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.

idea of what constituted a proper contribution to the betterment of the collective. The

to see if I can smooth anything over,"

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

duties, antennae twitching this way and that as they moved. Wallace knew for a fact that there was

to the petition platform, constructed by the ants as a place where citizens could come and directly make requests or inform 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

an exhausting, multiple hour long discussion in which the ants had learned what a male was, what marriage was and about human mating in general. Their ruling on the matter? 'Make one human the Queen and let her take

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

Wallace. We welcome you to the nest. Is

He frowned a little.

is it Rosetta?

flicked an antenna

do not have

He shrugged.

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

She tilted her head.

tell

can't tell by smell.

forget you have such poor senses of smell. It must make it hard to move around without having scent trails to

to 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

rulers of this city are still agitating for you to give them their

to come and make

have slipped my