The Micronauts

by Gordon Williams

  Bruce took the radio from Lena.

  “Come in, Control,” he said. “This is Bruce speaking.”

  “Control, receiving you,” said a man’s voice. “Is Staff-Commander Khomich with you?” It was Major Wollaston. Bruce looked over his shoulder. “Staff- Commander Khomich is handling a little administrative difficulty,” he said. “Can I speak to Doctor Jany?”

  “Stand by one,” said Wollaston.

  He looked down at Lena. She was massaging her face. “You sure you searched this area properly?”

  “Yes. Look at that bloody animal—he’s going to kick Roy to death.”

  Bruce looked across to where Khomich and Carr were locked head-to-head, bodies arched as they tried to boot and knee each other. “No, just a short work-out to keep in trim,” he said.

  Jany sounded worried. “Hello, Bruce. We’d given you up for lost. Lena said— ”

  “What do you think has happened to the capsule?”

  “The rain might have got at the pulse-battery—more likely, the systems are running down.”

  “How long has he got?”

  “Another ten or twelve hours at most. Commissioner Towne has been calling us nonstop—he’s most insistent you get in touch with him. We can put you on a relay.”

  “We’re going to have another search of the area. Tell him I’ll report when we’ve found Richards.’’

  He switched off. He saw Khomich giving Carr what looked like a shattering punch to the heart. Carr fell back with a thud that reverberated the whole length of the corrugated iron.

  “Khomich?’’ he shouted. “Richards’s life-support systems must be running down. Have you finished with Carr? We don’t have much time.”

  Khomich wiped his face with the back of his hand and picked up his hat. Carr slowly rose to his feet. They walked back together. “We’ll form a line and cover every inch of this whole area,” Bruce said. He pulled Lena to her feet. “Next time you pull any tricks, you’ll go for a little picnic in the nettles—naked!”

  They stood on soft beech mast. Above them towered the vast silhouettes of the trees. Bruce and Khomich studied the map while the others drank from their water- bottles and ate the last of their pack-rations.

  “We’ve even covered the adjacent sections,” Bruce said wearily. “Something must have moved that damned capsule.”

  “Rain maybe?”

  “There was no flooding here.”

  “A big bird?”

  “The jackdaw of Rheims? No, it looks as if we were just too damned late. Congratulations, Lena—the commissioner will give you a medal for delaying us.”

  “You mean he did want George dead?” Magruder demanded. “That’s why you came here in the first place!”

  “No, it wasn’t,” Bruce said. “We were sent here to find out if Richards was in a conspiracy to have Towne thrown out of office.”

  “A one-man conspiracy,” Anne said quietly.

  “George doesn’t want to be commissioner,” Lena snapped. “He wants to have Arcadia established as a viable environment. He isn’t interested in power for its own sake. He— ”

  “Is that what he told you?” Ann’s voice was almost

  sympathetic. “He tells all his silly little student girls different stories— ”

  “I’m not one of his silly student girls!”

  “No, darling, you’re older than most of them. George just grabs the nearest member of whatever audience he’s talking at and— ”

  “There’s something moving on the ground over there—toward that big clump of canes,” Bruce said.

  At the southern end of the garden, a huge copse of yellowing bamboo stalks grew beside the new brick wall which sealed Project Arcadia off from the main ground of the house.

  “It looks like somebody’s having a parade with banners,” Carr said.

  They crossed the soft carpet of beech mast; the first autumn leaves wfere twirling to the ground.

  Approaching the tall canes, they saw what looked like the sails of old-fashioned galleons moving jerkily along a trail from the bamboo toward the brick wall. Then they saw that these banners were segments of newiy-cut leaf.

  “It’s ants,” Carr said, “they’re carrying big chunks of leaves!”

  Bruce turned on Magruder. “Jany said the leafcut- ters’ nest was on the other side of the wall.”

  “They must have found a way through. I told George we should have poured cement over the nest. That’s all we damned well need in the garden, an army of wretched ants!”

  Bruce dragged his thumbnail down the hard stubble on his cheek. “I wonder... let’s see how they’re getting into the garden. Don’t go too near the trail or the sentries will pick us up.”

  They came to the exposed roots of a beech tree. By then, they were in the shadow of the huge escarpment of brown brick.

  “There must be a hole in the wall down there,” Magruder said.

  Bruce climbed onto the root. “Yes, there’s—what’s that—where their trail goes round that pile of cement?”

  Khomich climbed up beside him. “Shiny metal of some kind,’’ he said. “A needle perhaps?”

  “That’s not a needle,” Magruder exclaimed. “It’s the capsule aerial! Look, you can see the two antennae at the narrow end.”

  Bruce snapped his fingers.

  “That’s it—the leafcutters!”

  They all looked at him. “The leafcutters?” Lena said, frowning. “What could they have done to the capsule?”

  “See where their trail goes around that slope near the big root? What’s that they’re carrying?”

  They all peered into the gloom below the huge wall. “It’s a twig,” Anne said.

  “They must be expanding the nest—they need twigs to act as supports for their underground chambers.”

  “You don’t mean they took the capsule—carried it down into their nest?”

  “It wouldn’t be much bigger than that twig, would it? That’s why Control isn’t picking up the capsule bleep— it’s probably five or six feet underground by now on the other side of that wall.”

  Anne stared at him incredulously. “You mean George could still be alive—down in an ants’ nest?”

  “If his life-support systems are still functioning— yes.”

  “What can we do, then?”

  “Think of some way to get him out, I suppose. Is it a big nest, Stanley?”

  Magruder raised his palms. “I’ve never been in it to find out.”

  “There’s always a first time. Come on, let’s see where they’re getting through the wall.”

  Anne caught hold of his arm. “Can I have a word with you?”

  They walked away from the others.

  “You’re not seriously thinking of trying to get down into an ants’ nest, are you?” she demanded.

  “We’ve come this far—why not?”

  “You’re mad! You’re not even sure if he’s alive— ”

  “There’s only one way to find out.”

  THE MICRONAUTS

  “But you’ll be risking your own life—and the others— ”

  “Don’t you want us to save him?”

  She shook her head angrily. “That’s not the point. Hugh Robinson and Groebli and all the others would be alive but for George— ”

  He took hold of her arms, forcing her to look at him. “You’d be quite happy to leave him down there, wouldn’t you?”

  She went red, then she started crying. He had been away from people too long, he decided. It was difficult to remember how illogical they were.

  He strode back to the others.

  “Right,” he said, “we’ll follow the trail and have a look at the nest.”

  “We can’t go out there,” Magruder wailed. “Beyond the wall, it’s wild!"

  Lena stared at him coldly. “Stanley, you have all the gutsy qualities of a toothless snail.”

  They moved with ultra-caution across the great spread of exposed tree roots, only peering occasionally to make
sure they were keeping a parallel track to the busy ant trail. Then they saw how the leafcutters were getting into the garden.

  “Whoever did that should be shot!” Magruder growled.

  “Did you tell the bricklayers the garden was going to be full of micronauts?" Bruce said wryly.

  It was a little arch some bricklayer had made over a gnarled root, only about three or four inches high. Through it, the ants were pouring in both directions, mediae workers with huge leaf-sails balanced in their ferocious jaws, guarded by large-headed maximae sentries.

  “Give me the radio,” Bruce said. “Keep down and keep quiet.”

  “Control receiving you,” said a woman’s voice.

  “Let me speak to Doctor Jany.”

  While he waited, he gave Anne a questioning look. She looked away.

  “Jany here.”

  “Bruce. Listen, please. Richards is in the leafcutters’ nest— ”

  “What?”

  “Will you just listen, damn you? They’ve found a way into the garden under the brick wall. I’m pretty sure they’ve taken the capsule to use in building one of their

  chambers. We’re going out there to see how big the nest

  is. ”

  ‘‘You mustn’t do that! I’ll send some of our people around there with spades— ”

  “ Listen! The moment they feel the vibrations of full-size feet, they’ll withdraw into the nest for a siege.”

  ‘‘We can gas them out then.”

  “I’m sure George Richards would like that."

  “Sorry.”

  “Some of their nests are big enough to swallow up a horse—the entrances can be a hundred meters apart. If you started digging into one that size, the whole thing would cave in and he’d be buried forever. If it’s a small nest, we might risk spades—we’ll let you know. Can you pick up our radio from outside the wall?”

  “If we can’t, the Recovery Vehicle should be able to.”

  “Okay—get it down to the south-east corner—we may have to come out in a hurry. Over and out.” He gave the transceiver to Anne. “From now on, you’re in charge of communications. The rest of us had better look for something to use as weapons—the vibrations of a pistol shot would put the whole nest on maximum alert, maybe even bring the walls down.”

  As they made their way toward the brick wall, Khomich picked up a solid twig, swinging it like a club. “Are their heads hard?”

  “Oh no, you can easily smash their brains in. The first hundred would be a cakewalk. The first thousand might make your arm a bit stiff. The first ten thousand wiil be walking all over you. Don’t be under any illusions—this is a fortress and there could be a million of them defending

  it. Those big sentries have jaws that will do a quicker job on your legs than steel-cutters. These aren’t just brainless creepy-craw lies living down in a hole in the ground. They can throw out one scent that says—‘Danger, let’s run’—and another that says—‘Danger, stand by to repel boarders.’ If one of them gets in trouble, it can send out an SOS—they move their gasters up and down and a spike rubs on ridges to make a chirping noise. If the others hear that noise, they’ll come running in the hun-

  dreds. One good thing—leafcutters can’t spray formic acid like most ants.”

  Carr swallowed uneasily. ‘‘I only joined the army for three square meals a day.”

  ‘‘We have one advantage,” Bruce said.

  ‘‘Glad to hear it.”

  ‘‘We’re not going in there to fight them, we’re going to outwit them. Think of it as taking on a million computers—they’re ferocious, but they weren’t programmed to show initiative. We can change our tactics—they can’t.”

  They reached the massive wall of brick. Anne walked beside him. She hesitated ... ‘‘I didn’t actually mean we should deliberately leave George to die, you know.”

  ‘‘No, of course not. I’m sorry if I misunderstood you,” he said in a stiff voice.

  As they waited for a break in the constant flow of ants, Lena gave his arm a nudge. When he looked at her, she gave him a cheeky wink.

  He took a deep breath, then raced toward the open archway left by a bricklayer who couldn’t be bothered to cut through a root. It was like running under a low bridge. Two medium-sized workers were approaching the other entrance. They raised their antennae at the vibrations of his boots. He ran past them. He came out in a vast open space of browns and blacks, immediately veering away from the trail and running toward a clump of Earth Star fungus. No ant followed him.

  Carr came next. ‘‘There’s some coming with leaves,” he gasped.

  They watched from the shelter of the buff pillars of fungus. The sail-like banners of cut leaf-fragments emerged from the tunnel. “Look,” Carr hissed, ‘‘there’re little ones riding on top of the leaves!”

  ‘‘Bodyguards. There’s a type of parasite coffinfly which tries to lay its egg on the head of the big workers while their jaws are busy carrying leaves. The little workers sit up there and frighten it off.”

  ‘‘Clever bastards, aren’t they?”

  Two medium-sized workers were approaching the other entrance.

  “We’re cleverer—I hope.”

  Anne appeared—and then Lena. He stood up and waved. They dropped, panting, behind the fungus.

  Magruder came galloping out of the tunnel, running dementedly as if pursued by wolves. He flopped down beside them holding his side.

  Khomich appeared, running easily.

  “Right,” Bruce said. “Anne and Lena will stay here. We will— ”

  “I think we should stick together,” Anne said. He shook his head.

  “You stay here and keep in touch with Recovery. The ants won’t come this far off the trail. Right?”

  The four men picked up their sticks and started across a vast brown landscape under a heavy gray sky. They kept parallel to the winding trail of leaf banners until they came to a half-brick thrown away by the workmen who built the wall. They looked over a saucer-shaped depression.

  “That’s a skull," Carr hissed.

  “Looks like a vole—that’s their rubbish dump.” Bruce scanned the heavily-littered depression. “I can’t see any human bones—he must still be in the capsule, or they’d have dealt with him by now. Look—there’s the main entrance. See those sentries?”

  There were five of them moving in front of the dark tunnel, large-headed soldiers with scissor-shaped jaws, their antennae restlessly testing the air. Into the hole disappeared two medium-sized workers carrying their newly-cut segments of leaf.

  “What are those leaves for?” Khomich asked.

  “They’re farmers,” Bruce explained, “they have big chambers where the little workers masticate leaves and spread the paste out in beds—they grow a fungus called Bromatia, it’s the only thing they eat.”

  “Farmers,” Khomich said incredulously. “All my family were farmers...”

  “We must get those sentries away from the entrance. We can’t just rush over and kill them; they’d warn all the others with their danger scent.”

  “Will they respond to a diversion?’’ Khomich asked.

  “That’s it! If we attacked some workers on the trail, the sentries would rush across to defend them, then we could slip into the tunnel.”

  “Who’s we? Magruder squeaked.

  “I know what kind of lay-out to expect, so I’m one.” Bruce looked at Khomich.

  Khomich turned to Carr. “Take your choice, Corporal. I Won’t order you to go down in there.”

  “I’d rather stay in the open, sir, if that’s all right.”

  Khomich nodded.

  “What about me?” Magruder hissed.

  “Stay here. If we get in trouble, run back to Anne and call Recovery for help.”

  “What if they attack me?”

  “Get on top of this brick and kick like hell! Carr—hit them about halfway between the next entrance and the wall. Go for some leaf-carriers that don’t have an escort. And then get
back to this brick as fast as you damned well can.”

  They watched him run off at a crouch.

  Khomich looked at Bruce. “You would have made a good field-officer, Professor.”

  “Good at organizing suicide missions,” Magruder moaned.

  Carr waited until the big leafcarrier had jogged past him, its jaws supporting a rough square of green bamboo leaf many times its own size. He swallowed and then ran out diagonally from behind a low mound.

  It was about the size of a terrier dog—smaller than he had imagined. He came up behind it on his toes and swung his stick down on the shiny armor of the big round abdomen.

  Crunch!

  He was spattered by pale blood. He smashed down on it again. The huge sail of leaf collapsed to one side. A bittersweet acid smell hit him in the face.

  He started to turn away, looking for another ant to kill—but the first one was not dead. Dragging its crushed

  abdominal gaster across the rough ground, the ant turned, its jaws snapping, its long antennae flicking like angry whips . . .

  “They’re getting the danger scent now!”

  Three of the five massive-headed sentries raced along the trail. The other two hesitated, antennae testing the air, touching each other excitedly.

  They saw Carr swinging his club again and again.

  “They’re moving!”

  They came out from behind the brick and raced down across the hideous midden where the ants dumped their refuse—and their dead.

  The tunnel had a sweetish, musty smell. For a few moments, they could see by diffused daylight, then they were in darkness. The ground under their feet was worn smooth by countless millions of delicate feet. They switched on their torches. The tunnel went down to a curve. There was a humid, warm draft in their faces.