Empire of the Ants

  'You must be joking! No, you're going down, I'm staying here. I've got everything I need, a flask of tea and my walkie-talkie.'

  'What if something happens to me?'

  'Why imagine the worst? Haven't you got any guts? I told you, we're linked by radio. At the first sign of danger, let me know and I'll do whatever's necessary. We're really looking after you, you know. You're going down with all the latest equipment. Look, you'll have a mountaineering rope and guns, not to mention six strong men.'

  She indicated the policemen standing to attention. Bilsheim muttered:

  'Galin went down with eight firemen. It didn't do him much good.'

  'But they didn't have any weapons or radio contact. Don't look like that, Bilsheim.'

  He did not feel like arguing. It only exasperated him. If you argued with Solange Doumeng, you became like her. She was like a weed. He had to try and grow without being contaminated.

  The disenchanted inspector put on a potholing outfit, tied the mountaineering rope round his waist and slung his walkie-talkie across his shoulder.

  'If I don't come back up, I'd like all my belongings to go to the police orphanage.'

  'Stop bullshitting, Bilsheim. You'll come back up and we'll all go to a restaurant together and celebrate.'

  'Just in case I don't come back up, there's something I'd like you to know.'

  She frowned.

  'Stop being childish, Bilsheim!'

  'I'd like you to know we all have to pay for what we do in the end.'

  'Now he's gone all mystical on us. No, Bilsheim, you're wrong. We don't have to pay for what we do. Maybe there is a God, as you say, but if there is, he couldn't care less about us. And if you don't enjoy yourself while you're alive, you certainly won't get a chance to when you're dead!'

  She sniggered briefly, then went up to her subordinate until she was close enough to touch him. He held his breath. There'd be enough unpleasant smells in the cellar.

  'But you're not going to die. You're going to solve this case. It wouldn't help much if you died.'

  The inspector was growing childish with vexation. He was like a little boy who had had something taken away from him and was resorting to insults because he knew he was never going to get it back.

  'Of course, my death would mean the failure of your

  "personal" investigation. They'd see what happens when you "lend a hand", as you say'

  She came still closer, as if she meant to kiss him on the lips. Instead, she spat deliberately:

  'You don't like me, do you, Bilsheim? Nobody likes me and I couldn't care less. I don't like you, either. I don't need to be liked. There's something you should know, though. If you die down there, I won't be in the least put out. I'll just send in a third team. If you really want to harm me, come back alive and successful and I'll be in your debt.'

  He did not answer. He had caught sight of the white roots in her fashionable hairdo and felt better already.

  'We're ready,' said one of the policemen, picking up his gun.

  They had roped themselves together.

  'OK, let's go.'

  They nodded to the three policemen who would stay in touch with them on the surface, then disappeared into the cellar.

  Solange Doumeng sat down at a desk on which she had set up her two-way radio.

  'Good luck. Come back soon.'

  THREE JOURNEYS

  56th had at last found the ideal place to build her city. It was a round hill. When she climbed to the top, she could see the easternmost cities, Zoubi-zoubi-kan and Gloubi-diu-kan. If all went well, it should not be too difficult to link up with the rest of the Federation.

  She examined her surroundings. The ground was quite hard and grey in colour. The new queen looked for a soft spot but it was hard all over. When she stuck her mandible in to try and dig her first nuptial chamber, she felt a strange little tremor, reminiscent of an earthquake but far too localized to be one. She stabbed the ground once more and the trembling began again except that this time it was worse. The whole hill rose up and slid to the left.

  In living memory the ants had seen a great many things but never a hill that was alive. This one was now moving along at a good pace, cleaving through the tall grass and crushing the undergrowth.

  56th had still not got over her surprise when she saw a second hill approaching as if by magic. She did not have time to get off and was carried away into a parade of amorous hills. It was bad enough when they pawed each other shamelessly but 56th s hill was female and another hill climbed slowly on top of her. A stony head gradually emerged and this dreadful gargoyle opened its mouth.

  It was too much for the young queen and she gave up the idea of founding her city in the area. Rolling to the bottom of the headland, she realized the full extent of the peril she had escaped. The hills not only had heads but also four clawed feet and small triangular tails.

  It was her first sight of tortoises.

  the time of conspirators: The most widespread system of organization among human beings is a complex hierarchy of 'administrators', powerful men and women, who supervise, or rather manage, smaller 'creative' groups, whose work is then appropriated by 'commercial' personnel in the name of distribution. The administrative, creative and commercial personnel make up the three castes which nowadays correspond to ant workers, soldiers and reproductive forms.

  The struggle between Stalin and Trotsky, two early twentieth-century Russian leaders, is a marvellous illustration of the change from a system favouring the 'creative' group to a system favouring the administrators. Trotsky, the mathematician and inventor of the Red Army, was ousted by Stalin, the conspirator. A page had been turned.

  It is quicker and easier to get ahead in society by exercising charm, uniting assassins and putting out disinformation than by producing new ideas and things.

  Edmond Wells, Encyclopedia of Relative and Absolute Knowledge

  4,000th and 103,683rd had set off again on the scent trail leading to the termite hill of the east. On the way, they met beetles pushing along balls of humus and explorer ants of a species so small they were hard to see and others so big the two soldiers could hardly make themselves seen.

  There are over twelve thousand species of ants, each with its own morphology. The smallest measure only a few hundred microns and the largest can be up to seven centimetres in length. Russet ants are medium-sized.

  4,000th at last seemed to get her bearings. They still had to cross the patch of green moss, climb up the acacia bush and pass under the daffodils, and it should be behind the dead tree trunk.

  And once they had crossed the stump, the eastern river and port of Satei did indeed appear before them through the sea-grass and buckthorns.

  ★ ★š ★

  'Hello, hello, Bilsheim, are you receiving me?' 'Loud and clear.' 'Is everything all right?' 'Yes, fine.'

  'The length of rope unrolled shows you've gone four hundred and eighty metres.' 'Great.'

  'Have you seen anything?'

  'Nothing worth mentioning. Just a few inscriptions engraved on the stone.'

  'What sort of inscriptions?'

  'Esoteric formulae. Would you like me to read you one?' 'No, I'll take your word for it.'

  The 56th female's belly was seething. Inside, the inhabitants of her future city were pushing and pulling and waving their legs about with impatience.

  She therefore stopped being fussy, chose a bowl of ochre and black earth and decided to found her city there.

  The place was not too badly situated. She couldn't detect any smell of dwarves, termites or wasps thereabouts and she even noticed a few trail pheromones indicating that the Belokanians had already passed this way.

  She tasted the earth. The soil was rich in trace elements and was moist without being wet. There was even a little overhanging shrub.

  She cleared a circular area three hundred heads in diameter, which was the best shape for her city.

  She felt exhausted and swallowed to bring up the food in her s
ocial crop but it had been empty for some time. She had no energy reserves left. She therefore tore off her wings with a sharp tug and greedily ate the muscles in their roots.

  With this intake of calories, she should be able to hold out for a few more days.

  She then buried herself up to her antennae. No-one must be able to spot her while she was easy prey.

  She waited. The town hidden in her body was slowly waking.

  What would she call it?

  First she had to think of a queen's name. For ants, having a name meant existing as an independent entity. Workers, soldiers and virgin males and females were only designated by the number of their birth. Fertilized females, on the other hand, could take a name.

  Hmm. When she left, she was being pursued by the rock-scented warriors, so she could simply call herself 'the pursued queen'. But, no, she was being pursued because she had tried to solve the mystery of the secret weapon. She must not forget that. So she became 'the mystery-born queen'.

  And she decided to name her city 'city of the mystery-born queen', which, in the scent language of ants, smells like this:

  CHLI-POU-KAN.

  Two hours later, he got another call. 'How's it going, Bilsheim?'

  'We're in front of a door, an ordinary door. There's a big inscription on it in ancient script.' 'What does it say?' 'Shall I read it to you this time?' 'Yes, please.'

  The inspector shone his torch on the inscription and started to read in a slow, solemn voice because he was deciphering the text as he went along:

  At the moment of death, the soul’s impressions are similar to those of initiates in the ways of the Great Mysteries.

  First they rush along blindly, twisting and turning, on an endless, anxious journey through the shadows.

  Then, just before the end, their fear reaches its height. Bathed in cold sweat, they shiver and tremble, utterly terrified.

  This phase is almost immediately followed by a return to the light, a sudden illumination.

  They are surrounded by a marvellous glow and move through pure places and meadows ringing with voices and dancing.

  Sacred words inspire religious respect. The perfect initiate is free to celebrate the Mysteries.

  A policeman shivered.

  'And what's behind the door?' asked the walkie-talkie. 'Hold on, I'll open it. You men follow me.' There was a long pause.

  'Hello, Bilsheim. Hello, Bilsheim. Answer me, damn you! What can you see?'

  She heard a shot, then once more silence.

  'Say something, Bilsheim!'

  'Bilsheim speaking.'

  'Go ahead, tell us what's happening.'

  'There are rats. Thousands of them. They attacked us but we managed to drive them away' 'Was that the shot I heard?' 'Yes. They're lying low now.' 'Tell me what you can see.'

  'There's red everywhere you look, traces of ferrous rocks on the walls and blood on the ground. We're going on.'

  'Maintain radio contact. Why are you switching off?'

  'I'd rather do things my way than have you tell me what to do from a distance, if you don't mind.'

  'But Bilsheim . . .'

  Click. He had switched off.

  Satei was not exactly a port and it was not an advanced post either but it was certainly the Belokanian expeditions' favourite place for crossing the river.

  In ancient times, when the first ants of the Ni dynasty came to this stretch of water, they realized it would not be easy to cross. But an ant never gives up. If necessary, it will bang its head against an obstacle fifteen thousand times in fifteen thousand different ways until it either dies or the obstacle gives way.

  This might not seem a very logical way of proceeding and it has certainly cost the Myrmician civilization a good deal of time and lives but it has paid off. In the end, at the cost of enormous effort, ants have always succeeded in overcoming their difficulties.

  At Satei, the explorers had initially attempted to get across on foot. The skin on the water was strong enough to support their weight but they could not get a grip on it with their claws. They skated about on the edge of the water as if it were an ice-rink and could only take two steps forward and three steps sideways before being eaten by frogs.

  After a hundred fruitless attempts and the loss of several thousand explorers, the ants decided to try something else. Workers formed a chain holding each other by the legs and antennae until they reached the other side. That experiment might have worked if the river had not been so rough and wide. It left two hundred and forty thousand dead but the ants did not give up. At the instigation of their then queen, Biu-pa-ni, they tried to build a bridge of leaves, then a bridge of twigs, then a bridge of cockchafers, then a bridge of pebbles. Those four experiments cost the lives of nearly six hundred and seventy thousand workers. Biu-pa-ni had already killed more of her subjects to build the bridge of her dreams than all the territorial battles fought during her reign had.

  She did not give up for all that. They had to cross over into the eastern territories. After the bridges, she had the idea of bypassing the river by following it north to its source. None of those expeditions ever came back and they left eight thousand dead. Then she said to herself that the ants should learn how to swim. Fifteen thousand dead. Then she told herself the ants should try to tame the frogs. Sixty-eight thousand dead. Or glide across on leaves from the big tree. Fifty-two dead. Or walk under the water by weighting their legs with hardened honey. Twenty-seven dead. Legend had it that, when told that there were only a dozen unscathed workers left in the city and that they had to abandon the project for the time being, she had declared:

  Pity, I still had plenty of ideas left.

  The Federation ants came up with a satisfactory solution in the end, though. Three hundred thousand years later, Queen Lifoug-ryuni suggested to her daughters that they dig a tunnel under the river. It was so simple no-one had ever thought of it before.

  And that is why they could move about with ease under the river at Satei.

  103,683rd and 4,000th had been making their way along the famous tunnel for several degrees. It was damp inside but not actually running with water. The termite city was built on the other bank and the termites used the same underground passage for their incursions into federal territory. Until now, there had been a tacit agreement. There was no fighting in the passage and everyone, termite or ant, passed freely. But it was clear that if one of the two parties ever attempted to get the upper hand, the other would immediately try to block up or flood the passage.

  As they walked endlessly down the long gallery, their only problem was the cold. The mass of liquid above them was freezing and it was even colder underground. It was making them sluggish, and every step was more difficult than the last. They knew that if they fell asleep down there, they would hibernate for ever. They crawled towards the exit, drawing their last reserves of protein and sugar from their social crops. With their muscles about to seize up, they at last caught sight of the exit. When they came out into the open, 103,683rd and 4,000th were so cold they fell asleep in the middle of the path.

  Moving forward in single file like that along the narrow passageway made his mind go blank. There was nothing to think about here, you just had to keep on going until you got to the end. Always supposing there was an end.

  The six policemen had fallen silent behind him. Bilsheim could hear their harsh breathing and told himself he was the victim of an injustice.

  By now, he should have been a chief inspector on a decent salary. He was good at his job, put in long hours and had already solved a dozen or more cases. Only that Doumeng woman always blocked his promotion.

  Suddenly he could not stand it any longer.

  'Shit!'

  They all stopped.

  'Are you all right, Inspector?'

  'Yes, I'm fine. Keep moving.'

  Worst of all, he had even started talking to himself. He bit his lip and tried to pull himself together but he was brooding again not five minutes later.

 
He had nothing against women but he had something against incompetence. 'The old bitch can barely read and write, she's never conducted an investigation and she gets promoted to the top of the entire department of a hundred and eighty policemen. And she earns four times as much as me! Join the police, they said! She was appointed by her predecessor, probably screwed her way up. She never gives us any peace, either. She's a busy-body and a trouble-maker and she sabotages her own department by trying to be indispensable.'

  As he was turning these thoughts over in his mind, Bilsheim remembered a documentary he had seen about toads. They get so excited during the mating season that they jump on anything that moves: females, males and even stones. They squeeze the eggs they want to fertilize out of their partners' bellies. Those which squeeze females get rewarded for their pains. Those which squeeze males get nothing and change partners. Those which squeeze stones get sore arms and give up.

  But there are some which squeeze lumps of earth. The lump of earth is as soft as a female toad's belly so they do not stop squeezing. Their behaviour is sterile but they can carry on with it for days on end, thinking they are doing the right thing.

  The inspector smiled. Perhaps he should try explaining to old Solange that there were far more effective ways of going about things than being obstructive and causing stress. He did not really think it would do any good, though. After all, he told himself, he was probably the one who was out of place in the lousy department.

  The others behind him were also thinking dark thoughts. The silent descent was getting on all their nerves. They had been walking for five hours now without a break. Most of them were working out how much extra pay they would ask for when they got back. Others were thinking about their wives and children, their cars or a pack of beer.

  nothing: What greater pleasure is there than to stop thinking? To halt at last the flow of more or less useful or more or less important ideas. To stop thinking. To be as though dead yet still be able to come to life again. To be emptiness itself. To return to oneys very origins. To stop even being someone thinking about nothing. To be nothing. That is a worthwhile ambition.