A Rustle in the Grass Page 2

  He was not a particularly distinctive figure as ants go. He was of modest size for a soldier, and his relatively youthful age – this was only his second spring – and low ranking gave him no great air of authority. His slender body was evidently built for speed rather than robustness, and there was nothing remarkable about the size of either mandibles or sting to mark him out as an adversary to beware of. The one distinguishing feature was his antennae. Unusually long and supple, they explored the air with a positive, curving grace which indicated a high degree of sensitivity and precision in function. Indeed the main characteristic of Dreamer's whole personality was awareness; an eager, slightly uncertain curiosity and consciousness about everything that went on around him. It contrasted oddly with a certain reserve in his make-up, a caution, almost an aloofness which kept him apart from the majority of his associates; a background figure, a watcher, a waiter. On the whole they mistrusted him for it, or at least were wary of him, for detachment is not a quality ants are at ease with. And this mistrust was, if anything, increased by another idiosyncracy which only manifested itself when he was asleep, when his whisperings, shivers and tiny spasms were an outward indication of the workings of his subconscious mind. It was this further strange and secret mental activity which had earned him, from his curious and sometimes amused fellows, his otherwise somewhat inappropriate name.

  He was now some half-morning's journey from the base mound, heading upstream, following the faint insect trail which threaded its way through the stems of the narrow strip of grassland between water and forest. He had left shortly after dawn, in the midst of the earliest burst of waking activity, and had only been able to fill his crop with a few dried seeds and scraps from the almost exhausted winter food stores, so his long-fasted body was now feeling compulsive hunger pangs. It was animal protein in particular that he craved, and his scent organs were alert for evidence of a source. He knew it should not take him long to find one: the earth was busy with newly aroused life in all its forms; the grasses resounded with the scurrying of insect feet, the air hummed with the beat of diaphanous wings. For the most part such individuals abroad paid little attention to each other, beyond keeping a cautious distance apart – they were mostly concerned with avoiding hunters of a larger and feathered kind – but now and then a sudden fierce rustle amongst the vegetation, or the silver flash of dew on a shaking web of silken threads suspended above his head, told Dreamer that other creatures beside himself had a long period of starvation to make up for.

  Suddenly he stopped, his feelers quivering. He had caught a whiff of one of the scents he had been seeking. He crept cautiously off the track to one side, and threaded his way with delicate step through the grass stalks. Now he could hear sounds which confirmed his suspicions: a nervous scrabbling and the patter of falling earth particles. He emerged from behind the cover of a dandelion plant, and there in front of him a little ground beetle was frantically covering her new-laid batch of eggs in their hiding place in the soft soil. So engrossed with her task was she that she was quite unaware of his approach, and he carefully scanned the surrounding scene for other sources of danger, before warning her of his presence. This he did by simply moving round until he came within her field of vision, which also, coincidentally, brought him upwind of her, his scent reaching her at the same time. She stopped her activity instantly, stared in his direction and chattered at him angrily. He moved slowly towards her, his sting curved warningly forward underneath his body. She redoubled her irate chatter, waving her puny mandibles in his direction in a futile show of aggression, but then, when she saw that he was not to be deterred, she slowly backed away from the half-covered nest of eggs. He slipped forward and seized one of the soft, succulent globes between his mandibles. Watching the furious ground beetle warily, he swallowed the egg whole, gulping it down to his food crop as a future source of nourishment. Then he took another, and this time clutching it in his jaws, backed away from the nest leaving the indignant mother to return and hurriedly complete her task of concealment, all the while continuing her stream of outraged invective at the thief.

  Dreamer backed off amongst the grasses once more and found himself a secluded spot under a clover leaf, where he consumed the second egg at leisure. It was the first fresh food he had tasted in over four months and he savoured the experience, biting leisurely into the nutritious texture, swallowing it with indulgent relish. When he had finished the last morsel he cleaned off his mandibles and antennae with his hair-covered forelegs, paused a moment to enjoy the sensation of a full stomach and renewed energy, and then made his way back towards the trail.

  Reaching the path, he was about to step out on to it from the protective cover of the grasses when something made him withdraw. He had caught the sound of a creature approaching from ahead up the track. He slid behind a thicket of stems and waited, his body crouched low on the ground to withhold his scent from the ubiquitous air currents. The sounds grew nearer. Whatever was making them was a smallish being, judging by the vibration strength of its footfalls, yet it seemed strangely incautious, hurrying along with erratic steps and nervous panting breath. Dreamer stayed motionless until he caught a waft of the other's scent, which came before any visual glimpse. It told him several things. The creature was an ant – of his own species but not from his colony. All members of the same colony have a distinctive scent, produced by the particular Queen from whom they are descended, which ensures instant identification. There is also a subtle difference between the scents of the various castes, caused by the varying maturation periods of the young ants in their larval stages. Worker-ants for instance are hatched out before the winter comes, or just after it is over, whereas the larvae of future soldier-ants are left to mature and develop throughout the winter and spring, to hatch in the more plentiful time of year. The approaching ant was a worker.

  Dreamer waited until he caught a glimpse through the grass stems, and then he stepped out on to the path in front of him. The other, a small, bedraggled creature in an evident state of exhaustion and distress, halted and shied back in terror. Then, realizing that Dreamer was not a foe, he gasped with relief and approached urgently. Dreamer surveyed his tottering stance and mud-spattered body and spoke gently.

  'Where are you from? What is the trouble?'

  The ant answered in a breathless, disjointed gabble: 'It was red ants . . . killers . . . hundreds of them! Came out of the forest . . . overran the whole colony . . . killed everyone . . . including our Queen . . . stole all the larvae . . . ransacked everywhere!' His antennae were waving frantically in his agitation. 'I saw it all . . . I was up a tree, scouting for a new spring pasture for our aphid-bug herd . . . none of them bothered to go that high . . . but I saw everything . . . they just appeared . . . hundreds of them . . . soldiers, every one . . . very big . . . and they just killed . . . and killed and killed!' On and on he chattered in a compulsive stream of half-completed phrases. It was as if the trauma of the experience had lain and fermented inside him throughout his night of sleepless journeying, until now at last, when he had met someone to whom he could unburden himself of his awful tale, it came pouring out in an unstoppable, near hysterical flood.

  Dreamer listened in silence. He did not question, he did not interrupt, he did not move. He had never heard such a harrowing description, first-hand, in all his relatively short life. He was used of course to witnessing conflict and death. He had been educated and trained in the violent and ruthless ways of Nature – such processes were accepted as an inevitable and necessary part of any insect's life – but he had never before encountered such an example of wanton, indiscriminate slaughter, such a vivid incidence of ruthless aggression. He was able to picture the scene with distressing clarity, for he was familiar with the location of the massacre. The colony was a small, single-Queen settlement about a night's march from his own home. It was one of a number of lesser satellite mounds situated on the fringe of the major colony's territory, a night's march being the maximum distance any ant will usual
ly venture from his base, thus necessitating never more than a night and day's absence. The presence of these mounds was permitted by tacit agreement, providing, as it did, mutual benefits for all: the smaller colonies acting as lookout posts and warning systems for the central mound, whilst receiving a degree of protection in return. And now this harmless, unpretentious little community was no more.

  Dreamer stood motionless, but inside he was a mass of unfamiliar emotions. It was as if he had had a revelation; as if the disclosure that there was naked, apparently purposeless Evil in the universe had come as a new realization to his innocent, hitherto trusting self. The world had seemed a basically benign place – fierce, yes; competitive, hazardous – but only out of necessity, only as an essential condition of the system of existence. Now, suddenly, he was aware that there were elements at work other than mere natural forces; that somewhere within the Lord of the Stars' domain differing codes were in operation, a moral debate existed. It was a momentous discovery.

  He waited until the little worker-ant had talked himself out and was standing in silence, drained and exhausted; then he touched the other's feelers reassuringly with his own and said gently, 'All right. We must go and warn my colony. We must inform the leaders. Follow me.' And he turned and led the way back at as good a pace as the smaller ant could manage.

  5

  'Here comes Black Sting! Black Sting is returning!' The relieved whisper rippled around the clearing and up into the mound, where life was gradually coming back to normal and work had commenced again, albeit with some reluctance and lack of purpose.

  Out of the trees and across the grassland, followed by his two habitual attendants, came running the most magnificent of ants. Powerfully built, yet with the long legs and sinewy thorax that indicated great speed and agility; fiercely curving mandibles carried high on a sternly arrogant head; and behind, the long, lethal, darkly coloured sting that gave him his name – the commander of the soldiers was indeed a formidable looking individual. It was not merely that he was a splendid physical specimen; there was too a certain grandeur about his personality – a directness and an authority which seemed to say that destiny, however awesome it might appear, whatever terrors it might present, would never intimidate him.

  Behind, his two lieutenants were as easily recognizable as himself. One was a huge, squat creature, lumbering on thick, short legs, which at this moment were having considerable difficulty in enabling him to keep up. There was an expression of ironic complacency on his massive head, which advertised that he had nothing to fear from any source, and no one to answer to. Named Dew-Lover, on account of his fondness for honey-dew–that great opiate of ants everywhere – he was perhaps the most feared personality in the colony, because of his gigantic strength and his lack of qualms about using it, though none would deny that this entitled him to his rank: in the ant world, might is irrefutably right.

  The other was Snake's Tongue. An extraordinarily long, lean insect, he was named not only for his lightning speed and reactions in battle but also for his habit of maintaining an enigmatic silence in company and then suddenly breaking it with a quietly delivered observation which went to the heart of the matter with a directness that some found uncomfortable.

  This impressive threesome had been located on their scouting trip off in the forest somewhere, and, having been informed of the death of Thunderer, were returning urgently for the emergency meeting of the Council that would inevitably follow. Worker- and soldier-ants on their path stood aside respectfully to let them pass, and as he came Black Sting took careful note of their apprehensive expressions.

  We shall have to move fast, he observed to himself, or the colony's morale will fall to pieces. The thought was a disturbing one for him. It was not just that he possessed the good soldier's practical regard for the well-being of those in his command. Behind Black Sting's forbidding exterior there lay a real concern; he cared with a fierce patriotism for the welfare of the community with whose protection he was entrusted. In his proud and autocratic way he was an intensely moral being.

  The three had reached the mound and were now ascending the lower slopes. On their way up they passed a group of older worker-ants gathering together, nodding and muttering amongst themselves. They were centred around Old Five Legs, whose gnarled frame bulked solidly in their midst, a focal point of calm imperturbability. Black Sting took note of those present as he drew level.

  The worker-ants' leaders getting together to discuss the situation, he thought. Doubtless they'll want a say at the Council meeting. We must be prepared for that. He nodded briefly to Five Legs as he passed, receiving a deferential wave of the antennae in return. At least we can rely on him to keep his head, he reflected.

  A moment later Dew-Lover's harsh, growling voice made him stop and turn. The huge ant had turned aside to the gathering of workers and was accosting them in his usual gruffly intimidating manner: 'All right, let's get back to work shall we? There's no need to stand around all day talking about it. Leave that to the Council.'

  He waved his ponderous feelers at them imperiously and the little group began to break up with glowering, resentful glances.

  'It's all right, Dew-Lover,' said Black Sting quietly. 'These are special circumstances. I think we can allow some discussion.'

  The big ant lumbered over to him, and growled, 'We don't want to let them do too much discussing. They might start getting ideas.'

  Black Sting glanced at the group, who were hesitating uncertainly. 'Better they should do it in the open than in secret,' he said. 'After all, they are bound to have their feelings about the occasion.'

  'That's what worries me,' muttered the other.

  Snake's Tongue was standing, impassively observing the situation. He offered no comment. Black Sting looked at Dew-Lover with a hint of amusement.

  'Who knows,' he said, 'they might have some useful suggestions to make.' He turned away. 'Come, I want to address the officers before going on to the Council meeting. They too will no doubt be having their feelings.' And he continued on up the slope, forcing the other two to follow and leave the old workers to resume their meeting.

  They soon reached one of the tunnel mouths, where a milling crowd of ants fell back to let them pass. The little group entered the darkness of the passageway where, with the effectiveness of the keenest eyesight, their antennae took over full responsibility for guiding them. They sped down the well-trodden route, threading their way through the busy throng, past the openings to ventilation and drainage shafts, dwelling and storage chambers and the mouths of other linking tunnels, until a subtle change in temperature and in the texture of the earthen walls told them that they were below the outside ground level. Here the angle of the tunnel was not so steep but the maze of interconnecting passages and chambers was even more complex. The thoroughfares were not so crowded now, for these were regions where only the most illustrious and privileged denizens came with regularity, and the traffic consisted mostly of senior citizens, Council members and high-ranking soldiers, almost all moving in the same downhill direction.

  The three soldiers came to a major junction of tunnels, where Black Sting turned off from the main stream of ants, travelled a little way further and then entered a wide chamber. Here, as in many of the larger communal chambers, a direct ventilation shaft admitted a very faint light, and by this he could see that most of his officers were already gathered, conversing together in groups, the sound of their tense discussion filling the air. At the entrance of the three this talk rapidly ceased, a hush fell over the assembly and a space was automatically cleared in the centre of the floor. Black Sting strode into the space, his antennae held aloft, his eyes firmly scanning the gathering in a deliberate show of resolute confidence. He spoke with brisk authority.

  'You have all heard the news. Great Thunderer is no longer with us.' He paused momentarily and looked steadily round the chamber. Not a limb moved, not a breath was heard. 'His reign has given us a long period of stability and prosperity. But inevi
tably his passing leaves us with an alarming gap in the chain of authority. I have often pressed for a delegation of power to prepare us for this very eventuality, but such was Thunderer's dominance in the Council that it never came about, and so now we are caught at the end of this Long Sleep in a state of dangerous vulnerability.' Once more he looked round at the assembled ants. 'The responsibility is with us soldiers to maintain the discipline and security of the whole colony until such time as the succession has been decided. I want you all to be on your guard. I want you to listen for any signs of discontent. I want you to watch for hints of insurrection from any direction. We must preserve the traditions and the strength of our community at all costs. I know I can count on your loyalty.'

  He finished speaking and there was a moment's pensive silence in the chamber. Then an ant in the front of the throng spoke up. 'Will Great Head now take over the leadership of the Council?'

  Black Sting nodded. 'For the moment. But he is old now also, and his energy is fading. I know he will not want to take all the responsibilities of power on his back for long.'

  'Who then is there to take his place?' asked another voice.

  'That is what has to be decided,' replied Black Sting. 'It may be that we have to evolve a new system of command now that Thunderer is no longer here. It may be that a new figurehead will arise. Who knows.' A fleeting sparkle of amusement crossed his features. 'No doubt there will be a lot of hot wind and thunder before it is decided.'

  'I think you should be the one to take command, leader,' said a third member of the ranks, and at this there was a general murmur of agreement and nodding of heads, as if all had been thinking the same thing but none had dared to say it.