Chrysalis

Wallace was an old soldier and he knew enough about himself that he could be fairly confident of judging his own state of mind. He was pretty sure that during the invasion, he'd gone ever so slightly mad. Perhaps more than slightly. That wasn't what he thinking about though, having your mind crack a little on the edges wasn't all that surprising given the stress and near certain death he'd thought he was about to experience. What he was reflecting on was the sneaking suspicion that he was still mad. He must be. How else could he look at a scene like this and consider it normal, without being at least somewhat insane?

"All for one," intoned the ant-robed priest.

"One for all," the crowd chanted back.

"Remember always, that the individual has worth as part of the group, and that the group has worth because it is a collection of individuals. We choose to work together, to sacrifice for the betterment of each other. That is the source of our strength."

"Praise the Colony!"

Wallace turned his back on the preacher and his congregation and walked to the nearby guard post. Pretty much any time of day there would a priest or priestess giving a sermon to crowds of varying sizes. Considering how much work got done around the city these days, he was always surprised that so many of them found space in their schedule to stand around listening to person with antennae sewed onto their hood with a glazed look in their eyes. He nodded to the soldiers on duty who snapped out a quick salute.

"You do remember you don't have to salute me anymore, right?" he asked dryly.

"Force of habit sir," the guardsman grinned at him.

Wallace shrugged it off.

"Any sign of trouble?"

"None, as usual," came the reply. "The sermons have been pretty restrained and the crowds quite happy overall. I head there was a bit of a ruckus over in the market district this morning. Apparently the ants found a merchant cheating his taxes, which went over about as well as you could expect."

The former captain grunted and spat for good measure. Merchants. They never stopped thinking they were more clever than everyone else, always willing to try and pull the wool over the taxman's eyes. Apparently willing even when the taxman was a giant ant monster who could literally read minds if they wanted to. The ants might not really understand the concept of money, but they could certainly appreciate the idea of taxes. Every citizen contributing a portion of their wealth to the city to ensure the wellbeing of all? Of course they should! There had been long, long discussions with Enid when she had been here about the implementation of the new tax code and she'd revealed to him that the initial tax rate proposed by the Colony had been a hundred percent.

strenuous negotiations, she'd managed to talk them down to ninety, she'd informed him, but it was only when the ants had seen the merchant delegation literally foam at the mouth and pass out did they realise the culture gap might be a little too wide to accept their idea of what constituted a proper contribution to the betterment of the collective. The final tax rate was still high, by the cities standards, but it turns out people didn't mind paying it so much when the individuals in charge were incorruptible insect

I can smooth anything over," he said, casting his eyes across the newly

was now a public garden centred around a massive ant hill that rose dozens of metres into the air, easily visible from all over the city. All beaurocracy was handled by the Colony now, so the other buildings had

way and that as they moved. Wallace knew for a fact that there was a sizeable detachment of soldier ants deep within the structure, ready to emerge at the first sign of danger. Anyone foolish enough to assault the ant hill would

them of issues that they believed where necessary. They'd gone all out making it as well. The petitioners, common citizens all, were seated on marble benches padded with soft woollen pillows and blankets, with proper back support and all. The ants provided water and snacks to those waiting as a matter of courtesy, though goodness knows where they came from. There were numerous petitioner booths open at any given time, each staffed by an ant mage ready to converse, as well as a human representative to help 'translate'

by his irate wife before the ants where she'd demanded they extract retribution for his unfaithfulness. What had followed was an exhausting, multiple hour long discussion in

the others and moved toward him, a mind-bridge connecting to him as it

to the

He frowned a little.

it Rosetta? I find it damn hard to

flicked an antenna

do not have a name,]

He shrugged.

to tell you all apart! It would be rude to just think of all of you

She tilted her head.

tell

I can't tell by smell. Human,

must make it hard to move

explain the concept of signposts and maps but closed his mouth in the nick of time. They were endlessly curious about other societies, constantly looking for ideas that they might adapt to their own way of

really,] he said, [though the former rulers of this city are still agitating for you to give them their money

you told them to come

my mind,] he