We Trade With Ants: Plague

This is the latest entry in a series of short stories. 

Previous chapter: The Little Speakers.

Our last story ended with protagonists Jeff Boudreaux and Anastasia Demoupoulous inheriting a mysterious box and highly detailed notebook from Anastasia's delusional grandfather. The notebook is entitled "How to Talk to Ants" and it's the real deal; the two make linguistic contact with a colony of sapient carpenter ants, and enter formal trade relations when they agree on a treaty to get the ants to stay out of the house in exchange for water.

“Anastasia, we have a problem,” said Jeff, huddled over the communicator’s morning messages.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“Something is killing the ants. They seem extremely agitated. They keep messaging about some kind of disaster and lots of dead workers.”

“Oh no!” she said, as her heart raced. Jeff and Anastasia still weren’t sure how many extant colonies there might be; for all they knew these could be the only talking ants in the whole world. If something were to happen to them… the thought was unbearable. “Jeff, what are we going to do?”

“First we need to figure out what’s wrong with them. If they’re under attack from something, we could always intervene. I just took a look outside and I don’t see anything superficially wrong; I don’t see any foreign ants or other bugs in the vicinity. I’m just waiting for a reply to my latest message now. Ah – here it comes.”

Anastasia leaned over Jeff’s shoulder as a message flashed on the screen in Humantish characters. This was the ants' reply to Jeff’s question, “what is killing you?”

We do not have a Humantish word for it.
We propose a new word: killer-smell-bad-no-see-no-hear

The ants continued:

It is everywhere. It has no sound. It has no soldiers. It has a bad smell. We cannot stop it.

Jeff highlighted the text that formed the new compound word “killer-bad-smell-we-no-see-we-no-hear” and brought up a menu. This would let him assign a human-side-only name to the underlying Humantish text in the communicator’s dictionary. He entered “<stink demon>” and hit enter. From now on, whenever the ants messaged that particular pattern of phonemes, it would display as “<stink demon>” on Jeff’s side of the communicator. The angle brackets indicated that this was a temporary placeholder label, Jeff’s best guess so far at its meaning, but not one he had much confidence in.

Jeff messaged back, “has <stink demon> attacked you before?”

Yes, replied the ants. <Stink demon> is an old enemy.
<Stink demon> attacks good ants and bad ants and foreigners.
Usually we spray it with acid and it dies.
This <stink demon> is the strongest we have met.
Please help us.

Jeff wrote back: “We will help you. Please say more.”

“Well,” said Jeff, turning to face Anastasia, “What do you think we’re actually dealing with here?”

Anastasia’s hands gripped her coffee cup. “Plague. It must be plague. They can smell it but they can’t see or hear it. It’s killing them but it has no 'soldiers' of its own, so it's not an invader. It has to be a sickness of some sort. Either that or a parasite that's spreading through the colony.”

Jeff nodded. “Or a fungus, or some other sort of infection or pathogen. It fits.” Jeff pulled up the dictionary and replaced “<stink demon>” with “[plague]”, the square brackets indicating higher confidence in the word’s meaning.

“Fungus?” gasped Anastasia. “You don’t think it’s… that cordyceps fungus? The one in the documentaries, the one they put in that video game about zombies you're always playing? Doesn’t the real version infect ants?”

“I’d always thought cordyceps were a tropical thing, they’re always in rain forests and stuff… but then again, what do I know? Anyways, we don’t have a lot of time. Whatever we need to do for these ants, we need to do it quickly. They seem really desperate. Here, let me google their symptoms…”

“Jeff, Jeff, wait!” shouted Anastasia. “Let’s take a minute and think about this. Let’s be honest with ourselves–we’ve both learned a lot about ants since this all began but neither of us is a biologist, let alone an entomologist. These ants need expert medical care. There’s no AntWebMD to punch their symptoms into, and even if there was–and even if we trusted the results–what are we supposed to do, pick up their prescription at Walgreens? We’re way out of our depth here.”

“I mean, plenty of people keep ant farms as pets, I bet they get sick sometimes…”

“And I’m sure they do, and I’m sure you could probably find something online that pattern matches, and it would probably work, but… probably isn’t good enough. We have to get this right on the very first try.”

Jeff thought for a second. “You’re right. We need professional help.”

Anastasia and Jeff looked at each other. “You know what this means,” said Jeff.

Anastasia nodded. “Yes, it means we have to trust someone.”

“You know this could very well leak their existence to the world, and then it’s totally out of our hands.”

“I know,” said Anastasia. “but we don’t have a choice. If we don’t take this risk, and the ants go extinct, we’ll never forgive ourselves.”

Jeff picked up his phone. “I know exactly who to call.”

He paused as his finger hovered above the send button. “Last chance. Speak now or forever hold your peace.”

Anastasia nodded.

Jeff dialed.

Kevin Zhang, PhD candidate in entomology at Texas A&M University, and former roommate of one Jeff Boudreaux, arrived a few hours later.

“Alright Jeff, where’s the fire? You said this was a matter of life and death.”

“It is. Kevin, you have to swear to me you won’t tell anyone about this.”

Kevin hesitated. “What am I walking into here Jeff?” he asked, trying to peer around Jeff's shoulder into the open doorway behind him. “Have you already called the police and paramedics?”

Jeff shook his head. “Nothing like that. The matter is urgent but nobody's actively bleeding to death, so just–here, this is going to take some explaining. Just–come here, I have a video you need to watch.”

Jeff pulled up his laptop and navigated to a folder labeled “emergency_vids,” then double-clicked on a file with the name “for_kevin.mp4.”

“I recorded and edited these a few months ago just in case we ever needed to explain everything on short notice. This one is tailored specifically for you, Kevin.” Jeff looked Kevin in the eye. “We’ve been through a lot together, Kevin.”

Kevin nodded. He recalled the fateful night two years ago when Jeff had saved his life. They were both at a house party when Kevin had stumbled and fallen backwards into a glass coffee table, badly lacerating his left arm. Jeff, an eagle scout, had jumped into action, fashioning a tourniquet from his T-shirt and a screwdriver that kept Kevin stable until the paramedics arrived. If not for Jeff’s quick thinking, Kevin could have easily bled out then and there. “Well, I do certainly owe you one,” said Kevin, rubbing the scar.

Jeff played the video.

Kevin sat in stunned silence at what he had just seen. Either this was the most elaborate prank of all time, Jeff had gone absolutely mental or… Kevin couldn’t stop thinking of the footage. Jeff wasn’t a computer graphics guy, and that footage was good. The lighting and framing was authentically amateurish despite the use of an appropriate macro lens, the camera movement convincingly mediocre, and most importantly, the ants were all anatomically accurate and their motion entirely naturalistic.

A well funded professional VFX team could animate sufficiently convincing digital ants to fool a layman, but not a trained entomologist. Not with this level of attention to detail. And certainly not on someone like Jeff's budget. [Editor's note: and not in 2015, when the story is set].

That only left the possibility of deceptive editing and other sleights of hand. Extraordinary claims require extraordinary evidence, thought Kevin. And well, that video is pretty damn extraordinary. But is it extraordinary enough?

Kevin paused for a moment to consider. Well, this is either real or it isn’t. If I just follow along and keep observing I guess I'll find out. And if it is real… Well, be honest with yourself, Kevin. That would be incredibly cool. God, I hope it’s real. Man, I'm going to be so disappointed when I find out it's not real.

“Let’s say I believe you for now,” Kevin finally said. “What’s the life or death problem?”

“The ants are sick.” said Anastasia. “And we don’t know how many others like them even exist. We’re afraid that if these ones die the whole species could go extinct.”

“So that’s why you called.” Kevin grinned. “You need a bug veterinarian.”

Jeff smiled weakly. “Exactly. Think you can help us?”

“Well, let me set some expectations,” said Kevin. “I don’t have my PhD yet, and I’m not a myrmecologist–that's the word for an ant specialist. All that said, this is still within my wheelhouse because my specialty is hymenopterans–that’s the insect order ants, bees, sawflies and wasps all belong to, and my advisor and I have done plenty of work with ants. I’ll do my best, but don’t expect miracles."

"Understood," said Jeff.

"And speaking of miracles..." said Kevin, "this is either the greatest scientific breakthrough in the history of mankind, or merely the most elaborate surprise party anyone's ever thrown for me. Either way I'm looking forward to a fun day."

"Your birthday's next week, you dork." said Jeff.

"See?" said Kevin, nodding to Anastasia. "He remembered! What a sweetheart."

Kevin pointed at the communicator. “Now show me how this works. I need to interview my patients.”

Kevin looked up from the communicator and laughed. “Of course!”

“What is it?” Anastasia asked, fretfully.

Kevin spun the swivel chair around and clapped his hands. “Affluenza! Your ants have an acute case of affluenza!”

“Is that like the flu, or…” asked Jeff.

“Affluenza as in ‘sickness caused by too much affluence', too much wealth. I’ll have to take some samples to confirm the diagnosis, but I’ll bet you fifty bucks these little guys are dealing with a mold problem. They’ve gotten so successful and wealthy by trading with you, that their natural hoarding instincts have betrayed them. In the natural environment, they’ve never experienced the problem of having too much food. Now they do, it’s spoiling, and the mold is making them sick.”

“Doesn't food sometimes go bad though? They said they'd dealt with lesser plagues before. Something about spraying acid," said Jeff.

“They said the same to me," said Kevin, "and it tracks. When ants first began living in tight quarters among closely related individuals, they ran into the exact same problem urbanizing humans would tens of millions of years later–rampant plagues. Since then, every species has evolved its own robust defense. What likely happened here is that circumstances conspired to spike that ancient threat to a level they weren't prepared for."

“First, let's consider the species: the dead worker specimens I looked at under the microscope bear a close resemblance to Camponotus Pennsylvanicus, black carpenter ants. That's relevant because ants in this group lost their metapleural gland sometime in its evolutionary history. I'm sure you don't know what a metapleural gland is, but all you need to know is other ant species rely on it for antibiotic and disinfectant purposes. C. Pennsylvanicus compensates by treating suspect food with formic acid, but it's still possible they were slightly more vulnerable than other ants to start with."

"Second, weather: it's been raining non stop lately. That's driven up the moisture levels to the threshold that mold really likes, thwarting the ants' efforts to keep their nest nice and dry. Even worse, it's kept them holed up, preventing them from emptying spoiling food into the trash middens outside their nest."

"Third, human intervention: you've been trading with them and feeding them. And not just their usual diet, but all kinds of wet, juicy foods high in sugars and proteins. These ants have a 'store now, sort and clean later' hoarding mentality, and although they're usually very good at keeping their pantries clean, the sheer volume of what they've been bringing in, combined with the sudden shock of the last few days of nonstop rainy weather, probably built a backlog of moldy trash they haven't been able to clear in time. In short, the mold hit critical mass and began growing faster than they could clean it out."

“Is there anything we can do?” said Jeff.

“This happens a lot in ant farms kept by amateurs when they overfeed their ants. Now, mold can be a serious problem if it gets out of hand. Once I’ve confirmed what we’re dealing with, the treatment is pretty straightforward: remove the pathogen from the environment, gently and cautiously administer a carefully chosen antifungal, introduce a temporary desiccant, and stop overfeeding the ants.”

Kevin stopped for a moment and looked thoughtful. “We’re in a privileged situation. Since we can talk to these ants, we can also teach them advanced hygiene! We can tell them what signs to look for above and beyond their natural instincts, and help them better calibrate to a world of abundance. If the worst comes to worst and we need to evacuate the whole colony, we could even let them organize the exodus themselves rather than trying to scoop them out traumatically by hand.”

Kevin discussed the details of his prospective treatment plan while Jeff asked the ants to bring out some samples of the presumably infected food. Kevin inspected a few specimens under the microscope and said, “Yep, it’s mold all right. Most likely a Penicillium. Let’s get to work.”

Kevin crafted a detailed treatment plan which Jeff dutifully translated into Humantish while Anastasia ran to the store for supplies. Within a few hours the treatment had begun, and the ants soon began to disinfect their colony.

“Here's a detailed nutrition plan, and some basic prevention tips concerning mold and excess moisture.”

Jeff groaned. “You’re going to need to be more specific. And then I’m going to have to figure out how to put that in terms they’ll understand…” He and Kevin spent the next hour or so working out how exactly to express this and many other highly technical details in Humantish.

Finally the work was done. Kevin checked back in over the next few days to ensure the ants’ health were improving. A week later, the ants happily reported that they were feeling much better and that the plague had vanished.

Kevin smiled. “You’re going to have to get more creative in trading with them now that they know they can’t just hoard infinite amounts of food. Figure out if talking ants have their own version of Maslow’s hierarchy of needs or something.”

Sometime later Jeff, Anastasia, and Kevin found themselves sitting around Anastasia's kitchen table, discussing the future.

“So what's the plan, guys?” Kevin looked at each of them in turn. “Are you just going to keep a lid on this, forever? Are you ever going to tell the world?”

Anastasia shook her head. “I don’t know. Probably eventually we’ll have to talk. This plague was a real scare, and showed us how vulnerable they really are. If something were to happen to them… I’d never forgive myself.”

Kevin nodded. “...but that’s also why you’re afraid to tell anyone. Because then something might happen to them.”

Anastasia nodded again. Jeff put his arm around her and nodded as well.

“You have my word. I won’t tell.” swore Kevin. “Now, you realize that means I'm passing on becoming the most famous entomologist of all time.”

“I know,” said Jeff. "And I wanted to talk about that. Let's just be totally honest and frank with each other. Cards on the table. What's stopping you?"

"My promise, for one," said Kevin. "Do you doubt that?"

"No, I believe you," said Jeff. "But that by itself isn't enough and you and I both know it. A scientific bombshell of this magnitude would tempt even the most scrupulous rule-follower to go back on his word."

Kevin sighed. "You're absolutely right. The real reason you can trust me–in addition to my word–is that, well, I'm as scared as you are. Scared of what might happen next if this all falls into the wrong people's hands. We're on the same page there."

Kevin paused.

"But."

He continued: "There's something you two need to seriously consider, and me as well. What if we are the wrong people? You were right to bring me in over this crisis, and you were also right to conclude that each widening of the circle of trust is a risk to the ants' welfare and maybe even their existence. But so could not telling. Either way, there will come a day, not too long from now, when you're going to need serious resources and expertise."

Kevin fished around in his pocket and pulled out a USB stick. “Take this,” he said. “This contains everything a layman needs to know about the care and feeding of these little guys… basic ant care stuff, but it includes a lot of subtle details I’ve learned from working with this species. And I hope you don't mind if I start making regular visits; that's table stakes for both my sake and theirs.”

“Absolutely,” said Jeff.

“There’s another matter to discuss,” said Kevin. “Reproduction. I guarantee you the colonies in your backyard are not the only ones out there. Maybe you already know this, but young queens and males have wings and reproduce in nuptial flights which can take them quite a ways away from their original homes. There's no way these are the only ones.”

“That said," he continued, "I strongly recommend you coordinate with the little speakers and make some backup colonies. Related species are polydomous–that means they tend to produce satellite nests–so I suspect you have at least one extra colony in your backyard already. We don’t know how many there are in the wild, but we do know that this one is the only one to ever have contacted humans. We can and should give them much more room to spread out, away from prying eyes.”

“What do you suggest?” asked Anastasia.

“I own some land just out of town, bought it from an old Ag last year. It’s nice and private, no nosy neighbors, no toxic runoff from your neighbors' lawn, no overbearing homeowners’ association that’s going to start asking questions when a bunch of carpenter ants start popping up everywhere…”

Jeff thought for a minute. “So we wouldn’t have to tell anyone, at least not yet?”

Kevin shook his head. “No, not yet. All you have to do is trust me, and, well, you’ve already crossed that bridge. Honestly, keeping the ants in your suburban backyard makes them more likely to be discovered.”

“How will we relocate them all?” asked Anastasia.

Kevin shrugged. “Same way we get them to do anything. Make it worth their while. If we tell them what we’re planning and give them the proper incentives, most of them will probably go along with it. Build some containers and let them march right into them, then pack them up in a pickup truck and drive over to the property. Could get it all done in a couple of days max. Probably best to do it at night.”

“Will the ants want to leave the home they’ve lived in all their lives?” asked Jeff.

“Believe it or not, ants perform complete evacuations and relocations of their nests more often than you’d think. Main reason they’ve stuck around as long as they have in their current digs is that your communicator is hard-wired and they don’t want to lose touch with their trading partners. I don’t think they’ll be fundamentally opposed to moving.”

Jeff and Anastasia stepped out into the hall to confer for a minute, then returned. “Alright,” said Jeff. “It’s a deal. We’ll move the colonies out to your property – on one condition. You put our names on the deed alongside yours, let us build two tiny homes on the property, and let us each move in, rent-free, as long as the ants are there. And any decisions about the ants come through us first, and our say is final.”

“I’m okay with that,” said Kevin. “But I have another condition of my own.”

“What’s that?” said Anastasia, with a tinge of trepidation.

Kevin reached down to pick something up, then slammed an enormous book on the table. It was a huge hardback tome as big in profile as a large coffee table book, but much thicker. Jeff guessed six hundred pages at the least. The title read simply The Ants, by E. O. Wilson and Bert Hölldobler.

“Read this book, cover to cover, both of you. You have no formal training in either entomology or myrmecology, but this is as good a crash course as you can get on short notice. This is the book on ants. And yes, there will be a test.”

“Deal,” said Jeff, shaking Kevin’s hand.

Kevin raised his cup. “And now–a toast!–wait, can you toast with coffee? Whatever. To the little speakers!” He raised his cup and clinked it against Jeff’s and Anastasia’s. 

“To the little speakers!” they said, in unison.

“Speaking of little speakers…” said Kevin. “They really need a name of their own. They’re clearly of the Camponotus genus, and they’ve got a particularly strong physical resemblance to Camponotus Pennsylvanicus, but they’re obviously a distinct species. If I may be so bold, I feel there’s one and only one name worthy of our wise little friends.”

“What did you have in mind?” asked Anastasia.

“Camponotus Sapiens,” said Kevin.

Jeff got up from the table and rummaged around in the cupboard. He set down three glasses, uncorked a bottle of wine, and poured. “A proper toast this time,” he said, raising his glass. “To the health and welfare of Camponotus Sapiens. May God bless them and keep them and grant them many years.”

Anastasia and Kevin raised their glasses.

“To Camponotus Sapiens!”