Y12
 
 

"As a thinker and planner, the ant is the equal of any savage race of men;

as a self-educated specialist in several arts she is the superior of any savage race of men;

and in one or two high mental qualities she is above the reach of any man..."

--Mark Twain

Chapter 7.

The Runnels family waits impatiently outside Ms. Willingham's office. Dierdra Willingham is in her second year as the Principal of Greenwood Hills Middle School, after teaching for twenty years, beginning in First Grade and ending in High School. Married, but with no children of her own, she feels almost as if all of the students she had taught through the years were her children.

She had struggled for years to work her way up through the school system, believing that she had to work harder than anyone else to get her shot at joining the administrative ranks. She feels strongly that classroom structure, gender roles, and outdated textbooks and other curriculum materials have hindered the progress of many students in the past, especially girls.

All the students know is that boys don't like having to go to Ms. Willingham's office.

"Welcome, Mr. and Ms. Runnels, Randy. I'm glad you were all able to be here. I think it's important that both parents be involved in these issues, and all too often, we are lucky to be able to talk to even one. Thank you for coming. Randy, would you like to tell us what you were thinking when you drew this?"

Randy shrugs his shoulders, "I don't know. I thought of it while playing on the playground. I saw them standing out there and drew them."

“What do you mean you ‘saw them’, Randy?” his mother asks. “Saw what?”, shooting a sideways glance at her husband. Randy replies without hesitation, “The ants. I saw them on the playground.” Lane and Turner Runnels look worriedly at each other, as if they know a troubling secret.

"Randy", Ms. Willingham says, "Would you please wait outside for us? We'll be finished soon. It was nice to see you." Randy stands up, walks outside the office, and sits on the bench in the hallway, slowly swinging his feet back and forth, so that the bottom of his shoes lightly scuff the polished floor.

"I'm concerned about Randy's behavior in class", Ms. Willingham starts, "His teachers report that he has difficulty sitting still. He fidgets and taps his pencil. He whistles during class, and sometimes makes odd noises. He forgets to turn in his homework, and well, his drawings are troubling. Have either of you noticed these types of behaviors at home?"

Turner jumps in, "Of course we have. We've been dealing with this since day one. It's difficult to deal with, and we have to work with his teachers a lot, but, believe it or not, he actually seems to be better now. He's a regular boy, though, and he likes to move around and do things." Lane adds, "He doesn't like to sit for long, and he draws constantly. It's hard to get him to concentrate at home, too. We've tried all the suggestions that have been offered by teachers over the years. It's been very hard to find things that reward him enough to make him change his behavior. We don't know what else to do."

"Well, Mr. and Ms. Runnels, I think I have another option for you to consider.", Ms. Willingham states tentatively, "We have had great success with a new treatment center for children Randy's age. They have a very high success rate." She shows them brochures for the S.O.L. (Systems for Optimal Learning) Center, a government subsidized medical facility, specifically designed to treat children, primarily boys, with learning difficulties caused by attention disorders. "The beauty of this program, and this facility in particular, is that there is no cost to you. It is a public facility, with 100% of the cost paid by government subsidies and private contributions. In a matter of days or weeks, your son will be back in school, with remarkable improvement in his ability to focus and learn. Does this sound like something you would like to look into?"

Turner and Lane Runnels take their time looking over the brochure, with photos of smiling children in front of the center's welcoming entrance sign, with its glowing sun-inspired logo.

“Do we really have a choice?” asks Lane, alluding to the case of the boy who was recently taken from school, against his parents' wishes. “Of course, you always have the choice,” says Ms. Willingham, “but if you send Randy voluntarily, you will have more control over what treatments he receives”. “Control?” Turner protests, “I don’t feel very much in control of any of this.”

“You know that my hands are tied in such cases”, the Principal complains. “I think you will be doing Randy a great service by taking advantage of this fine program, and by doing it voluntarily, you will be able to get him back home and in his regular school as quickly as possible.”

As they carefully pass the application back and forth, the concerned parents nod in agreement as they murmur and discuss how wonderful it would be for Randy to be able to perform better in school, and how great it is that it would be cost free.

A black SUV pulls up in front of the school. Three men, dressed in black suits, with black sunglasses, walk up the steps, turn down the hallway toward the Principal's office, and stop in front of Randy.

"Randy Runnels?" one of the men asks. Randy nods yes, frozen in terror at the sight of these mysterious, dark men. "Come with us." Two of the men each take one of Randy's arms, and all four begin walking to the front entrance of the school at such a fast pace that Randy barely manages to keep from dragging his feet.

The group quickly reaches the SUV. One gets in the driver's seat, one opens the rear door and gets in before Randy, and one after Randy. The fourth man, already standing by the open front passenger door, scans the area while speaking into a microphone hidden inside his sleeve, then ducks inside as the SUV begins to move. They hurriedly drive off, leaving behind a swirling cloud of dust.

"Don't worry, we'll handle everything. You won't even need to drive him there. Transportation is also provided free of charge. We'll get this going right away, so that he can get back even sooner. We'll keep you fully informed as to the progress of the treatment and when you can expect Randy to come home. You're doing the right thing." Ms. Willingham pats them on the shoulders as the three of them walk to the front door.

Chapter 8.

From ten feet off the ground, the long lines of ants going to and from the newly discovered food source in the forest move like blood vessels. Closer, the lines almost look like cars during rush hour on the freeway, end to end, no gaps between them. As the ants pass each other, they touch antennae, passing to each other the Queen’s marker signature that identifies the members of the colony. In one quick touch, friends and enemies are identified.

A fork in the trail causes a break in the train of ants. Most are able to backtrack and find their way back. One male ant continues in the wrong direction, and is unable to find his way back to the trail. He circles, trying to recapture the marker “scent”.

On the food trail, every few steps, his fellow ants touch their stingers to the ground, leaving the neurotransmitter roadmap to the food and back to the colony. Now, having wandered from the chemical trail, the lost ant casts back and forth, waving his antennae in a vain attempt to smell for some sign of the correct path.

From somewhere, a very small hint of something familiar tingles the base of his antennae. "Maybe this is the way", he thinks out loud. He quickly moves toward the scent. His pace quickens as he nears the opening in the grass. The tall grass makes it almost impossible to see more than a few steps ahead, but he moves steadily toward what he hopes will be the trail.

As he leaps from the grass into the opening, he realizes it is not the trail, but a small area of cleared grass. Disappointed, he drops his head and wonders how long it will take to get back. Something rustles in the grass around him, and he lifts his head. First, one ant steps through slowly and stands just inside the clearing, directly in front of him. One by one, a dozen ants step into the clearing, and surround him completely. He anxiously studies these silent strangers, unable to detect any scent that would identify them as friend or foe. They do not seem to have any recognizable scent at all. He waves his antennae aimlessly, frozen in indecision.

The strangers do not look like members of his Queen's colony. In fact, they don't look like they are all from a single colony. They aren't even the same color. Some have jaws with sharp teeth used to tear and chew other insects, while others have the stronger, duller jaws used to harvest seeds. Some have rounded heads, while others have more square shaped heads. Some have eyes more to the front, and some were more to the side.

This group of ants seems to be a combination of representatives from many colonies, but they are all dressed in similar style, and all have weapons that appear to have been made in the same fashion, from similar materials. They wear body armor which accents and augments their natural exoskeletons. Their headgear appear to be helmet-like, while leaving considerable room for jaw movement. Each carries what appears to be a spear or lance, fabricated from one of two materials, some of which appear to be a crystal or glass, and others which are shaped from salvaged metal shavings.

One ant steps forward. "You are no longer a member of your colony", he commands. "I am Barbatus." He slowly turns in a circle, gesturing with his arm for the lost ant to notice the group. "We were all once members of different colonies, but no more. You may join us, or you may leave. It is your choice."

The lost ant cocks his head, confused. "Why do you say I am no longer a member of my colony, if I am free to go?" Barbatus responds, "You will be free to leave, after we have collected specimens of your colony's chemical keys. We need the keys to be able to safely avoid being detected and attacked by your former colony. You will not be harmed, but you will no longer be recognized by your colony. If you decide not to remain with our group, I suggest that you not try to return to your colony. If you do, you will not be recognized as a colony member, and I’m sure you know what happens when your colony finds a stranger in its midst."

The stranger gulps, having seen the Queen's soldiers tear apart invading ants from other colonies. "Yes, but surely they will recognize me. All I have to do is find the trail. Will you help me find it?"

"We will take you to the trail, after we have collected the necessary keys from you. You will be free to return to your colony, but I strongly suggest that you reconsider. After a couple of days away from our colonies, we all began to notice that we didn't want to return. You will learn how to find your own food, and when you do not need the Queen's food, you will find that you want to leave the colony forever."

"I don't think so", protests the lost ant. "I want to get back to the colony, as fast as possible. Just hurry up and take what you need, and help me get back to the trail."

An ant with a red head and black body approaches the lost ant. Bike, short for P. Bicolor, moves closer to collect the chemical keys from this latest donor. He takes a specially shaped metal sliver that has one side sharpened to a fine edge, and gently scrapes the stinger of the lost ant. Slowly, the liquid emerges and is collected in Bike's pouch.

"All finished", Bike says, flatly. Barbatus adds, "It's getting dark. We'll return to camp for the night and take you to the trail in the morning. Thank you for your help. I hope you'll reconsider and stay with us. There won't be much of a future for you with your old colony. Rugosus, please watch over our guest until morning." Rugosus, usually called upon as the enforcer of the group, firmly grasps the the newcomer. "Come with me."

As he is escorted away, the lost ant thinks to himself, "There's a lot more of a future there than here. Ants belong with the colony and the Queen, not out here." The group moves quickly and quietly to their camp, only a few minutes away, near the base of a cedar tree, and settles in for the night.