Sugar 'n Spice and All Things Nice

It was day three, and he wasn’t sure he’d made the right decision. In the guard’s mind, the interviewer’s closing words rocked back and forth; a guard is always focused and scanning for dangers. Okay. He could do with that. If you could call a person Focus, then Focus would be his middle name. The guard’s grandfather said he was the most focused kid he’d ever seen. One time after a big meal his grandfather had challenged him to a staring competition.

‘Look here, lad!’

‘Yes, Grandpa?’

The old man had been industriously digging a nail between his teeth. ‘Your mother tells me you can focus like no-one else! Says you’re like a carrot.’

‘A carrot, Grandpa?’

‘Rooted to the spot, lad! Can stare anything to death.’

His mother’s description of him continued to roll around the young head like a marble. ‘A carrot?’

‘Never mind that, lad. What do you say we have a competition? See who see who can out stare a rock. What do you say?’

He’d won by a country mile. It wasn’t until everyone had gone to bed that the poor boy realised he was alone.  But it was the second thing the interviewer had said that was bothering him now; guards must be on the lookout for opportunities. What on earth did the officer mean by that? What possible opportunities could there be for a duty guard? In the 4,320 minutes he’d been working as an Entrance guard the new recruit hadn’t seen any opportunities jump out and grab him.

‘Hey!’ Said guard #381, who was his partner and more senior by 17 days.

‘What?’

‘Didya see that?’

The recently hatched guard unglued his eyes from the pebble he’d been staring at. ‘Did I see what?’

‘The thing that kid just dropped.’

After 45 minutes of staring the new employee was struggling to adjust his mind to an object capable of movement. ‘What kid?’ He said rubbing his eyes.

‘Over there, idiot! That human kid just dropped a huge popsicle.’

South Entrance Security Detachment officer third class #774 blinked into the distance. Immeasurably far away, a small boy was looking at the ground.

‘What’s a pop-C-col?’

Guard #381 turned to race down the tunnel, wishing to himself that they’d stop advertising for new recruits.

***

‘Sergeant!’

‘Yes Sar?’

‘Get a squad ready, double-quick. Now, man. Don’t dawdle!’

‘Yes Sar!’

I stopped picking at the fluff that had mysteriously collected around my ankle, and mooched off to find some lads. It didn’t take long to spot six of them dutifully collecting leaves for one of the princesses none of us knew the name of. A trip outside was all the convincing they needed to leave off what they were doing. The Colonel glared at me when we returned in that way he thinks will make everything happen faster.

‘Quick smart men, we haven’t all day! Right, very good. All in order, then. Stand up straight when your commanding officer addresses you.’

‘Yes Sir!’ I heard the slap of hands to heads behind me. The colonel’s mustachios bristled at the audience, his eyes alight with authority.

‘Right! There’s a message in from Signals. Large heavily flavoured sugar deposit about a hundred feet from the South Entrance. I need you men out there to check and then report back, double-time. No dilly dallying. I want to see feet moving and moving fast!

‘Yessir!’ That didn’t sound too bad. It wasn’t every day you got to scout out a sugar deposit.

But it was as likely to be a hundred feet away as I am to grow wings and become a queen. More like a thousand, I bet. Could even be a trap. Like yesterday when Theta squad came across a dead sea gull. Always rushing, hurry up you guys, get out there before those nasty red buggers over at the Tighes Hill colony get to it before us.

I miss Charlie434 from Theta squad; with his dirty sense of humour and that weird thing he could do with his back legs. Pity about the bird snatching that bone away with Charlie and his mates clinging on for dear life. I can still hear him shouting as the crow flapped away—trust me to pick the __ing wishbone! Those signals guys need to get out of the office and into the sunlight and see what we’ve got to deal with; what a bunch of moss-jockeys. I can’t for the life of me understand why so many teenagers want to become Signalmen; nothing but decoding messages down the channels while you get to watch the walls seep around you.

‘C’mon lads, let’s get it done.’

The boys fell into single file as we scurried along service tunnel S-3A that would take us to the junction with the main trunk line beneath the giant tree root pasted with lost ‘n found signs. From there it was only a double-jump to reach the colossal South Entrance, and then out to the world beyond the colony. The lads could tell I wasn’t keen. The middle of the day is never a good time to be in the open.

Outside the cool of the tunnels, the concrete plain scorched us like a bratty kid with a magnifying glass. I called out for everyone to double-time as I glanced skyward.

Well blow me, would you believe those Signals twats had got it right! There it was, as obvious as the Queen’s ass. An enormous sugary lake on the horizon. We all got the blast up our noses at the same time, and with the synchronised beauty of drunken camels, we legged it across the terrifying expanse in case Tighes Hill got there before us.

‘Remember lads,’ I shouted as we broke formation. ‘You know the drill, no straight lines, only crazy ziggy zaggy.’

Half-way there I realised we were onto something huge. The air was so heavy with sugarmones I was getting that dizzy sensation I have after too many of Grannie’s puff-balls. I shouted at the closest soldier to go back and tell the Colonel we’d need at least two battalions for this one. He hesitated, that’s how strong the desire was to keep going, but like all good soldiers he feared his officers more than the enemy and reluctantly turned around. It was crucial he got help fast because there was no chance this lake of lusciousness would go unnoticed by others. Then before you could say - your dad’s a caterpillar and smells like wee, we were upon it. I drove my face into the syrup and sucked like crazy. Lemon sugar. We couldn’t have asked for better.

‘Steady boys, pace yourselves. This is powerful stuff.’ I said through a mouthful. ‘Once you’ve had your fill, form a perimeter.’

‘A perimeter?’ Asked a soldier whose name I didn’t know.

‘With only the six of us?’ Said another. I didn’t know him either; they all looked the same.

I wiped a leg across my sticky mouth. ‘Is there a problem? And it’s Sir to you.’

‘There sure is. You want the six of us to make a perimeter around a lake the size of the Eastern nurseries? Sir.’

I looked hard at their glistening faces, then I realised I’d grabbed the wrong bunch. I’d brought with me a gang of underground storage workers, not field operatives. Oh this was going to be tough.

‘Well, just spread out then. And umm... do your best to look menacing!’

The first thing to interrupt our watch, as we waited for the troops to appear, were thugs from the Beer Bong Gang. Those low-life imbeciles who don’t have a colony and spend their time roaming the streets eating from garbage bins. I’d seen the brute who was approaching me before. He liked to be called Tex. At last count, the Beer Bong Gang had five members. Of all of them, Tex had the most letters to his name.

‘Wha ‘u doin ‘ere? Dis is… duh, ‘u know…it’s…’

Then silence.

In one abbreviated sentence, Tex had exhausted his daily word quota. While we waited for there to be more, me and the boys stared back as menacingly as we could at objects four times our size. Eventually, another thug picked up where Tex was going.

‘Dis is our turf titch. Git!’

‘It’s not turf, it’s concrete, you colossal-headed twerp.’ I was feeling suicidally brave in the faint hope that at any moment the Colonel would arrive with a swarm of tough soldiers. Then I heard the sweet sound of feet.

***

At the South Entrance, Security Detachment officer third class #774 watched as the battalions of helmeted soldiers raced past him. The vibrations caused by hundreds of legs pounding the earthen floor were making his antennae rattle. #774 wanted to join the army, but the recruiting officer had said he was too big. Soldiers had to be strong and fast and weighed in at a whopping 25milligrams meant #774 was twice the size of any ant in the history of the colony. If they needed a siege weapon, they’d call him.

‘Sorry lad, it’s the guard’s life for you. If anything with half a brain catches sight of you guarding our home, they’ll run the other way.’

As the last line of soldiers rumbled away, #774 decided he’d see what all the fuss was about. The other guard hadn’t returned, and #774 figured no-one would notice he was gone. So with a coordinated effort he pointed his colossal legs all in the same direction and gently lumbered along behind them.

What he saw moments later took his breath away. There spread as far as his eyes could see was a lake of sugar water and hundreds of black bodies swarming around the edges.

‘Wha’ da ‘ell is dat?‘

The sight of Security Detachment officer third class #774 clumping towards them, had revived Tex’s power of speech.

‘Eh, what?’ The Colonel who had been sizing up the gang with his most intimidating glare, turned to see what Tex was looking at.

Appearing from the heat haze was an ant the size like nothing he had ever seen in his life. The Colonel had no idea whether it was friend or foe, but upon reflection thought he’d seen a similar looking branch propped up outside the South Entrance. He must be one of ours, by Gad. It gave the commanding officer an idea.

‘That, my garbage smelling friend, is our champion wrestler. If you don’t sod off now, we’ll set him on you!’

#774 came to a lumbering halt beside his soldier buddies, who parted ways to prevent being trodden on. #774 was a tad surprized to be looking almost eye to eye with another ant that had a head as big as his, but a body very much smaller. He looked intensely at it.

‘Why ‘e starin’ at me like dat?’

I saw Tex’s left eye twitch and sweat bead on his enormous forehead. To everyone watching the standoff, it appeared #774 had gone to sleep with his eyes open.

‘Make ‘im stop Ug!’

But Ug had gone. Every member of the Beer Bong Gang had turned tail and bolted at the sight of the colossal ant. The small part of Tex’s brain wired for self-preservation instructed the rest of his body to join them. The Colonel turned a beaming face at #774.

‘Welcome to the army, boy. What’s your name?’

The Colonel tried to look his new recruit in the eye, but it hurt his neck to bend that far back. #774 was stunned to silence when he heard he was to become one of the venerated colony soldiers.

‘It’s South Entrance Security Detachment officer third class #774.’

‘Well, my boy. That name’s a bit long for a soldier, eh what. Can’t call that out across the quadrangle every time we want your attention! Pick another one. And remember to call me, Sir. You’re in the army now.’

#774 looked hard at the Colonel, as he wracked his brain for something snappy, a name that everyone could remember. Then, like a glow-worm in the tunnel darkness, he hit upon the obvious answer.

‘Carrot, Sir. My name is Carrot.’