A. Colucci - The Colony

“Yeah. That’s gonna happen,” Paul said. “Ants act on instinct, for the good of the whole. Man’s greatest downfall has been—and always will be—individuals who think and act on their own. People like Garrett and Dawson. They don’t care about getting along with the rest of the world. They just want to create a more deadly weapon.”

“Which they have,” Kendra replied. “And now that the world has seen the result, who knows? It may change people. That’s the beauty of being human. We aren’t slaves to our genetics.”

“Come on, Kendra,” Paul said dismissively. “This is real life, not some fairy tale. Contrary to popular belief, tragedy doesn’t change people. War will continue. The madness will continue. Only now we have ants in the arsenal.”

Kendra scrutinized Paul. “Why did you save that little girl last night?”

He looked away. “Because you wanted me to.”

“You could have talked me out of it.”

“What’s your point?”

“You wanted to know she was safe, even if it meant losing precious time and our chance to save the entire city.”

“It was an irrational decision.”

“We are irrational, that’s the point. I can’t even imagine a world without compassion, valor, creativity and unique perspective.” She forced his gaze to meet hers. “Ants have had a lot of practice being ants, and they’re good at it. We’re still learning how to be human.”

The two lay in silence, Paul pondering her words.

“Why do you always do that?” he asked her.

“Do what?”

“Make sense of the absurd.” He nodded, lost in a new direction. “Maybe you’re right. Perhaps we will figure it out someday. We must be here for some greater purpose.”

Kendra seemed shocked. “You really think so?”

Paul’s stare became intense. “I just look at you—and I know.” He had a fiery expression, almost angry. He rolled over and moved on top of her, his eyes darting wildly over her mouth, along the damp wisps of her hair and then into her deep blue eyes, where he saw a hunger like his own.

Kendra sighed deeply and buried her face into the nape of Paul’s neck, biting lightly at his skin, still warm from the shower. The sensation of his body was maddening and every muscle tingled with a yearning she had long forgotten.

Then suddenly Paul bolted upright. Kendra protested with a groan and arched her back, wanting his warm skin against her own.

“No,” he said and held her wrists to the bed. The muscles of his arms were hard and trembling. “Tell me now, Kendra, because I’m not losing you again. We might be dead tomorrow or fifty years from now, but I won’t spend another day without you. It’s that or nothing.”

She kissed his lips. “That.”

IN THE MAYOR’S OFFICE, General Dawson pressed the phone against his ear and listened intently to the other line. He leaned back and swiveled his chair toward the wall, eyes pinched tight, and rubbed a painful spot on his temple.

“Uh-huh,” he muttered.

Colonel Garrett watched him, unseen from the doorway, wondering if Dawson was speaking to the president. Garrett crossed his arms and felt the gun holstered across his chest. He hoped to hell he didn’t have to use it.

It was those blasted two stars on the general’s uniform that kept him from completing the most vital task the nation ever faced. Decades of research and monumental discoveries were being wasted over fears of bad publicity. Garrett and Dawson had begun their work twenty-five years earlier as part of a CIA paramilitary unit in Special Operations, and while Garrett had spent every waking moment in the laboratory with the ants, Dawson had dealt with the army brass, schmoozing and making friends with all the right people. Back then, the Siafu Moto had been seen as a viable weapon and the few who knew about the operation—only the highest-ranking officers—treated the group with a sense of awe and respect. It was Garrett and his scientists who had created the colony and Dawson rode on their backs all the way to the Pentagon. In the 1990s, Garrett had watched helplessly as his former friend and colleague transferred management of the operation from the CIA to the army—which was deceitful enough—then rose steadily in rank above him.

Garrett drew back into the shadows as the general straightened in his chair.

“Right,” Dawson said into the phone. “Tell him I’ll await his call.”

Perhaps I’m not too late. Garrett watched Dawson hang up the phone, count out three aspirin and swallow them dry. He stepped into the room.

“Leonard,” the colonel said.

The general barely gave him a glance. “You’re the last person I want to see right now.”

“Have you spoken to the president?”

Dawson didn’t answer.

Garrett sat down in a chair, facing the general with the utmost seriousness. “Think very carefully about this, General. Once you drop that blasted pheromone on those ants, they may be worthless.”

“Say what you have to say and get out, Tom.”

“The only reason the operation was terminated was lack of any way to exterminate them. Now we have the pheromones.”

“It’s over, Tom.”

“Listen to me! We can save this weapon, start over and make it right.”

“It’s been nothing but problems for twenty-five years.” Dawson picked up a pen and signed an authorization sheet on his desk, stuck it inside a fax machine. Garrett’s heart kicked up, then calmed when the general didn’t press the Send button. Instead, he started packing up his briefcase. It was a good sign that he was still waiting for the president’s call.

Dawson held up a finger. “The president has to know about the pheromones. He has to know the facts. He’s the one who decides. It’s out of our hands.”

“The facts are simple. We have a Siafu Moto queen. We can start the operation over again. Once you drop those pheromones, the world will know how to kill them. But if we continue with the bombing, the United States will have possession of the only living, breathing, thinking weapon on the earth.”

“Use your head, Tom. If those two scientists can figure out how to destroy the ants, eventually every other country will too. The Siafu Moto are history.”

“You can’t destroy our work.” Garrett was all but pleading. “There must be a reason we were given this second chance… some higher power that’s made it all possible.”

The general flashed a look of disgust. “You sound like Laredo.”

“For what it’s worth, at least he understood.”

Dawson didn’t say anything.

“Laredo released that queen because he believed it was his calling to save the world from itself. He knew that our ants would lead to a better, safer world.”

“Is that what you believe?”

“I think we put fear in the hearts of every leader on earth. No one’s gonna mess with us now.”

Dawson winced. “You’re as crazy as Laredo.”

Garrett stood up tall. He leaned over the desk and turned up his lip. “I’ll ask you again: Did you speak to the president?”

The general gave a slight motion toward the door. “Get out.”

Garrett nodded but made no attempt to leave. He straightened, keeping his eyes on the American flag behind the general. “It was never the intention of the United States military to test this weapon on our own soil, but you have to concede that it has presented an opportunity. A chance to see how the colony performed and to devise a method of control. Now that the entire world has seen their devastation, the Siafu Moto are a weapon worth saving.” He stared hard at the general. “Do you understand?”

Dawson gritted his teeth. “I understand perfectly.”