Empire of the Ants

by Bernard Werber

  The 327th male again tried to establish antenna communication but the female would not let him. If he prised her antennae up, she immediately flattened them to her head again. If he touched her second segment, she laid back her antennae.

  He increased the pressure of his jaws still more and managed to bring his seventh antenna segment into contact with her seventh segment. The 56th female had never engaged in that kind of communication. She had been taught to avoid all contact and simply to give off and receive scents. But she knew that this ethereal means of communication was deceptive. Mother had emitted a pheromone on the subject one day:

  Between two brains, there will always be misunderstandings and lies caused by parasitic smells, draughts and poor quality reception.

  The only way to overcome these difficulties was absolute communication. Direct antenna contact. The unimpeded passage of the neuromediators of one brain to the neuromediators of another brain.

  For her, it was something strange and hard, a kind of deflowering of her mind.

  But she no longer had any choice. If he went on squeezing her, he would kill her. She laid her frontal scapes on her shoulders in submission.

  The AC could now commence. The two pairs of antennae came together unreservedly, with a little electric shock caused by the tension. Slowly at first, then faster and faster, the two insects caressed each other s eleven notched segments. A froth of confused expressions gradually bubbled up, a fatty substance which lubricated their antennae and allowed them to accelerate still more the rhythm of their rubbing. For a while, the two insect heads vibrated uncontrollably before the stalks of their antennae ceased their dance and clung together along their whole length. They were now one being with two heads, two bodies and a single pair of antennae.

  The natural miracle was accomplished. Pheromones passed from one body to the other through the thousands of little pores and capillaries of their segments. Their thoughts married. Their ideas were no longer coded and decoded but delivered in all their original simplicity: images, music, emotions and scents.

  It was in this immediate language that the 327th male related his entire adventure to the 56th female: the massacre of the expedition, the olfactory traces of the dwarf soldiers, his meeting with Mother, the attempt to eliminate him, his loss of the passports, his struggle with the doorkeeper and the rock-scented killers still pursuing him.

  The AC over, she laid back her antennae to show him her good intentions and he got off her back. He was now at her mercy and she could easily have killed him. She came up to him, her mandibles well out of harm's way, and gave him some of her passport pheromones to get him out of trouble temporarily. Then she offered him trophallaxis and he accepted. Finally, she whirred her wings to disperse all trace of their conversation.

  At last he'd managed to convince someone. He'd got the information across and it had been understood and accepted by another cell.

  He had formed his work group.

  time: Human beings and ants perceive the passage of time very differently. For human beings, time is absolute. Whatever happens, seconds always have the same periodicity and duration.

  For ants, on the other hand, time is relative. When it is hot, the seconds are very short. When it is cold, they stretch out indefinitely until consciousness is lost during hibernation.

  This elastic time gives them a very different perception of the speed of things from our own. To define a movement, insects use not only space and duration but also a third dimension,

  temperature.

  Edmond Wells, Encyclopedia of Relative and Absolute Knowledge

  Now there were two of them who were anxious to convince as many of their sisters as possible of the seriousness of the 'Affair of the Secret Weapon'. It was not too late but there were two factors to be taken into account. On the one hand, they would never be able to convert enough workers to their cause before the Festival of Rebirth, which would take up all their energies, and they would therefore need a third accomplice. On the other hand, they would need to find a hide-out in case the rock-scented warriors showed up again.

  56th proposed her chamber. She had dug a secret passage in it which would allow them to get away in case of a hitch. The 327th male was only partly surprised at this. Digging secret passages was all the rage. It had started a hundred years before during the war against the glue-spitting ants. The queen of a Federation city, Ha-yekte-douni, had fostered security mania and had had a 'fortified' Forbidden City built for herself Its flanks were armed with big stones, themselves soldered together with termite cements.

  Unfortunately, there was only one exit. So that when her city was surrounded by legions of glue-spitting ants, she was trapped in her own palace. The glue-spitters then captured her with ease and suffocated her in their vile, fast-drying glue. Queen Ha-yekte-douni was later avenged and her city liberated but her stupid, horrible end left its mark on the minds of the Belokanians.

  Since ants have the amazing good fortune to be able to alter the shape of their dwellings with a bite of their mandibles, they all began to bore secret passages. One ant digging a hole is all very well but if there are a million doing it, it spells disaster. The 'official' tunnels were collapsing because they were being undermined by 'private' tunnels. When you went down your secret passage, you came out into a whole labyrinth formed by passages belonging to 'the others'. Whole districts had started to crumble, compromising Bel-o-kan's very existence.

  Mother had put a stop to it. No-one was supposed to dig on their own account any more but how could a watch be kept on all the chambers?

  The 56th female pushed aside a bit of gravel, revealing a dark opening. 327th examined the hiding-place and pronounced it perfect. A third accomplice remained to be found. They came out and closed the entrance up again carefully. The 56th female emitted:

  We'll take the first one who comes. Leave it to me.

  They soon met someone, a big asexual soldier dragging along a hunk of butterfly. The female hailed her from a distance with emotive messages telling of a great threat to the Tribe. She handled the language of the emotions with a virtuoso subtlety that took the male's breath away and the soldier immediately abandoned her prey to come and discuss the matter.

  A big threat to the Tribe? Who, how, why, where?

  The female explained succinctly the disaster which had befallen the first spring expedition. Her manner of expressing herself gave off a delicious fragrance. She already had the charm and charisma of a queen. The warrior was soon won over.

  When do we leave? How many soldiers will we need to attack the dwarves?

  She introduced herself. She was the 103,683rd asexual ant of the summer laying. With her big, glossy head, long mandibles, practically non-existent eyes and short legs, she was a weighty ally. She was also a born enthusiast. The 56th female even had to check her ardour.

  She told her there were spies within the Tribe itself, possibly mercenaries in the pay of the dwarves, whose mission was to prevent the Belokanians from solving the mystery of the secret weapon.

  You can recognize them by their characteristic smell of rock. You have to act quickly.

  You can count on me.

  They then divided up the spheres of influence between them. 327th would strive to convince the nurses in the solarium, who were generally quite naive.

  103,683rd would try to bring back some soldiers. If she managed to make up a legion, that would be fantastic.

  I'll be able to question the scouts, too, and see if anyone else can tell me about the dwarves' secret weapon.

  As for 56th, she would visit the mushroom beds and greenfly sheds to look for strategic support.

  They would report back there at 23°-time.

  Today, in the context of the series on World Cultures, the television was showing a report on Japanese costumes:

  'The Japanese, an insular people, have been economically self-sufficient for centuries. For them, the world is divided into two: the Japanese and the others, the foreigners with their i
ncomprehensible customs, barbarians they call Gaijin. The Japanese have always had a very nice sense of nationality. When a Japanese comes to live in Europe, for example, he is automatically excluded from the group. If he moves back a year later, his parents and family will no longer recognize him as one of them. Living among the Gaijin means becoming impregnated with the others' way of thinking and therefore becoming a Gaijin. Even his childhood friends will treat him like just another tourist.'

  Various Shinto temples and holy places filed across the screen. The voice-off resumed:

  'Their view of life and death is different from ours. The death of an individual is not very important here. What is worrying is the disappearance of a productive cell. To tame death, the Japanese like to cultivate the art of wrestling. Children are taught kendo at primary school.'

  Two combatants appeared in the middle of the screen dressed like the samurais of old. Their chests were covered in articulated black plates and they wore oval helmets on their heads decorated with two long feathers next to their ears. They flung themselves at one another, uttering warlike cries, then started clashing their long kendo swords.

  There were more images. A man sitting on his heels was pointing a short sword at his stomach with both hands.

  'Ritual suicide, seppuku, is another characteristic of Japanese culture. It's certainly difficult for us to understand.'

  'Not that television again. It's turning us into vegetables. We're all getting our heads stuffed with the same images. They don't know what they're talking about, anyway. Haven't you had enough of it yet?' exclaimed Jonathan who had been back for a few hours.

  'Leave him alone. It does him good. He hasn't been up to much since the dog died,' said Lucie mechanically.

  She stroked her son's hair.

  'What's the matter, darling?'

  'Sh, I'm trying to listen.'

  'Just a minute. That's no way to talk to us.'

  'No way to talk to you. Remember how little time you spend with him. It isn't surprising he's giving you the cold shoulder.'

  'Hey, Nicolas. Have you managed to make the four triangles with the matches?'

  'No, it gets on my nerves. I'm trying to listen.'

  'Oh, well, if it gets on your nerves. . .'

  Looking thoughtful, Jonathan started fiddling with the matches lying on the table. 'What a pity. It's educational.'

  Nicolas was not listening. His brain was plugged directly into the television. Jonathan went into his room.

  'What are you doing?' asked Lucie, following him.

  'You can see perfectly well what I'm doing. I'm getting ready to go back down.'

  'What? Oh no.'

  'I haven't any choice.'

  'Jonathan, tell me now, what is there down there you find so fascinating? I'm your wife, after all.'

  He did not answer. He was avoiding her eyes and he still had that nasty tic. Tired of arguing, she sighed:

  'Have you killed the rats?'

  'My presence alone is enough. They keep their distance. Otherwise I pull this on them.'

  He brandished a big kitchen knife that he had honed to a fine edge. Grabbing his halogen torch in the other hand, he went into the kitchen and over to the cellar door. On his back was a bag containing a good supply of provisions as well as his emergency locksmith's tools. He barely called out:

  'Goodbye, Nicolas. Goodbye, Lucie.'

  Lucie did not know what to do. She seized Jonathan's arm. 'You can't leave like this. It's too easy. You must talk to me.' 'For Heaven's sake.'

  'How can I get through to you? Since you went down into that damn cellar you haven't been the same. We've no money left and you've spent at least F5,000 on equipment and books about ants.'

  'I'm interested in locks and ants. I've a right to be.'

  'No, you haven't. Not when you've got a son and a wife to feed. If all the unemployment money goes on books about ants, I'm going to end up . . .'

  'Getting a divorce? Is that what you're trying to say?'

  She let go of his arm, exhausted.

  'No.'

  He took her by the shoulders. His mouth twitched.

  'You must have faith in me. I've got to see it through. I haven't taken leave of my senses.'

  'Haven't taken leave of your senses? Just look at you. You look like a zombie. Anybody'd think you were permanently running a temperature/

  'My body's getting older but my head's getting younger.'

  'Jonathan. Tell me what's going on down there.'

  'Fascinating things. You have to keep going further and further down if you want to be able to come up again one day. It's like a swimming pool. You have to go down to the bottom to be able to push off to come up again.'

  He broke into crazy laughter. Its sinister sound was still ringing from the spiral staircase thirty seconds later.

  On the thirty-fifth floor, the fine covering of twigs produced a stained-glass window effect. The sun's rays sparkled as they passed through it, then fell like a rain of stars on the ground. This was the city's solarium, the 'factory' producing Belokanian citizens.

  It was baking hot there, 38°, as was only to be expected. The solarium faced due south to catch the heat of the sun for as long as possible. Sometimes, under the catalytic effect of the twigs, the temperature rose to as high as 50°.

  Hundreds of legs were busying themselves. Nurses, the most numerous caste here, were piling up the eggs Mother laid. Twenty-four piles formed a heap and twelve heaps made a row. The rows stretched away into the distance. When a cloud cast a shadow, the nurses moved the piles of eggs. The youngest had to be kept nice and warm. 'Moist heat for eggs, dry heat for cocoons' was an old ant recipe for healthy babies.

  On the left, workers responsible for maintaining the temperature were piling up pieces of black wood to accumulate heat and fermented humus to produce it. Thanks to these two 'radiators', the solarium remained at a constant temperature of between 25° and 40°, even when it was only 15° outside.

  Gunners were patrolling the area. If a woodpecker messed with them, there'd be trouble . . .

  On the right were older eggs, further advanced in the long metamorphosis from egg to adult. With time and the nurses' licking, the little eggs grew bigger and turned yellow. After one to seven weeks, they turned into golden-haired larvae. That, too, depended on the weather.

  The nurses were concentrating hard, sparing neither antibiotic saliva nor attention. Not a speck of dirt must be allowed to sully the larvae. They were so fragile. Even conversational pheromones were kept to the strict minimum.

  Help me carry them into the corner. . . Look out, your pile's going to fall over. . .

  A nurse was moving a larva twice her length, a gunner for sure. She put the 'weapon' down in a corner and licked it.

  At the centre of this vast incubator were heaps of larvae on whose bodies the ten segments were beginning to show. They were howling to be fed, waving their heads and legs about and stretching their necks until the nurses let them have a little honeydew or insect meat.

  After three weeks, when they had 'matured' nicely, the larvae stopped eating and moving. They used this lethargic phase to prepare for the coming effort, gathering their energies to secrete the cocoons which would transform them into nymphs.

  The nurses then carted the big bundles off to a nearby room filled with dry sand to absorb the moisture from the air. 'Moist heat for eggs, dry heat for cocoons' could never be repeated often enough.

  Inside this incubator, the cocoons turned from bluish-white to yellow to grey to brown, like the philosopher's stone but in reverse, while a miracle took place inside the shells. Everything changed, the nervous system, respiratory and digestive apparatus, sense organs and shell.

  Once inside the incubator, the nymphs swelled within a few days as the eggs cooked and the big moment drew near. When a nymph was on the point of hatching, it was pulled aside, along with others in the same state. Nurses carefully pierced the veil of the cocoon, releasing an antenna or leg, until a kind
of white ant was freed to tremble and sway. Its soft, clear chitin turned red after a few days, like that of all the Belokanians.

  In the midst of this whirlwind of activity, 327th was unsure whom to address. He threw out a little scent to a nurse who was helping a new-born ant take its first steps.

  Something serious is happening. The nurse did not even turn her head in his direction. She gave off a barely perceptible scent sentence:

  Hush. Nothing is more serious than birth.

  A gunner jostled him, hitting him gently with the clubs at the end of her antennae. Tap, tap, tap. Stop bothering people. Move on.

  His energy level was all wrong, the messages he emitted unconvincing. If only he had 56th s gift for communication! He tried again anyway with other nurses but they ignored him completely. He ended up wondering whether his mission was really as important as he thought. Perhaps Mother was right. Other tasks had priority. Perpetuating life rather than starting a war, for example.

  While he was thinking this strange thought, a jet of formic acid grazed his antennae. A nurse had dropped the cocoon she was carrying and fired at him. Fortunately, she had not aimed properly.

  He rushed to catch up with the terrorist but she had already darted off into the first nursery, knocking over a pile of eggs to block his way. The shells broke, letting out a transparent liquid.

  She had destroyed some eggs! What had got into her? There was panic, with nurses running in all directions, anxious to protect the gestating generation.

  Realizing he could not catch up with the fugitive, the 327th male tipped his abdomen under his thorax and took aim but before he could fire she was struck down by a gunner who had seen her knock over the eggs.

  A crowd formed round the charred body. When 327th bent his antennae over it, he was no longer in any doubt. It smelt of rock.

  sociability: In ants, as in human beings, sociability is predetermined. A new-born ant is too weak on its own to break the cocoon in which it is imprisoned. A human baby cannot even walk or feed itself on its own.

  Ants and human beings are species designed to be assisted by those around them and cannot or will not learn on their own. This dependence on adults is certainly a weakness but it sets in motion another process, the quest for knowledge. If adults can survive while the young cannot, the latter are obliged to ask their elders for knowledge from the start.