turned round. He inspected the corridor with his infrared simple eyes but saw only red and black spots. There was no-one there. How strange. He must have been mistaken. But again he heard footsteps behind him. Scritch. . . tssss, scritch . . . tssss. It was someone who was limping on two of his six legs and getting nearer.
Just to make sure, he turned off each time he came to a crossroads, then paused. The sound stopped. As soon as he set off again, the scritch . . . tss, scritch . . . tss, scritch . . . tss, started again.
There was no doubt about it. Someone was following him.
Someone who hid when he turned round. Such strange behaviour was quite unprecedented. Why would one Tribe cell follow another without making itself known? They had nothing to hide from one another.
The 'presence' nevertheless persisted, always at a distance, always hidden. Scritch . . . tss, scritch . . . tss. How should he respond? While he was still a larva, the nurses had taught him he must always face up to danger. He stopped and pretended to wash. The presence was not far away now. He could almost smell it. As he mimed the gestures of washing, he moved his antennae and detected the scent molecules of his pursuer. It was a small, one-year-old warrior. She was giving off a strange scent that masked her usual ID and was not easy to define, like the smell of rock.
The small warrior had stopped hiding. Scritch . . . tssss . . scritch . . . tssss . . . He could see her now by infrared. She did indeed have two legs missing and the smell of rock was getting stronger.
He emitted.
Who's there?
There was no reply.
Why are you following me?
Still no reply.
He tried to put the incident out of his mind and set off again but soon detected a second presence coming the other way. A fat warrior this time. The gallery was narrow and he would not be able to get by.
Should he turn round? That would mean confronting the ant with the limp, who was catching up with him fast. He was cornered.
He could now sense that both ants were warriors and that both smelt of rock. The fat one opened her long shears. It was a trap.
It was unthinkable that one ant from the city should wish to kill another. Could the immune system have gone haywire? Had they not recognized his identification scents? Did they take him for a foreign body? It was quite insane, as if his stomach had decided to assassinate his intestines.
The 327th male increased the strength of his emissions:
Fm a Tribe cell like you. We belong to the same organism.
The soldiers were young and must be mistaken. But his chemical message failed to appease them. The small lame ant jumped on his back and held him by the wings, while the fat one squeezed his head between her mandibles. They dragged him off towards the rubbish heap under restraint.
The 327th male struggled to get free. With his sexual dialogue segment, he emitted a whole range of emotions quite unknown to asexual ants, ranging from incomprehension to panic.
To avoid being sullied by these 'abstract ideas', the ant with the limp, still clinging to his mesonotum, scraped his antennae with her mandibles. With this gesture, she removed all his pheromones, and in particular his passport scents. They would not be of much use to him where he was going anyway.
The sinister trio made its way breathlessly along little-used corridors, the small lame ant continuing her methodical cleaning as if anxious to leave n o trace of information on 327 th ’ s head. The male had stopped struggling. He had resigned himself to his fate and was preparing to die by slowing down his heartbeats.
'Why so much violence and hatred, brothers? Why? We are all one, children of the Earth and of God. Let us cease now our vain disputes. The twenty-second century will be a spiritual one, or will not be at all. Let us abandon our old quarrels based on pride and duplicity.
'Individualism is our true enemy. If a brother is in need and you allow him to die of hunger, you are no
Just to make sure, he turned off each time he came to a crossroads, then paused. The sound stopped. As soon as he set off again, the scritch . . . tss, scritch . . . tss, scritch . . . tss, started again.
There was no doubt about it. Someone was following him.
Someone who hid when he turned round. Such strange behaviour was quite unprecedented. Why would one Tribe cell follow another without making itself known? They had nothing to hide from one another.
The 'presence' nevertheless persisted, always at a distance, always hidden. Scritch . . . tss, scritch . . . tss. How should he respond? While he was still a larva, the nurses had taught him he must always face up to danger. He stopped and pretended to wash. The presence was not far away now. He could almost smell it. As he mimed the gestures of washing, he moved his antennae and detected the scent molecules of his pursuer. It was a small, one-year-old warrior. She was giving off a strange scent that masked her usual ID and was not easy to define, like the smell of rock.
The small warrior had stopped hiding. Scritch . . . tssss . . scritch . . . tssss . . . He could see her now by infrared. She did indeed have two legs missing and the smell of rock was getting stronger.
He emitted.
Who's there?
There was no reply.
Why are you following me?
Still no reply.
He tried to put the incident out of his mind and set off again but soon detected a second presence coming the other way. A fat warrior this time. The gallery was narrow and he would not be able to get by.
Should he turn round? That would mean confronting the ant with the limp, who was catching up with him fast. He was cornered.
He could now sense that both ants were warriors and that both smelt of rock. The fat one opened her long shears. It was a trap.
It was unthinkable that one ant from the city should wish to kill another. Could the immune system have gone haywire? Had they not recognized his identification scents? Did they take him for a foreign body? It was quite insane, as if his stomach had decided to assassinate his intestines.
The 327th male increased the strength of his emissions:
Fm a Tribe cell like you. We belong to the same organism.
The soldiers were young and must be mistaken. But his chemical message failed to appease them. The small lame ant jumped on his back and held him by the wings, while the fat one squeezed his head between her mandibles. They dragged him off towards the rubbish heap under restraint.
The 327th male struggled to get free. With his sexual dialogue segment, he emitted a whole range of emotions quite unknown to asexual ants, ranging from incomprehension to panic.
To avoid being sullied by these 'abstract ideas', the ant with the limp, still clinging to his mesonotum, scraped his antennae with her mandibles. With this gesture, she removed all his pheromones, and in particular his passport scents. They would not be of much use to him where he was going anyway.
The sinister trio made its way breathlessly along little-used corridors, the small lame ant continuing her methodical cleaning as if anxious to leave n o trace of information on 327 th ’ s head. The male had stopped struggling. He had resigned himself to his fate and was preparing to die by slowing down his heartbeats.
'Why so much violence and hatred, brothers? Why? We are all one, children of the Earth and of God. Let us cease now our vain disputes. The twenty-second century will be a spiritual one, or will not be at all. Let us abandon our old quarrels based on pride and duplicity.
'Individualism is our true enemy. If a brother is in need and you allow him to die of hunger, you are no
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