by Davyne DeSye
“It’s not going to–”
“But what if it does, man?” Tanner asks before Samuel can finish.
Samuel thinks for a bit. “There’s nothing to be done. If I’m called, I go.”
We can’t lose Samuel. We can’t. Not only is he a good man, but he’s the head of our group, the one who keeps us all going in the right direction, who keeps hope in our hearts.
Tanner drums long fingers against his cheekbone. His hair hangs in his eyes as he thinks. “There’s got to be something... If only we could send in a dummy. You know, like those manikins we set up once at that cell meeting that was gonna get raided?”
“That’s it,” I answer. Leave it to Tanner to come up with the answer. “We need a stand-in. We need somebody who can take your place at the last minute,” I say.
“No.” Samuel’s answer is firm.
“Yes, Samuel,” I say. “If Khara is wrong, we’ve done nothing. If Khara is right...” I let the thought sink in. “We can’t lose you.”
“If I get called to the palace, Tamerak will be called, too,” Samuel answers. “So, I’m going, either way.”
“Yes, of course. We’ll have the stand-in ready for after you’re there,” I say.
“Nobody’s going to take that risk,” Samuel says but we both give him that you’ve-got-be-kidding-me look. We’d take the risk ourselves if we looked anything like Samuel.
Samuel sighs. “Tamerak would know the difference,” he says. He’s listening, letting me draw him the picture.
Tanner stands. He needs to move when he talking, planning. “So, we have this stand-in there. When Tamerak gets called by the queen, the stand-in moves into your place. Tamerak won’t dare make a ruckus about the guy not being you. The queen’d kill him.”
“This is stupid,” Samuel says. “It’s not going to happen.”
“Then it doesn’t. But we can’t lose you,” I say again. “We can’t. You’re our leader, our hope.”
“Is there anybody else who can take over for you if Khara’s right?” Tanner asks.
“Bell, maybe,” Samuel answers and the agony is back in his face.
Neither of us says anything. It’s time to let Samuel think. And while he’s thinking, Tanner and I have to find a volunteer for the stand-in.
I trust Bell. I trust Khara. No wonder Samuel is so upset. Just thinking about this mess has me trembling.
I take Tanner’s hand as we step into the tunnel that leads to the kitchen of a restaurant. I’m blessed that he is always there for me, warm, and steady – my other half.
CHAPTER 38
SAMUEL
The information from Khara is right thus far. Tamerak and I have been summoned to the “palace.” The queen ostensibly wants to reward him for the excellent productivity of his factory. I have to believe this is the half-truth which Khara hoped would lend her credibility. I can’t believe the rest of Khara’s ridiculous allegations. I’ve known Bell too long. Trusted him with my life too many times.
For all the strangeness of our summons, the walk to the palace is mundane. I walk in front of Tamerak, as though I’m his formal entourage. My sleeveless shirt is unbuttoned almost to my waist, with the collar thrown open to display my monitor. My rank is pinned to my shoulder and draped under my armpit. I walk with the curious skating motion that keeps me balanced and able to glide from side to side in the endless weaving dance that keeps me from being bumped and jostled by the other ants near the capitol building. It’s an uneven, unmetered dance – slide, sway, doublestep, slide, slide, sway. It is a dance which the ants execute flawlessly and which I’ve come to enjoy. It’s also one of the many ant characteristics I am careful to adopt and display for Tamerak to assist his perception of my antlike – and therefore civilized – status.
A human stumbles in front of me whom I almost cannot avoid. Tamerak chirrups his displeasure. In this, Tamerak reminds me of the old barber who used to cut my father’s hair. The old man never chastised the poor behavior of children in his little shop, but tsked to himself over every perceived offense. It strikes me that with this comparison I look for little humannesses in Tamerak, as he looks for ant in me. We anthropomorphize each other, thereby attempting to understand each other within the bounds of our relationship.
Tamerak touches the side of my neck with the long smooth edge of one upper pincer. It’s a sign of affection. I don’t know whether he’s assuring me his chirrup was not directed at me, or whether it’s more generalized – perhaps just a reflection of his pleasure at being summoned, and what a rise in rank or privilege might bring. I am too preoccupied with what else this summons may mean to take any pleasure or pride in the gesture. This all fits too neatly with Khara’s prediction.
Paranoia. Khara’s effect on me is dangerous. I’ve allowed my still unrelenting desire for her to cloud my thinking. My anger at her latest approach to me is in part because of the jump in my groin at my first glimpse of her.
Bell would never betray . . . . Before I can finish the thought, before I can outline the breadth of what and whom Bell would never betray, another thought comes to mind.
I never thought Khara would betray me either.
My thoughts circle each other, entangled. I’m tortured by the juxtaposition of the opposing beliefs. The very fact of this summons has me doubting Bell. The thought is dark and unworthy, but won’t leave me – no doubt what Khara intended.
We arrive at the capitol building where the queen has made her home. My pace evens into a metronomic human stride as I march the few stairs to the main entrance. Tamerak stops to greet a triad and I stop too, rounding to his side and behind him, head thrown back in subservience. None of the group appears to notice me. Tamerak brushes me to signal the end of his meeting. I advance toward the main doors again, sick with adrenaline.
My shirt is marked with wide rings of sweat that start under my arms, spread up toward my shoulders and creep toward my chest. The shirt sticks to my back. I am struck with a flash of memory: Khara smiling, peeling my shirt from me, licking my nipple. Khara’s eyes on mine as her hands roam, stroke...
We move into the crowded, almost silent throne room. The ants here don’t touch each other. I’ve lived amongst them long enough to find this strange.
Queen Tal is not on the dais yet. Tamerak brushes me away and pushes toward a loose group that includes several ants I recognize as his friends. I search the room for clues, insights, scanning the humans.
I see Tanner with Diane. As planned, the queen’s gardeners have managed to secure a part of the human/pet component to this strange audience. Diane stands behind a serious young man, her hands resting on his broad shoulders. She looks around the young man’s shoulder at me. His eyes are unfocused and pointed toward the ground. She whispers something and he looks up.
On finding me, he raises his chin and his face burns with pride. My stand-in, should I feel it necessary, a volunteer here to risk his life for me and for the cause.
I’m crushed that he is so young, so willing. He raises his chin yet again and gives me the barest of nods, forcing me to acknowledge my debt. My hand rises to my heart, and I bow my head. I can give him nothing more than my utmost respect, and the solemn knowledge his face will stay with me forever – no matter what happens today. I turn away, looking for Tamerak. I have to be ready to rejoin him upon his signal.
Suddenly, Bell’s face is in mine and he claps me on my back. “Mate!”
I am barely able to stop my expression of shock at his presence here today. I remind myself I know very little of Bell’s routine, and perhaps it is not shocking for him to be present at court. As an unsponsored human, I wouldn’t have guessed he would be. “Didn’t know you’d be here,” I say.
Bell speaks in the low voice required in the throne room – if only by the tense nervousness that laces the air, rather than by decree. He’s smiling at me. “Just part of the crowd, Mate.” He gestures toward the wad of humans to the side of the room.
“You clean up rather like a gen
t,” he says raising his eyebrows and widening his eyes at me. He winks and smiles again, white teeth shining from his dark features. He chuckles and then sniffs at me, poking at the circles of sweat on my shirt. “You look fine, but,” he inhales again, then leans in to whisper, “you smell.” There is nothing unnatural in his manner.
I am rendered silent by my guilt. This man, this friend, wouldn’t betray me. I smile and roll my eyes at him, then motion with my finger to my lips for him to be quiet.
“What? Is she coming?” he asks, obviously imagining I am motioning for silence because the queen has made her entrance.
I shake my head no.
“Bloody coward,” he whispers to me. He wraps an arm around my shoulders and we stand together observing the crowd. Watching and looking for hints, betrayals, alliances, as always. I am disgusted with myself for believing Khara that Bell has betrayed me, that my life is in danger here today. I am furious with myself for allowing Diane, in desperation, to set up a stand-in.
I close my eyes. Bell’s arm drops off my shoulder, and I open my eyes to see Tamerak signaling to me from his place at the edge of the crowd. Bell grabs my jaw and kisses me roughly on the cheek as he walks away to join the crowd of humans. This isn’t like Bell and, despite my shame of a moment ago, a stab of uncertainty slides knife-smooth between my ribs.
I move toward Tamerak while watching Bell glide across the floor. He turns to face me from across the marble expanse. I expect to see him smile at me and wink again, or raise his chin at me in some private joke. He is expressionless, eyes like ghosts, staring. Then he nods at me, with a sadness behind his eyes. No smile, no joking manner. So unlike Bell. My stomach rises to my throat as the doubts that plagued me on the walk here begin anew.
Tamerak touches the side of my neck with the long smooth edge of one upper pincer. I lay my head back. He runs his pincer across my throat above my monitor. It is unlike him to show this level of affection in public. He must be extraordinarily pleased with me.
As I lower my head, I notice my stand-in is next to me. He doesn’t look at me. Although he’s about my height, he’s not as solid as I am. We share the same cropped blond hair. He’s wearing a white shirt like mine, my same rank. He is collared, like me, but is not standing with an ant-master. I wonder if his collar is genuine, or there as a prop for the mission.
I look to Bell, but he stands at attention, glazed eyes staring to the front. Bell’s demeanor makes me ill. I am afraid the boy beside me will be needed – but for what? Khara’s supposition that I’ll be killed here today has to be wrong. The sweat circles under my armpits grow.
The room becomes silent as Queen Tal enters. She is a giantess of an ant. Most ants are only about a foot taller than me, but the Queen is a good foot or two taller than that. She’s shadowed by another extraordinarily tall ant that must be Nestra, the Shame Receptor. The queen has no other entourage. She lowers herself into a large cushioned chair and begins to talk in a low clicking whistle that demands silence. I don’t understand anything of what she says.
After several other audiences, the queen calls Tamerak forward. Without looking back, Tamerak reaches back to graze me with a pincer as he moves away, striding to the empty floor before the queen. My stand-in slides forward after I have received the touch. The boy’s movement is small, casual, seeming accidental. I don’t move, don’t discourage the stand-in, don’t whisper to him he’s not needed. I haven’t yet made my decision. Tamerak moves toward the queen, tall with pride, but with head thrown back in the proper attitude of deference.
“Step back, sir.” It is the slightest of whispers from Diane, who stands behind me and on the other side of me from my stand-in. I don’t move.
“Step. Back. Sir.” No louder, but with a pause between each word which adds force to the statement. I shuffle backward, with a movement that mocks a shift in weight to accommodate sore feet. The queen speaks again, and now, now that I’m not standing with my master, Diane moves closer to me and translates from behind me and over my shoulder.
“She is pleased with production.” I can tell from the slur Diane is trying to speak without moving her mouth. She is quiet, so quiet. “More words about good production.” “Rewards are coming.” “Inner strength important.” “Strength leads to good production.” Diane speaks in spurts. “Interdependence among brothers.” Diane gasps before the next translated sentence. After a pause, she whispers, “Self-reliance from unnecessary human distractions.” I’m struck with a chill at this latest translation. Diane slides into the next translation. “Again, importance of inner strength.”
Tamerak opens himself to the queen. She motions to him, and he begins to speak.
“He thanks her.” “He is unworthy.” “Humans unworthy.” This last proclamation doesn’t bother me. Tamerak is making the necessary noises. Diane’s volume lowers. I can barely hear her. “He’s mentioned you, sir.” Pause. “Good words, about you again, sir.” She stops translating. Tamerak still talks, but Diane says, “Step back, sir.” I am flush with adrenaline. My skin crawls at her whisper. “Step back, sir. Please.”
I look to Bell. He glances away from me as my eyes reach his. He looks at the floor before his feet. He’s been watching me, but now, won’t meet my eye.
“Sssssamuel.” The word is sibilant, directed to the audience by the queen.
“Sir,” whispers Diane. I can’t look away from Bell. I will him to meet my eye. He doesn’t. His face is taut; his eyes continue to search the floor at his feet.
“Sssssamuel.” The queen speaks louder this time, and Tamerak directs one eye in my direction with a slight turn of his head. Bell still doesn’t look at me, and so I make my decision. I don’t move forward. At a tap from Diane, the boy strides away from my side toward Tamerak. I am wounded by the boy’s willingness to step into harm’s way on my behalf.
Bell looks to the boy who should be me. His brow furrows with lack of understanding, and then his eyes dart to me. I watch his eyes widen with shock and fear. He knows the boy is in danger, sees that I know this. He looks from side to side, looking for an avenue of escape. He’s in the front row, ready to be witness to whatever lies ahead for the boy – whatever was meant for me – and so can’t escape without notice. His eyes return to mine. His complexion is gray.
My gut clenches and bile rises to my throat.
I turn away from Bell, sick with his betrayal, and look to Tamerak and the boy. The boy is kneeling, with his knees spread far apart, his arms thrown wide and away from his body, his head thrown back. In this manner, he shows deference to the queen, and then slides around on his knees to face Tamerak. Tamerak falters as he reaches toward the boy with a pincer. He must now have realized the boy is not me – the scent cannot match mine – but Tamerak also knows the queen will kill them both if something appears to be amiss. Tamerak slides his pincer along the boy’s neck, just above his collar, in the same sign of affection he has so often shown me. I pray Khara is wrong.
The queen speaks.
“Oh my God.” It’s Diane again. I can’t turn to ask her what was said. I take a shuffling miniscule step back toward her, hoping she’ll understand this as a request for her translation. “Oh my God,” she repeats.
Tamerak doesn’t move. The boy doesn’t move. Bell stares at the boy. The cavernous room is almost silent. Diane begins translating, but with a sudden roughness to her voice.
“Show inner strength.” Diane whispers. “Take credit for your good production.” Diane’s voice breaks at the last word, and she releases a sharp exhale. Then: “Kill the worthless human.”
Tears fill the wells of my eyes, which can’t turn away from the sight of the boy, kneeling where I ought to be kneeling. My exterior is frozen, my innards are molten, my fists are clenched into rocks that may never open again. I’m afraid I’ll be sick where I stand.
Tamerak doesn’t hesitate – to do so would be his own death sentence. The queen’s revolting test is a test Tamerak is determined to pass. He raises and opens his
two large upper pincers and then slices them into the boy’s throat. The boy never moves, as though he doesn’t know it’s coming.
Blood sprays in a thin mist as the head falls to the floor. After the initial spray, blood drains in a red flood over the boy’s chest. The body falls backward onto the marble floor with a dull thud. A soft-bodied, unremarkable thud.
Diane vomits onto the floor behind me. I want to find Bell, but I can’t move my eyes from the scene of my death.
Another debt. Another impossible debt.
CHAPTER 39
TAMERAK
I move down the stairs and out of the shadow of the palace. Stepping with the languid surety of a favored brother, I make sure my posture and gestures are those of pride. Though I cannot hide the scent of my confusion and fear, many of the brothers leaving the court taste the same. I make sure to avoid brothers who might, through their closer acquaintance with me, detect the subtler scents I exude and question me in their concern.
I did not find Samuel – my Samuel – before leaving the throne room. I cannot ask after my human, when in front of the entire audience, I have – to their knowledge – killed him. I curse myself for the conceit I felt at the summons from the queen and the pride I expressed for Samuel, since the queen’s proclivities are well known. Foolishness!
Personal pride is the destruction of love for the society, I chide myself, the thought coming too late to be of any help.
Once I am well away from the palace and out of the constant crowds surrounding the area, I quicken my pace. I still keep a lookout for brothers who might attempt a brief streetside sharing, despite my desperate need for comfort and shared friendship.
My confusion over the actions of my Samuel tinge toward feelings of betrayal as I analyze and re-analyze the horrid situation. I am forced to accept the conclusion Samuel was aware of the purpose of the summons and arranged for another to die in his place. This hints at an organization among the humans of which I am unaware. It also suggests that as much as I care for my Samuel and attempt – feel! – true friendship for the human, he did not share this feeling to the extent of warning me or sharing his information. Confusion and betrayal and fear warp and weave through me as I walk, thoughts swirling around the terrible audience with the queen.
