aggression signals, proving they were from the same nest.
Todd laughed about the ants trading chemicals. What if, when you were at work, you had to spit in your coworkers’ faces every time you passed them in the hall?
And as he laughed, traffic was restored and the ant stream simply flowed around the Windex Ocean.
“I still don’t understand,” Todd said, “what’s so unusual.”
“Here’s a hint,” Vauna said. “In the morning, they were coming from other there.” She pointed a finger at a low wall by the new astronomy building.
“Oh, wow,” Todd said. “That is weird!”
“I don’t get it!” Shorty said. “What’s so weird about that?”
“Well, tell me what time it is,” Todd said.
“Half past ten.”
“And where were they coming from earlier?”
“Oh!’ Shorty said. “I see!”
Ants have a daily cycle. In the morning, they move away from the nest to forage, and then return at night. Now, late this night, they were still moving in the same direction. They were going the wrong way.
“Maybe they’re migrating?” Shorty asked.
Todd and Vauna screwed up their faces.
“This kind isn’t migratory,” they said, almost in unison.
“Most aren’t,” Todd said. “They call it faithfulness to locality. Oh my! Now look at what that scout is doing!”
This kind of ant made a stream that followed the trail scent, Todd explained, but the stream was simply that. A structureless bunch of ants meandering more-or-less in the same direction. Contrast that with the army ants. Their streams of workers were organized, edged with ferocious soldiers, standing shoulder to shoulder, jaws in the air, ready to snap at enemies.
These ants didn’t have guards like that.
Except now they did.
Two of them were holding a tiny, sharp twig between them.
Todd had seen ants use tools before. They were miniature bulldozers, moving earth to build nests, throwing pebbles to block up the tunnels of rivals.
And now they had spears?
“Hey, Shorty,” Vauna said, “stick your finger in there.”
“I’m not falling for that!”
Todd laughed. “I shall sacrifice this my body, for the sake of science.” He waved his index finger at the ants and then quickly jerked it back. “Ow!”
“What happened?”
“I don’t know! But it stung.”
“Do it again!”
Todd held up his finger. “For science!” Cautiously this time, he inched his hand closer to the stream of ants. Slowly he moved, studying the ants’ response.
“Do you see that?”
The two ants holding the spear were bobbing and weaving. The tip of the twig moved, tracking Todd’s finger.
Ants had discovered the principle of the lever.
“Amazing!”
“Give me a firm place to stand and I shall move the earth,” Todd joked, looking at Vauna.
Vauna’s eyes opened wide. Her body went stiff.
“What’s wrong?” Todd asked.
“Reminds me of a weird rumor I heard,” she said. “I should check it out in the morning.”
“What?” he said. “You’re not coming with us?”
“With you—- where?”
“Shorty and I are going back to Rhodes Farm,” he said. “You want to steam kill some ants with us? We could really use the help.”
“And…” Shorty said, “as my supervisor, you really should supervise my work.”
“Fine, fine,” Vauna said. “I guess I’m outvoted. I’ll see you in the morning.”
As Vauna got up to leave, Shorty winked at Todd.
***
Early the next morning, Todd and Shorty had new heat-resistant hoses and dozens of lances packed into the ute.
The water tank was full, and supplemented with a smaller tank. They even had a back-up generator and more power drills. And plenty of gas to power the generators.
Only one element was missing.
Where was Vauna?
Shorty shot her a message. A few minutes later, she answered that she’d be right there.
Vauna arrived just as Todd and Shorty finished loading the cement and ant repellent.
“Vauna! Great!” Todd exclaimed. “We’re all ready to go. I had a question for you—-”
“I’m sorry, Todd,” she said. “I can’t go with you.”
“What’s wrong?”
“It’s these weird rumors from north of Marree,” she said. “I have to go investigate.”
“Maybe we could all go together?”
“You don’t understand,” she said. “Oz is a big place. The Rhodes farm is two hours east. I’m going at least three hours north. We’d never make it in time.”
“So…what is it?”
Vauna shook her head. “You’d think I had a roo loose in the paddock if I told you what I’ve heard. I’ll let you know if it turns out to be anything.”
“Then we’ll be short-staffed at the farm,” Shorty said. “C’mon, Vauna, we need you.”
“No,” she said. “Zoe’s pulling in her best farmhands. There will be heaps of people to help you.”
As Vauna turned to walk away, she said over her shoulder, “For science!”
Todd tried to hide his disappointment. When she was out of earshot, he asked Shorty, “What was that all about?”
“Sometimes,” Shorty said, “she just needs to go walkabout.” She climbed into the ute. “But don’t worry. She always comes back.”
Todd climbed in and they drove off.
“Eventually.”
***
Two hours later, Todd and Shorty arrived at the Rhodes farm.
It seemed oddly still and quiet.
They parked at the porch of the freshly-painted farmhouse, where Zoe had asked them to meet.
“She sure keeps a tidy farm,” Todd said. No rusted silos or caved-in barns here.
Shorty rang the doorbell.
No answer.
It seemed unlikely that the bell didn’t work.
After a few polite seconds, Todd knocked.
Still no answer.
When he knocked a second time, a hand clasped him on the shoulder.
“We did it!” Zoe yelled, her face an explosion of delight.
“Did what?”
Zoe pointed at the fields.
“Between my shovel and your hot water, we did it!”
Todd looked at the corn field, stunned.
The ants were all gone.
“Goodonya, mate!”
In the distance, three farmhands, all Aborigines, were working on a tractor. None of them were swatting themselves free of ants.
“We bopped them in the nose and they, well, buggered off!”
“No, Zoe,” Todd said, shaking his head. “It’s just…This doesn’t make any sense. Ants don’t have feelings. You can’t just scare them off by killing a few. They’ll climb over their colonymates’ dead bodies to complete a mission.”
“As long as they’re gone,” Zoe said, “I don’t care.”
Shorty reached for an ear of corn.
“Mind if I celebrate? I haven’t had fresh corn on the cob in years.”
Zoe waved her on.
Todd wasn’t in the mood for celebrating. Zoe could have just called to tell him the ants were gone. Then he could have gone with Vauna on her scientific adventure.
A serious expression came over Zoe’s face. “What I was really worried about was the government.”
“The government?”
“They’ve been seizing failed farms,” Zoe said. “You know, no one had been able to tame this land in 40,000 years. And my family did it in just a few generations. But we’re just one bad crop from losing this place and having it given back to—-” Zoe glanced at the tractor.
“Zoe!” Shorty shouted.
She ushered them over to the cornstalk, pointing at one ear, the husk partially peeled back.
“Is it supposed to look like this?”
Zoe snapped the ear off the plant. In two quick and elegant gestures, she had stripped off the husk and silk.
“What the—-”
There was not a single kernel on the corn.
Had it not grown properly?
If a kernel isn’t fertilized, it makes a shallow white dome. But here were small yellow-gray depressions, scars where the kernels should have been.
No, these kernels had been pollinated. The silk was dry and brown as it should have been.
Todd examined the ear with his mag lens, then checked several others. They were the same.
All the kernels had been surgically removed.
By tiny ant mandibles.
Zoe was standing in the middle of her corn field, without any corn to harvest.
After months of disk plowing, planting, watering, detasseling, fertilizing, and pollinating, she had nothing to show. The harvesters were due next week, and she had nothing. Nothing!
The government was going to take her farm and give it away.
It was too much to bear.
She started slamming her fists into the soil.
After a few moments, she calmed down, and sat in the dirt.
Shorty and Todd joined her.
“If it’s any consolation,” Todd began slowly, “yours is not the only farm overrun by ants. Last time I talked to your department of agriculture, they said they were getting funding to make sure the affected farms didn’t go under.”
“So…the government is going to actually help instead of just taking our money?”