Dance the Way

In the darkness of the nest, I sense a Gatherer dart past me, her abdomen wildly waggling. Hurriedly scraping wax flakes from my own abdomen, I blend with the crowd observing the map. The dancer has stopped her dash, and begins turning half-circles. 

As I watch my sister turn one way and then the other, I discreetly scrape my whole body, and give each antenna a quick combing. My plan will fail if I am covered in wax bits. 

The Gatherer makes a final dash, and then heads toward the portal. 

I did not understand at all. 

Fluttering my wings with frustration, I follow, staying in the midst of the Gatherers. 

The farther I go with them, the more light I see, more light than I have ever seen, so much light that I am blinded, but I keep moving, wings quiet now, guided by the forward motion of my sisters. 

When I am about to go through the portal, something grabs my leg. I try to pull away, but whatever it is pulls back harder.

I can barely see the Guard in all the light, but I understand her message all the same: Her jaws pincered firmly around my leg tell me, indisputably, to go no farther. 

Dejectedly I turn and creep back inside, weaving between the outgoing Gatherers. 

She knew. I was foolish, attempting to go with the Gatherers before my time. Everyone has their time for everything, and none of my jobs have been unpleasant. I find the comb I had been repairing, and set about completing the task. 

Using my jaws, I scoop and mold the wax into long, narrow, circular cells, tilted slightly up; time and the heat of the nest will transform the circles into hexagons. 

When I need more wax, I scrape my rear legs across the bottom of my abdomen, collecting the wax flakes accumulating on my glands. Next, I pass the wax to my medial legs, and finally to my front feet, to be held and used as I need it. 

As I finish fixing the damage and step back to admire my work, a Nurse taps me, wanting me to come and cap pupal cells. Once she has shown me the correct cells, she bustles off, no doubt to feed demanding larvae. I pause, contemplating the white forms tucked inside the chambers. 

They are very nearly as large as me, and look almost, but not quite, like my other sisters. They have no hair, and their antennae and eyes and legs cannot function yet. Up to this point in their lives, only their mouths and their bottoms have served any purpose. I was like these once, and someday, these will be like me. I seal the cells. 

The next day, my mouth feels different: I want to chew something, but not wax. Remembering the Handlers I have seen at work, I once again search for a Gatherer. 

She comes, smelling of things I do not know, and as our heads bump, sweet liquid passes from her mouth to mine. I chew the nectar, and as time passes and my saliva mixes with it, it thickens. I pack it into a storage cell and go to look for another Gatherer. 

Days pass. I masticate nectar and pack it away to turn into honey. I mix pollen with mature honey and pack it away to turn into solid pellets. I learn the taste and smell of pollens, nectars, propolises, and water brought by the Gatherers, and at what time of day they are brought. I sleep and wake and work and sleep again until it is time for a new job.

Guarding is something completely new: I am Outside. I learn the taste of the portal through my feet, and stop the Gatherers who approach the entrance, checking to make sure they are all my sisters. My antennae tap and taste and smell, telling me more than my eyes can. 

I touch-taste-smell someone who sets off alarms in my head. Intruder! I sink my mandibles into one of her legs, biting as hard as I can. She bites back, tearing out some of my sparse fur, and we struggle. Finally deterred by my determined defense, the robber hovers into the air, straining to escape, and I let her flee. 

I become wise in the ways of Outside. I learn the movements of light and shadow throughout the day, and the heat and cool that follow them. I learn that when water falls, wet becomes cold very quickly, and both are things to be avoided. I learn that when something I cannot see pushes me, holding on until it stops is the only thing to do.

Finally, after days and days and days of Guarding, I wake and know it is time. I am prepared in my body and in my mind. I hurry to the portal, combs vibrating under my feet as all stir and wake to begin their tasks. 

Lines of light stretch across the sky in the familiar early-morning pattern I have learned during my days of Guarding. Warmth touches me like the antenna of a curious sister, questioning my fitness and resolve. In answer I flex my wings and flap them, fast and then faster, until they are a blur of motion and I have risen into the air. 

Flying in ever-widening loops, I memorize what and where HOME is, and explore all around it, searching for something I have never seen. 

I halt, arrested by a sight that draws me closer: pink—the brightest color I have ever seen—darkens to purple, guiding me to a dark center. I land, antennae feeling all about, and taste sweetness with my feet. My tongue uncurls, and suddenly I am sipping, sipping, sipping, until the sweetness stops coming. Dusted with pollen, I lift into the air, and find another flower, and another, sipping nectar from all of them. 

Crop full, I head for HOME, and only briefly pause to let a Guard check my identity. 

In the darkness of the nest, I scramble over the combs—combs that I hatched and grew in, and cleaned, and repaired, and filled—my abdomen wildly waggling, inviting my Gathering sisters to place their antennae on me and observe my map. 

Aquiver with excitement to share my discovery, I dance the way to my sisters.