Empire of the Ants

by Bernard Werber

  I, personally, should be very scared of an animal which could not feel pain.

  But the whole concept is wrong. A decapitated ant emits a particular smell, the smell of fear. Something therefore happens. The ant does not have a nerve impulse but it does have a chemical impulse. It knows one of its parts is missing and it suffers. It suffers in its own way, which is no doubt very different from ours, but it does suffer.

  Edmond Wells, Encyclopedia of Relative and Absolute Knowledge

  The battle resumed at eleven-forty-seven. A long, compact line of dwarf soldiers slowly climbed to the assault of Poppy Hill.

  The tanks appeared between the flowers. At a given signal, they hurtled down the slope. The legions of russets and their mercenaries paraded on the flanks, ready to finish the juggernauts' work.

  Soon the two armies were only a hundred heads apart. . . then fifty . . . twenty . . . ten. The first seed-crusher had barely made contact when something quite unexpected happened. Gaps suddenly opened up in the dense line of Shigaepouyans as they formed squares.

  Each tank saw the enemy evaporate and found itself facing an empty corridor. None reacted by zigzagging to engage the dwarves. Instead, their mandibles snapped on empty air and their thirty-six legs raced on uselessly.

  A bitter smell spread:

  Cut their legs off!

  Dwarves immediately dived under the tanks and killed the bearers, then withdrew again at the double in order not to be crushed by the weight of the seed-crushers as they collapsed.

  Others boldly threw themselves between the double rows of three bearers and punctured the proffered bellies with a single mandible. Liquid flowed from them and the seed-crushers' reservoir of life poured out on the ground.

  Yet others scaled the juggernauts, cut off their antennae and jumped from them while they were still moving.

  The tanks collapsed one after another. The seed-crushers without bearers dragged themselves along like bedridden invalids and were finished off without difficulty.

  It was a terrifying sight. The bodies of seed-crushers with their bellies split open were being carried along by their six workers, still unaware of what had happened. Seed-crushers deprived of antennae found their 'wheels' going off in different directions and tearing them apart.

  Such a debacle sounded the knell of tank technology, no doubt one of many great inventions that disappeared from ant history because the means of countering it had been found too soon.

  The russet legions and their mercenaries who were flanking the tank front were left without cover. They had been placed there to pick up the pieces and found themselves obliged to charge desperately, but the massacre of the seed-crushers had been managed so efficiently that the dwarf squares had already closed again. The Belokanians had scarcely made contact with a side before they were drawn in and hacked to pieces by thousands of greedy mandibles.

  The russets and their roughnecks could only beat a retreat. Having regrouped on the crest of the hill, they watched the dwarves slowly climbing back up to the assault, still in compact squares. It was a frightening sight.

  To gain time, the biggest soldiers fetched bits of gravel and rolled them from the top but the avalanche barely slowed the dwarf advance. They were vigilant and moved out of the way as the blocks went by, then immediately resumed their places. Few were crushed.

  The Belokanian legions desperately tried to find a way out. Some warriors suggested a return to the old combat techniques. Why not simply let fly with the artillery? For though acid killed as many friends as foes in the fray and little use had been made of it since the outbreak of hostilities, it should give very good results against the dense squares of dwarves.

  The gunners quickly took up position, wedged firmly on their four hind legs with their abdomens thrust forward. They could thus pivot from left to right and up and down for the best aim.

  The dwarves, now just below them, saw the tips of thousands of abdomens jutting over the crest of the hill but did not immediately realize the implications. They increased their pace, gathering speed to cross the last few centimetres of bank.

  Attack! Close ranks!

  A single order rang out in the opposing camp: Fire!

  The trained abdomens sprayed their burning venom on the dwarf squares. Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh. The yellow jets whistled through the air and lashed the first line of assailants full in the face.

  Their antennae melted first and trickled down on their heads. Then the poison spread to their cuirasses, liquefying them as if they were made of plastic.

  The tormented bodies sank to the ground and formed a slight barrier over which the dwarves stumbled. They rallied furiously and threw themselves all the more fiercely into the assault on the crest.

  At the top, a second line of russet gunners had taken over from the first. Fire!

  The squares broke up but the dwarves continued to advance, trampling the limp, dead bodies underfoot.

  A third line of gunners appeared, joined by the glue-spitters. Fire!

  This time, the dwarf squares came apart completely. Whole groups struggled in the pools of glue. The dwarves tried to counter-attack by lining up a row of gunners themselves. They advanced backwards towards the summit and fired without aiming as they were unable to wedge themselves against the slope.

  Fire! emitted the dwarves in turn.

  But their short abdomens only fired droplets of acid. Even when they reached their objectives, their jets only irritated the enemy's shells without piercing them.

  Fire!

  The drops of acid from the two camps crossed in the air, occasionally cancelling one another out. In view of the poor results they had obtained, the Shigaepouyans gave up using their artillery, believing they could win by sticking to the tactic of compact infantry squares.

  Close ranks!

  Fire! replied the russets, whose artillery was still achieving marvels, and the acid and glue spurted yet again.

  Despite the effectiveness of the firing, the dwarves reached the top of Poppy Hill, where their silhouettes formed a black frieze thirsty for revenge.

  Rush. Rage. Ravage.

  There were no more fancy manoeuvres now. The russet gunners could no longer squirt acid, the dwarf squares could no longer remain compact.

  Swarm. Storm. Stampede.

  Everyone got mixed up, milled about, got into line, ran, turned, fled, charged, dispersed, came together again, instigated small attacks, pushed, dragged, dashed, collapsed, reassured, spat, supported and screamed blue murder. Death was on everyone's minds. They took one another's measure, struggled and clashed mandibles. They ran over live bodies and motionless ones. Each russet ant had at least three furious dwarves on top of her but as the russet ants were three times bigger, the duels were fought with roughly equal weapons.

  Hand to hand, amid scent cries and mists of bitter pheromones.

  Millions of mandibles locked together, whether pointed, notched or serrated, in the shape of sabres or flat claws, single-edged or double-edged, smeared with poisonous saliva, glue or blood. The ground trembled.

  Hand to hand.

  Antennae weighted with little arrows whipped the air to keep the enemy at a distance. Claws struck like litde irritating reeds. Catch. Confuse. Confound.

  You caught the other by the mandibles, antennae, head, thorax, abdomen, legs, knees, elbows, joint brushes, a breach in the shell, a notch in the chitin or an eye.

  Then the bodies toppled over and rolled in the damp earth. Some dwarves scaled an idle poppy and let themselves fall with outstretched claws on top of a well-built russet ant. They pierced her back and stabbed her through the heart.

  Hand to hand.

  Mandibles scratched smooth armour.

  A skilful russet ant used her antennae like javelins, propelling them simultaneously. She transfixed the heads of a dozen enemies without even stopping to wipe her blood-smeared stalks.

  Hand to hand. To the death.

  There were soon so many severed antennae and legs on the
ground that it was like walking on a carpet of pine needles.

  The survivors of La-chola-kan came running up and plunged into the fray as if there were not enough dead already.

  Overcome by the sheer numbers of her minute assailants, a russet ant panicked, curved her abdomen up, sprayed herself with formic acid and killed her enemies and herself at the same time. They all melted like wax.

  Some way off, another warrior pulled off her enemy's head with a sharp tug at the very moment that her own was torn off.

  The 103,683rd soldier had seen the first lines of dwarves sweeping down on her. With a few dozen colleagues from her sub-caste, she had managed to form a triangle that had spread terror among the knots of dwarves. The triangle had finally broken and she now stood alone facing five Shigaepouyans already steeped in the blood of her beloved sisters.

  They bit her all over and she did her best to bite back, automatically remembering the advice thrown at her in the practice arena by the old warrior:

  The outcome of the fight is decided before the first blow is struck. The mandible or jet of acid only confirms what both combatants already know. It's all in the mind. If you accept victory, nothing can withstand you.

  It might work with one enemy. But what were you to do when there were five of them? At present, she could tell that there were at least two of them who wanted to win at all costs, the dwarf who was methodically cutting through the joint of her thorax and the one who was tearing off her left hind leg. She felt a burst of energy surge through her and struggled to stick her antenna under one of their necks like a stiletto, making the other let go by stunning it with a blow from the flat of her mandible.

  Meanwhile, some dwarves had returned to throw dozens of alternaria-infected heads into the thick of the battle. As they were all protected by snails' slime, the spores fluttered about and slid over their cuirasses before falling sluggishly to the ground. It really was an unlucky day for new weapons. They had all found a response.

  At three o'clock in the afternoon, the fighting was at its height. Gusts of oleic acid, the characteristic smell given off by drying ant corpses, filled the air. At half past four, the russet and dwarf ants who still had at least two legs to stand on were still crossing swords beneath the poppies. The fighting finally stopped at five o'clock, when a clap of thunder announced imminent rain. It was as if the heavens had had enough of so much violence. Unless, of course, it was just the April showers arriving late.

  The survivors and wounded withdrew. The final toll was five million dead, including four million dwarves. La-chola-kan was liberated.

  As far as the eye could see, the ground was littered with contorted corpses, holed cuirasses and sinister parts which sometimes stirred with a last breath of life. Everything was covered in a film of transparent blood and there were puddles of yellow acid everywhere.

  A few dwarves stuck in a pool of glue were struggling to return to their city but some birds arrived to peck them up quickly before the rain came down.

  Lightning lit up the dark grey clouds and sparkled off a few tank carcases with their mandibles still raised to pierce the distant sky. When the actors had left the scene, the rain washed it clean.

  She was speaking with her mouth full. 'Bilsheim?' 'Hello?'

  ' Grumf, grumf. What kind of fool do you take me for, Bilsheim? Have you seen the papers? Is this Inspector Galin one of yours? He's that irritating little prick who tried to get familiar with me in the first few days, isn't he?'

  It was Solange Doumeng, Director of the Criminal Investigation Department, who was speaking.

  'Er, yes, I think so.'

  'I told you to boot him out, and now I discover he's a posthumous star. You must be completely out of your mind. Whatever possessed you to send anyone so inexperienced on such a serious case?'

  'Galin isn't inexperienced, he's an excellent cop. But I think we underestimated the seriousness of the case.'

  'Good cops solve cases, bad ones find excuses.'

  'There are cases which even the best of us . . .'

  'There are cases which even the worst of you have a duty to solve. Fishing a couple out of a cellar falls into that category.'

  'I'm sorry but. . .'

  'You know where you can stick your excuses, don't you? Kindly do me the honour of going back down into the cellar and getting everyone out. Your hero Galin deserves a Christian burial. And I want an article praising our department by the end of the month.'

  'What about?'

  'The whole business. And I want you to keep your mouth shut. You're not to make hay with the press until the case is sewn up. You can take six policemen and the latest equipment, if you like. That's all.'

  'And if. . .'

  'If you foul up, you can count on me to spoil your retirement.' She hung up.

  Superintendent Bilsheim could handle every other lunatic but her. He therefore resigned himself to working out a plan of descent.

  when a man: When a man is frightened, happy or enraged, his endocrine glands produce hormones which influence his body alone. They work in isolation. His heart beats faster, he sweats, pulls faces, shouts or cries. No-one else is affected. Others look at him without sympathizing, or sympathize because their intellect tells them to.

  When an ant is frightened, happy or enraged, its hormones circulate inside its body, leave it and enter the bodies of others. Thanks to the pherohormones, or pheromones, millions of individuals shout or cry at the same time. It must be an incredible feeling to live the experiences of others and make them feel everything one feels one-self.

  Edmond Wells, Encyclopedia of Relative and Absolute Knowledge

  There was jubilation in every city in the Federation. An abundance of sweet trophallaxis was offered to the exhausted combatants. However, there were no heroes. Everyone had done his job, whether well or badly was of little importance. Everything began again from zero at the end of missions.

  They licked their wounds. A few naive youngsters held in their mandibles one, two or three of their legs which had been torn off in combat and which they had miraculously recovered. They had to be told they could not be stuck back on.

  In the big wrestling hall on the forty-fifth floor of the basement, soldiers re-enacted the successive episodes of the Battle of Poppy Hill for the benefit of those who had not been there. One half played the part of the dwarves, the other the russet ants.

  They mimed the attack of the Forbidden City of La-chola-kan; the russet charge; the struggle with the infected heads; the false flight; the entry of the tanks; their rout by the dwarf squares; the assault on the hill; the lines of gunners; and the final fray.

  There were many workers there. They commented on each scene of the re-enactment. One point in particular held their attention, probably because their caste played a part in it. They felt the tank technique should not be abandoned but used more intelligently and not just in frontal charges.

  103,683rd had got off lightly compared with the other survivors of the battle. She had only lost a leg, a trifle when you have six of them at your disposal. It was hardly worth mentioning. The 56th female and 327th male, who had been unable to take part in the war, drew her aside and made antenna contact.

  Has there been any trouble here?

  No, the rock-scented warriors all took part in the fighting. We stayed inside the Forbidden City in case the dwarves got this far. How about out there? Did you see the secret weapon?

  No.

  What do you mean, no? There's been talk of a mobile acacia branch.

  103,683rd explained that the only new weapon they had been confronted with was the dreadful alternaria but that they had found a means of protecting themselves against it.

  It can't be that that killed the first expedition, remarked the male. Alternaria takes a long time to kill. Besides, he was certain none of the bodies he had examined bore the least trace of the deadly spores. What now?

  Disconcerted, they decided to prolong their AC. They really needed to think things through. Ideas
and opinions bubbled up again:

  Why had the dwarves not resorted to the weapon that had wiped out the twenty-eight explorers? After all, they had done everything in their power to win. If they had possessed such a weapon, they would not have hesitated to use it. But what if they did not possess it? It might be pure chance that they always arrived before or after the secret weapon had struck.

  This hypothesis seemed to square fairly well with the attack on La-chola-kan. As for the first expedition, traces of dwarf passport scents might very well have been left to lead the Tribe down the wrong trail. In whose interest would it have been to do that? If the dwarves were not responsible for all the trouble, then who was? It must be the other implacable adversary, the hereditary enemy, the termites.

  There was nothing fantastic about the suspicion. For some time, isolated soldiers from the big termite hill in the east had been crossing the river and stepping up their incursions into the federal hunting grounds. Yes, it was surely the termites. They had managed to set the dwarf and the russet ants at one another's throats. That way, they got rid of both without striking a blow. With their enemies much weakened, all they had to do was grab the anthills.

  And the rock-scented warriors? Mere mercenary spies in the service of the termites.

  The more their common-thought circulated between their three brains, the more subtle it became and the more convinced they were that it was the termites of the east who possessed the mysterious 'secret weapon'.

  But they were disturbed and torn from their conference by the Tribe's general scents. The city had decided to turn the interwar period to good account by bringing forward the Festival of Rebirth. It would take place the next day.

  All castes to their places! Males and females, to the gourd rooms to fill up with sugar! Gunners, reload your abdomens in the organic chemistry rooms!