NETS

Nicholas and his companions, Eric, Tony and Sam scuttled along as fast as their legs could carry them. The need for speed was apparent in the movements of those scurrying about them. The peace dove was shot down just a day ago, along with all their hopes of tranquility and cohabitance, and now war loomed like the Grim Reaper, casting a sickle shaped shadow on their miserable heads, preparing to harvest lives like wheat.
As you probably have not guessed by now, the four friends were actually ants, who had known each other since they were pupae. Their actual names require furious antennae work to pronounce correctly, and since neither you nor I possess that ability, we shall call them Nick, Eric (also known as Doom), Tony and Sam.
Approximately three days ago, Sam was scooting along the dank forest floor. His antennae were filled with the glorious aroma of the morning air, fresh and mixed with the sickly sweet smell of slightly damp rotting leaves, copious amounts of which carpeted the forest floor. He paused in the middle of his run. The rising sun was squinting down through the treetops and sam squinted back at it with his compund eyes. Lowering part of his abdomen to the ground, he scribbled in cursive, " Heading is zero, two, niner degrees. E.T.A. to target is ten minutes, as the bluebottle flies." After spending a precious three seconds swivelling his antennae about and smelling the chemical trail he had just left behind to check his spelling, he sped along on his mission.
Before long, his untiring legs had delivered him to his destination. Reaching deep within his memory, he searched for a mental imprint he had taken several days ago, and superimposed it onto the huge object before him. Ah, a perfect match! He nodded his head in satisfaction, a cocky grin forming on his face. Some people had told him that he had a rather overconfident attitude, but he always argued that he was just sure of his abilities, and definitely knew his limits. Besides, he believed that "down to earth" referred to somewhere eighteen feet under (please note that ant feet are measured in microns. Sam was about size ten.)
He gazed up and down the object to admire its majesty. It had HUGE, magnificent buttress roots fanning out as they reached towards the ground, like an old giant's knobbly hand reaching down for a handful of rich soil. Sam's gaze tracked up the thick, solid wooden arm, with its rough bark forming breath-taking canyons and ridges all the way up to the branches, an extensive network of blood vessels, each ending in rich green coloured cells of which the shoulder blade was composed. An unnaturally large one that was, for the crowning glory of the tree spanned three times the area covered by the roots. Every now and again the leaves would rustle collectively, the minute whispers snowballing into rising crescendos, the tempo varying, largo to presto. Together they played as an orchestra the morning symphony, the wind their conductor. Sam listened appreciatively, such good music came only with the stormy seasons. The monsoon winds were known to be skilled composers and passionate conductors. The orchestra was well into the third movement when some of the eyes facing his back prompted Sam to turn about and send that silly grin out of the window. He had detected something moving. Straining his forward eyes, he managed to make out two shapes in the distance, trotting casually up the path he had just come from. They were two fearsome looking leaf cutter ants, striding resolutely to meet him.
All three ants might have been of the same species, but that was no guarantee of affiliation. Sam tried to look friendly and unassuming. He was not very confident of taking them both apart and living to tell his friends about it, but he held his ground, determined to fight if challenged. Now they were within striking distance, and the two aggressors bared their mandibles. Sam, despite himself, took some time to inspect them. The fearsome pairs of serrated scimitars resembled saws, arranged one slightly above the other, like a pair of scissors. Now they were spread wide, inviting him to send his head to the grinder. Near the rather barbaric steak cutting impliments were a set of glands, that would add maximum pain to injury, when their formic acid contents were emptied into freshly carved wounds. Running along the head and thorax was thick, impregnable keratin exoskeleton, probably version 2124.23 beta, developed after millenia of evolution. As if on cue, three pairs of antennae were thrust into the space between them. The trademark Sam grin was back with a vengeance as the three friends antenna-fenced furiously, trading greetings, "HI!! What took you so long?" Eric replied, "This guy lar, whole day late one." "Sorry lar." Countered Nick, staggering about dramatically as if drunk. "At least we are here already, lets go, lets go." "Where's Tony?" "He's with the convoy, got guard duty. The convoy is on standby for our signal," they both replied in phrases, each completing the other's sentence in the event of even the slightest pause. The second and third surveyor had arrived.
Leaf cutter ants, of course, cut leaves. These leaves are then used to construct growing fields of fungi as food. This makes them essentially farmers, and fearsome ones at that. Tony, the fourth ant was not a worker like the other three, but a soldier, but their distinctive personalities made a good friendship. Nick was the first to discover the tree, actually, and progressively dragged his friends along until now all four had seen it and found it a good source of raw leaf. The colony agreed this was a rare opportunity and prepared to move. This was the final recon mission.
The difference this time was that the three would not just stand there and look at the tree but go up to ensure safety et cetera for the rest of the colony when the great move got under way. Slowly, the trio made their way up the endless roads cutting through the bark, en route de-legging a haughty wolf spider that just would not get out of the way. All the while they maintained a lively chat about just about anything amusing under the sun, laughing at jokes and seriously funny nostalgic experiences.
And now, it was starting to rain. Multiple anvils of gargantuan Cumulo Nimbus clouds congregated above like a circle of elders, discussing ancient wisdom around their campfire that was the sun. Their first shreds of conversation produced a soft pitter patter, halting and random. Then, as the debate heated up, the forest resonated with the deafening roar of their arguments, occasionally punctuated with ear splitting cracks and booms, when each debator slammed his fist on the ground, apparently out of frustration at another's misunderstanding of fundamental concepts. The disagreements brought more words, each more heated than the next. The three ants now found themselves in a rather undesirable situation. Rivers of dissolved dirt filled any available crevices in the bark. visibility was very low and each had to peer intently into the thick grey falling veil of liquid fury just to see a few paces. "so, the monsoon is finally here," Sam muttered as they trudged along. They were still on one of the buttress roots, and knew that the route along the trunk, where leaf coverage was most generous, would offer better shelter. Each tried to get to shelter as quickly as possible.
Several (human) feet up, four (actually a few hundred) eyes looked down at the struggling cartographers. The two weaver ants to which the eyes belonged exchanged drenched feelers and communed. "What you think?" the first inquired. "Foreign scum." mumbled the second listlessly. "Shall we engage them?" "Nah, the first to commit loses. We don't even know their purpose." "What then? They're leaf cutters. Wait till they slice up our glorious hovel to grow their disgusting fungus?" "Let's wait and see. If they engage us up here they will have a disadvantage, and they know it. Upon seeing our dwelling they should scram and look for easier trees to take. But if they so greatly desire death, then how can we be such ill hosts and refuse their request?" Each flashing an evil grin, the two green minions left their lookout post to notify the others. Meanwhile our three heroes had reached the first layers of leaf and were peering around in a rather amused manner when Eric sensed something amiss. He quickly proposed a scan of the surroundings and the rest, remembering his rather uncanny predictions, just as quickly agreed. At a glance, the tree was an uninhabited sea of green, the branches rocking crazily from the relentlessly pounding raindrops. A closer look revealed a steady stream of green from one of the branches. Tracing the stream to its source, the four beheld a bunch of leaves curiously stuck together. Even closer scrutiny revealed that the leaves were bound together by a sort of white silk thread. This created a rather vast chamber with green walls, swarming with equally green ants, several of which were already en route to investigate their presence. The three were definitely no match for the nearby horde and did not hesitate to turn tail and run. Each slipped, skidded, tumbled and motored his limbs as quickly as possible through the bark, a winding, unforgiving obstacle course with a low coefficient of friction, now adorned with rainwater. At the achieved rapid rate of descent, the three were soon on the ground, running to a safe distance and zig-zagging along the dead leaves on the ground. Huge raindrops were landing everywhere like artillery shells, blasting craters at least two ant lengths wide into the forest floor. The furious firestorm sent "shrapnel" and stray water droplets everwhere, giving the ants a good bath.
Once they were a safe distance away, the three looked back at the once welcoming looking tree. In response, it rustled its leaves into a deafening war cry, and shook its haunted branches defiantly at them. Exhausted and disappointed, the three located each other and sauntered off in search of better things, but not before wiping their eyes, using their forearms like windscreen wipers.
"so, they have chosen peace," said the sentry, glancing at his companion.
"Yes, not so stupid after all." Came the nonchalant reply.
Before long, the four were back in the hive. Having related the rather sad news, they were consoled by swards of comforting feelers, saying "unlucky" and "you've done well anyway". They remained considerably dejected despite the consolations, and expressed it by their long silence as they walked along the fungus fields, spraying it with the antibiotic commonly produced by ants of their species. This ensured uninterrupted crop growth, and was highly necessary because of the abundance of different kinds of pathogens able to destroy the fungus in record time. Tony walked with them, shaking his huge, armoured helmet of a head, although he was not able to tend the crops, but his presence served to lift the tension and soon they were all joking again while doing their farming duties.
Night had now fallen, and the residual rainclouds gathered above, waiting for round two the next day. They blanketed the area in pitch blackness. Only every once in a while when the moon took a peek at the happenings on earth was there any light at all. On a branch was a predator, perfectly still, perfectly invisible, watching, waiting for opportunity to drop by and say hello. Even during the moon's fickle, fleeting illuminations of the canopy, no one would have seen the silent lurking killer, his spottled and striped camouflage easily defeating the most piercing gazes. With the sky below his eight feet and the ground way over his head, the upside down hunter never lost orientation, his eight eyes swivelling in all conceivable directions. In boring moments like these the old spider would think silently to himself, reliving past glory, plotting new killing moves, or summing up the world as best he could. Presently, he was lamenting to himself about the foolishness of the younger generation these days. Earlier this morning, he had seen the unfortunate demise of a young upstart who challened a trio of leaf cutting ants on the tree trunk. He was an experienced hunter, but there was never anyone to show him the ropes. He managed to find the ropes by himself, but not before being scarred by bites, stings and claws in a dozen uncomfortable places. Those very scars now adorned his armour like medals of honour, mementoes of the wild and vicious prey he had hunted in his long life. The amount of humidity in the air was all wrong. The rain might well have ruined his plans. For weeks he had been watching the colony of weaver ants. One of their leaf hives had been around for a while, and now it was starting to dehydrate and turn yellow. The old wolf knew that the lack of humidity would not allow their larvae to grow properly and that a big move was coming. Thankfully, even the heavy downpour earlier that morning could not save the severely dehydrated nest. Now, his intelligent guess and patience was paying off. The weaver ants were swarming towards a bunch of leaves. The flow of ants was directly below him. Some were carrying larvae which they would use like glue guns, sticking the leaves together with a strong silk. Most of them were already at the construction site, holding the leaves together. The weaving was already under way. Now, one straggler was almost directly below him, struggling with the unweildy larvae-gluegun. using six peripheral eyes to double check that the coast was clear, he aimed his two huge front eyes at the ant, the twin telescopes zeroing on the target with the excellent binocular vision of a jumping spider. His eyes tracked the prey, judging the distance perfectly as if there was a numerical readout of the distance to target. He had his crosshairs on the doomed ant and like a good sniper, he was patient in the wait and quick on the trigger.Now he was counting down, three...... two...... one......fire! In one well practised maneuver, he aimed his spinnerets at the branch he was hanging on and fired a some silk, like a rope tipped with a grappling hook. His escape was now secure. He pivoted 180 degrees about the point where the silk stuck to the branch and let the ant pass him, so that its back was toward him. Now, he coiled those leg muscles and fired them, rotating in mid air and landing, fangs first onto the back of the unfortunate wretch. The twin daggers easily slid through the armoured ant's back, and the ant, with the larva in its jaws, was unable to fight back.
The struggle was brief, if anything more than non-existent. It was turtle soup for the now inverted ant, its insides completely liquified. No one was about to dishonour his innards, however for the spider was not interested in the extremely sour liquid inside the crispy shell. He was trying to pry the larvae from the jaws of the deceased ant, who was presently suffering from severe rigor mortis. Later that evening, the old hand would recline with great satisfaction (as best a spider could) atop the tree canopy, and star gaze, cracking open the can of fresh liquified larvae, which he liked to think, was probably the best drink in the world.
The minor discrepancy in the next morning's head count was brought up to the queen of the weaver ant colony without fail. Her Majesty expressed outrage at the blatant act of aggression. In response, the sovereign demanded an explanation, calling up all the sentries on duty the previous day. It was quickly concluded that this was the work of the leaf cutters, who planned to overrun their colony and monopolise the abundant leaf-resource available. War was now the only option. Her Majesty wisely decided that if the first to strike struck hard enough, he may never have to strike again. Within the hour, five legions of troops began the march south to the leaf cutter nest.
The next morning at daybreak, a single leaf cutter ant's long shadow cast its monstrous self along the leaf litter. The shadow's proud owner, silhouetted against the rising sun, was running as if on pure nitrous oxide. Such haste was uncommon even for the ant, to whom the sluggard should look and be wise. The ant himself would rather slow down and catch his breath (and his legs, which seemed to be coming loose), but he was carrying urgent and disturbing news. The lookout reached the nest just several hours before the approaching army, leaving little time to lose. The nest was alive with emergency messaging and speculation, but this did not slow down the battle preparations, made by determined ants who realised war was inevitable. Soldiers quickly swarmed out of orifices in the ground and rushing to their posts on the perimeter. Tony was assigned to the twig bridge at a crucial river crossing, and was joined by Eric Nick and Sam. The plan was to stay on the opposite shore and engage the enemy. If necessary, they would fall back over the bridge and hold it till the last possible moment. In the worst case scenario, they would snap the bridge so as not to compromise the defence.
Now the four waited in bitter anticipation. Around them were hordes of rather nervous soldiers, letting out the occasional grunt and shaking their immense helmeted heads. As workers, Nick, Eric and Sam were feeling rather out of place, being much smaller than the comrades in their proximity. Once in a while the four would exchange jittery glances and work their pincers, to keep them warm in the cool early morning. The sky was now the colour of liquid oxygen, its cool blue complimenting the fresh breeze which was blowing everyone's antennae hither and tither. The silence was broken by the occasional bird's morning call, carefree and mirthful. Silently, everyone was hoping that the weavers would take a wrong turn and perhaps end up attacking the termites to the northeast, but realised that such hope was in vain, and continued peering into the thin morning fog.
Soon, anticipation mutated with frightening viral like speed into full fledged fear. There was an unmistakable white hue to the grass approaching the river bank. The termites were here! A very unfortunate turn of events. The ants only noticed the weavers later, camouflaged against the green tufts. Surprisingly, both the approaching armies did not seem to notice each other until they had almost joined ranks. Their looks of exclamation clearly expressing their confusion, the leaf cutters took the chance and initiated the charge. What ensued was an ungodly three way royal rumble early in the morning.
Of course, we could never hear an ant's footsteps, but to the four, the ground was shaking from the immense stampede. The soldiers were a terrible sight, racing like cavalry into the fray, angrily working jaws clearly stating their intentions. Although the weavers and the termites were already engaged in battle, there was still plenty of resistance to their assault as the two colony's respective flanks turned to face them. If you thought human battles are chaotic, wait till you see an ant war. Upon contact, bodies started flying in all directions in accordance with Newton's three laws of motion. Anything moving that did not smell friendly was sliced and diced. Soldiers could be seen grabbing each other by any available appendage and ripping it off. Soon, legs, heads and other assorted body parts lay everywhere, and fresh troops scurried over them as replacements. The bridge defence force was hopelessly outnumbered, everyone fell back to the opposite shore. Soon, termites and weavers flooded across the bridge, making it look like a white and green candy bar. The last of the leaf cutters rushed across. The four friends led the furious melee, grabbing and throwing as many off the bridge as possible. Those who lost their footing went to sleep with the fishes. Tony was charging across with his mandibles held wide open, like an organic bulldozer, shaking his serrated death dealing array left and right. Nick and Eric was on either side of him while Sam ran along the bottom. Presently, Sam had his jaws deep in the abdomen of a weaver ant, but the thrashing opponents jaws had opened a huge gash in his thorax.
Ants have no blood vessels. Instead, the cells are openly bathed in blood. As such, and open wound is almost always fatal. Sam had lost a lot of blood, and now his vision was starting to fade to black. Soon, he had let go of the bridge and was now falling...... falling, oblivious to the noises of the battle overhead. Soon, all was black, but he could still feel that he was falling. He was now beginning to wonder if he would ever reach the bottom.
Suddenly, he heard a rather loud impact. Then it came some reciprocating impacts, probably of other ants hitting the water. The sound started to get clearer as he regained conciousness. When he opened his eyes, he saw Nick, jabbing at the playstation 2 buttons with great conviction. The DVD-ROM tray seemed to be on fire, smoke emerging from every available gap. Sitting up on the sofa, he realised that the smoke was actually coming from his cup of milo, which Eric's maid had just placed on the glass table. He ruffled his own hair, as he did habitually and glanced about to see Eric bowing furiously on his violin, and recognised the first movement of Vivaldi's violin concerto in E minor. It was Chinese New Year and the four old friends stayed one night at each person's house, conveniently offering oranges to each other's parents, not least for the love of money. Sam was beginning to wonder where Tony was when he emerged victorious from the kitchen, after successfully locating a plate to contain his breakfast.