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It certainly hadn't been the best of days. Actually, it wouldn't have been going too far to say that it was one of the worst. He had messed up, flopped, failed, and bungled everything. Not like that was anything new... Flik was accustomed to it by now. But did it have to be this bad? It started with a great idea: renovating the colony's tunnels. He visualized a "tunnel within a tunnel," and thought it would vastly improve underground travel. He somehow convinced overly trusting ants to help him out with the project. During the process, Flik made many miscalculations, namely about the laws of physics. The entire project literally collapsed, leaving him and several diggers stranded in a cramped chamber. Boris, a rather hot-tempered ant, was so angry that he wanted to strangle Flik. Fortunately, the others stopped Boris. They were promptly dug out, of course. Well, actually they weren't unearthed until days later. No one was very happy with Flik, least of all those who were involved in the project. He was ostracized - again. And he would probably be sentenced with hard labor. But the council was reluctant to pick the suitable punishment, knowing his unwitting talent for creating chaos. Few were surprised when the decision was delayed. Having nothing else to do except wait, Flik went to his chamber to brood like a misunderstood artist. Then he noticed this little twiggy device that stood by itself on a pile of leaves. It was a grain-grinder he made long ago, which broke down regularly. Another embodiment of his failure as an inventor. With a frown he stalked over and prepared to dismantle it, to end it along with his dearest and oldest ambitions once and for all. He didn't get very far until his fingers got caught in one of the mechanisms, which didn't exactly feel good. With a yelp he dropped the device, and heard it smash to the ground in a useless heap. Flik peered with a hint of regret at what was once a grain grinder before flopping into bed.
The ever-cheerful Lina was very fond of long walks around the outskirts of the island, despite the warnings and head shaking of the more sensible Ant Islanders. One day she just never returned. When no one could find her, everyone assumed that a bird had taken her to that big anthill in the sky. Flik didn't understand when everyone told him his mother Lina would not be coming back. He was only five, and he knew that she just had to come back. She always did! One thing was certain: from then on, it was just Flik and his father, Glint. It shouldn't be surprising that those two had a lot in common. Both of their minds ran on creative juices, problems and ideas held their fascination, and they simply loved to create. And yet there were differences as well: Glint had quiet, deliberate way about him and thought long and hard before actually doing something. He jotted down notes and labored like the perfectionist he was. Thus, his inventions were usually functional and well-designed. Young Flik, on the other hand, was clearly different. While he had his father's mechanical aptitude, he also inherited mother Lina's carefree, animated disposition. The boy had the trouble harnessing his sparks of genius. He rushed without planning and would usually end up fixing numerous problems in whatever he did, or lose interest in favor of a new, "better" idea. "Flik," his father would lecture, "It's great to be excited about an idea. But you can't rush to the toolbox without a plan. And you need to finish what you start, even if it takes a long time, or you won't end up with a thing to show for your efforts. They didn't build the Anthill in one day, and if they did, you can be sure it wouldn't be here now." Flik hid his hurt feelings by smiling, nodding, and promising to do better. He wanted to please his parent, and so he would indeed "do better." But despite his best intentions, these efforts would never last. Glint never scolded him harshly for it, because in his opinion Flik was just being a "typical kid:" fun loving and slapdash. Subconsciously, it reminded him of Lina. Flik wasn't the main thing that troubled him anyway. It was getting his own inventions accepted by the colony, and that was hard. Oh, a few were embraced, such as the shell-horn used to alert the colony of impending danger. His twig-stilts were also a favorite among the children, until they fell off and hurt themselves (the parents took the toys away after that). His concoction for a super-strong adhesive was popular until an imprudent ant glued his fingers together. "You know," Glint once told his son, "I think it's true what they say: make something fool-proof, and they come up with a better fool." Another example was when Glint formally presented something to the Royal Council. It was an idea for driving off the grasshoppers; most ants grudgingly accepted the task of slaving for the grasshoppers, but a few like Glint felt that things could be different. So showed the Council his inventions, and they weren't mere gadgets. These were weapons. One was a barb-lined thistle tipped with burs that could be used as a stinging whip. Another constituted of a dry hollow reed that worked as a blow-dart. There were bows and arrows, and even some bark-and-thorn armor. The whole collection could be summed up in one word: prickly. And the Council could also be summed up in one word: aghast. "Goodness! What possible use do we have for these?" Mr. Soil asked, eyes wide. "None," Thorny said with an emphatic shake of his head. "We're trying to run a peaceful society here. Give them something barbaric like this, and we'll have violence and chaos! Just like the Dark Days." The Dark Days, as many chose to call them, were a time in history long ago when ants were just nomadic tribes at constant war with one another. Whether this was truth or fiction, very few ants spoke kindly of this concept. "Those look cruel," Doctor Flora said with a shudder. "Just think of the pain and suffering..." Glint frowned. "Tell me this: how else are we going to stop the grasshoppers from taking our food? I've thought it all out, and force is going to be the only way. We must fight for what is ours." The respectable Cornelius, who was of the opinion that what was good enough for their ancestors was good enough for them, stood up shakily and hit the floor with his cane. "Violence is never necessary," he declared. "We never needed weapons and we don't need them now. Things are just fine like they are!" "But..." Glint tried to argue, but the Queen rose and spoke up. "I agree with the Council," she said, eyeing the blue ant severely. "Glint, what you're offering is suicide. The ants are foragers, not fighters. If we lost, the grasshoppers would kill us all, or worse..." her worried eyes fell on a winged child at her side, her daughter Atta, who stood watching with large eyes. Then she looked back toward Glint. "Besides, we're not exactly in the middle of a crisis. In fact, we're ahead of schedule. The grasshoppers just take what we give them, make like a tree and leave, then everything goes back to normal." The frustrated inventor caught the hint. He heaved a sigh, and nodded. "Yes, Your Majesty. I realize the danger, especially since it's something we've never done before. But it's just not right. Can't you see-" "I see perfectly," the Queen retorted, "and I say no." Her voice softened: "I know you hate what they're doing to us. None of us ever liked it. But I see no reason to change now... especially when it risks putting so many lives at stake." The Queen saw that Glint was about to protest and gave him a look that made him think better of it. Keeping his tongue in check, Glint fled from the Council Chamber. By the time Glint returned to his chambers, there was already a certain little ten-year-old blue ant to meet him. "Dad! Look, look, look, I did it!" Flik cried in elation as he held up a bizarre device. "It's my grain-grinder! 'Course, I didn't smooth out all the kinks yet, but it works, kind of! See?" The boy started to give his father a demonstration. It was spectacular. The entire thing burst into a dozen pieces, leaving the grain intact. "Oops..." Glint didn't even seem to notice his son's misfortune. He simply nodded absentmindedly and murmured, "That's nice," before dropping his apparatus on the ground and collapsing into a leaf-chair. Flik felt something was amiss and stopped fussing with the broken pieces. "Hey, is something wrong? Didn't, uh, didn't the meeting with the council go okay?" "No, Flik, it didn't," Glint said matter-of-factly. "They refused. They don't want to risk the lives of the colony." He sighed. "And I understand where the Queen's coming from, but, darn it..." he trailed off, unable to finish the thought. "Oh, I'm sorry," Flik said sympathetically. "Well, maybe they'll change their minds! I mean, they have to, don't they? Aren't they sick and tired of the grasshoppers like the rest of us?" Glint forced a smile. "They won't change their minds, and I won't bring it up again. It's a waste of time, and I guess they're right." Flik's antennae perked up in surprise. "But, Dad," he argued, "You worked really hard on this for a long time, and you're always telling me to finish what I start and not give up, or else I won't have anything to show for what I do. Like, like... the Anthill not being built in a day, and the Tree not becoming a tree in week. You can't give up now!" Glint thought about that for a while. "You have a point there," he conceded. "This problem isn't going away. We'll be oppressed for many more generations." He frowned at the thought: the colony and its spawn suffering this injustice for who knows how many years to come. He couldn't live with himself if he didn't try to do something about it. Glint jolted from his seat as if something bit him. "I'll be back later," he said, and before Flik could protest or ask where he was going, Glint was out the door.
Flik didn't see much of his father once he started working on the "Big Plan," which Flik knew but little about. Apparently it was a scheme to stop the grasshoppers. It involved secretly getting a bunch of ants together that were willing to fight, and training them. This was done in utmost secrecy, for if the Queen found out... well, it would be the end of the conspiracy. "Now Flik," Glint would say, "This is top-secret. I don't want word of this getting around." He knew that his son was a chatterbox and might give it all away with a slip of the tongue. "So you've got to promise me you won't tell anyone." Flik was uncertain, but promised he would not tell anyone. This was Dad, after all, and he knew that Dad could do no wrong. In the meantime, Flik was largely left on his own and spent much of his time "experimenting," which usually resulted in mishaps. Fortunately he was so young and the accidents so minor that many people still thought it was cute. Except for that time when he unintentionally broke some of the grain holders and flooded the storeroom... Or when he messed up the food-gathers' "line" after he climbed the tree to fetch some nuts and leaves, and inadvertently dropped them to the ground. Not to mention when he hitched someone's pet aphid to a leaf-cart to help carry things. The creature didn't take too kindly to this arrangement and made its displeasure known by going on a rampage. The poor little aphid was never the same afterwards. But aside from that, Flik did all right. After assailing the injured parties with a stream of remorse and preposterously amusing ideas on how he should be punished, he was usually forgiven. He wasn't so lucky with other children. He was the oddball, and therefore avoided. Whenever he romped over to group of kids, they usually threw him sneering looks that chilled him to a stop. But one day he overcame his anxiety and greeted them: "Hi guys, what's up?" "Nothin'." "Uh, right... well, how about a game? You know, I thought up a new one last night, and all we need to play it is a few sticks and at least four players--" "Nah, I'm too tired," complained a freckled boy ant. "Sorry Flik, I got some, uh, chores to do, yeah," said another kid. "I think I hear my Mommy calling me," a little girl chimed as she raced away. "I don't want to play," another said. The group dissipated, leaving Flik to miserably eyeball the ground. "Aw, horsefly feathers," he muttered. "Why do I even bother?" When he looked up again, he noticed that one of the kids remained. And it wasn't just any kid. Purple exoskeleton, gracefully curled antennae, glistening wings... "Princess Atta!" Flik exclaimed, and then swallowed hard. He was always nervous around her. She was the princess, after all, and he wasn't exactly sure how to act around a princess. "Do, uhm, you want to, uhm..." He could feel his tongue evaporate. Atta's gaze was quizzical. "Do I want to do what? Play the... game you were talking about, you mean?" Flik's mind went into temporary suspension. Game? What's a game? Then he remembered. "Oh! Well, uh, no - no, I mean, yes! I mean, if you really want to - oh, wait, no we can't, because you see we'd need more players, and all." Atta nodded confusedly. The silence that followed only served to make Flik even more fidgety, so she asked, "So, what else have you been doing besides making up games?" Flik was staggered. The princess wanted to know about the things he did? Joy and rapture! The surge of esctascy brought back the power articulation, and he babbled on and on about, well, everything. Atta, wishing she hadn't asked, listened in a polite state of petrifaction until he said something that made her perk up with interest. "Wait, wait, wait," she cut into the waterfall of Flik's words. "Go back a little; what did you say?" Uh-oh. Flik's tripping tongue had blundered, and he knew it. "Uh, I said that my Dad was real busy and that I've mostly been by myself and, and, and..." "Flik! You said that your Dad was getting some ants together to fight off the grasshoppers when they come this summer!" A panicked Flik gasped in terror. "Don't shout, or everyone will hear. It's supposed to be a secret, I wasn't supposed to tell anyone!" Atta glared. "Your father's not allowed to do that! I'd better tell Mom..." Before she could go far, Flik darted into her way. "No, please," he begged. "Don't do it. He'll... he'll be in trouble, and all that work he did will be for nothing. Please don't!" It was all Atta could do to stop herself from pushing Flik away. "But he'll be in even bigger trouble if he does it," she said. "Him and all the ants could get hurt! That's why my Mom wouldn't let him do it." Flik dropped to his knees and pleaded, "Please, please, please, just don't tell anyone! I'm begging you!" The princess stared down at the kneeling ant. He looked pathetic and the sad blue eyes were so beseeching that she, to her own surprise, found herself agreeing not to tattle. "Don't say I didn't warn you," she added sullenly. The child was rendered a heap of gratitude before Atta's feet, and thanked her repeatedly. "You won't regret it, I promise!" He then asked if she'd like to see some of his newest "stuff." Because of his reputation for being dangerously accident-prone, Atta politely refused. Flik's shoulders slumped in disappointment. "Well, okay, not like you have to or anything. Maybe next time!" he said, trying to be cheerful. "Would you like it better if we did something else? See, I found this neat place in the Clover Forest, kind of a grove, and there's this weird four leafed one, and on top was this little -- Princess? Princess Atta?" Flik had been so distracted by his train of thought that he didn't realize that Atta had wandered off.
Uneventful weeks passed, and the small pile of food became a mountain on the Offering Stone. The ants had been ahead of schedule this summer just as the Queen predicted, so they spent the remainder of their time in uneasy leisure. But the grasshoppers were late. This was unusual. The grasshoppers were never late - early, yes, but never late. The extended absence didn't go unnoticed, and tongues began to wag. Did something happened? Were the grasshoppers even coming at all? Some even suggested taking the food from the Offering Stone and putting it in the storerooms. "After all," someone said, "if the grasshoppers aren't going to take it, why let it get washed up by the rain?" The closer the time of the Rains came, the more the colony began to accept the logic of this idea. At last the Queen reluctantly ordered the colony to take the grain from the Offering Stone and store it away. What they didn't know was that the grasshoppers were intercepted by a very hungry bird. The ringleader, Hopper, nearly had his new career cut short by this disaster. He was lucky to come out of it alive, and only wished the bird had made a snack of his "dopey little brother" Molt. Poor Molt was just insanely appreciative that "Hoppy" didn't die. The grasshoppers had little choice but to recuperate and replace eaten gang members before trying again. When they reached Ant Island, they found the ants taking food AWAY from the Offering Stone and PUTTING it into their pathetic little anthill -- quite the reverse of what they were supposed to do. The terrified ants ran in all directions as the drone of grasshopper wings neared. Others had the sense to rush for the Offering Stone and redeposit the grain. By the time the grasshoppers landed, most of the ants were clustered around the hill. One of the slower ants was grabbed by the throat. "What's the big idea?" demanded a big grasshopper leeringly. Amidst choking and struggling the ant sputtered, "We th-thought you weren't coming back a-and we didn't want to leave the food out for the rains..." "You thought we weren't coming?" A grasshopper with a demeanor of power strode forward and regarded the flailing ant calmly. Only it was the deadly kind of calm. It couldn't be anyone other than Hopper, though he looked different with the cataract and scars. He almost looked as though he encountered something nasty and it won. "Are you impudent, or just stupid?" By now, many ants had spilled out of the rim of the anthill and were shaking scared at the sight. "Uhm..." the ant wasn't sure what to say. "Come to think of it, I don't care which," Hopper concluded. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't end your existence--" "I have a better idea!" a thin voice rang out. "Why don't you give us a reason not to end yours?" The grasshoppers met the glare of a lone ant, Glint. He was ordinary to look at, or would have been except for the prickly-looking armor he wore and equally barbed thistle in his right hand. He even had a shield of an acorn-top. The threat from this funny-looking ant was so ludicrous to the grasshoppers that most of them were convulsed with derisive laughter. The other ants just stared. Hopper, however, was not amused. Having the ants going radical was bad. One delusional ant could infect the colony with the fighting spirit like a deadly virus. He began to approach the upstart with a menacing stride, when something struck his side. Yelps of surprise and anger ensued from the other grasshoppers, who were similarly struck with flying barbs. The source, a ragtag bunch of ants attired like Glint spilled from the Clover Forest with a simultaneous cry, waving spears and other weapons. Though they put up a courageous fight, they were too scrawny and few in number. The grasshoppers swiftly disarmed the unworthy opponents and sent them scattering in fright. Young Flik, who was amidst the crowd of spectators, felt all hope crumble like a watered sand sculpture. Hopper glared at the defeated "army." He was especially angry with the leader, who did not flee like most of them but had the audacity to stand tall. Hopper turned toward the ants, putting on his best vaguely annoyed expression. "Is this your idea of a joke? Because if it is, I find it in poor taste." "N-no," answered the Queen. "I knew nothing about this. But please don't hurt them! I will see to it that they're punished." She was holding her trembling daughter Atta in an attempt to comfort her. But the child almost felt more guilty than frightened. She knew that this didn't have to happen if she had only told - how stupid it was for her to promise not to! Hopper beheld the Queen frostily. The ants sucked in their breath and held it as they waited for the response. Finally he loosened, feigned a good-natured look. "This must be your lucky day," he explained, "because I'm not going to decimate your colony. In fact, 'Highness,' I'm going to help you..." His expression darkened as he lashed out a foot, kicking Glint down. "... by making an example of your disobedient subjects myself. Starting with this one." He raised his foot, preparing to lay the killing blow on the ant's head...
Flik made a terrific struggle until he felt the leafy bed yield to his hands. And there he was, staring at a ceiling barely lit by a bioluminescent mushroom. It was all a dream. Actually it was a nightmarish replay of a horrid memory, but the terminology made no difference. He slumped back down on the pillow and tried to feel relief, but couldn't. The death of his parent was still vivid in his mind. The colony must have remembered it too, because no one dared to resist the grasshoppers since then. Any suggestion of such a thing was met with hard looks. Flik didn't blame them. Minutes passed and sleep failed to reclaim him, so Flik decided to get up and calm himself down with a midnight snack. He only hoped he could stomach it through the night. As he got up, he stepped on something hard and knobby and tumbled over with a cry. Flik was about to tear apart the offending object before he realized that it was a piece of the broken grain-grinder. In an instant he pounced on the sections and began fitting them together in a feverish attempt to make the contraption whole again. Something told him he couldn't give up -- not only in perfecting this device, but himself as an inventor. Flik never did get this device to work perfectly. After the grasshoppers' control was brought down, he made a new version that worked better -- well, most of the time. But he kept the old one to serve as a kind of reminder. It found a place of honor next to a simple rock that he insisted on calling a seed, whose legend baffled almost everyone for years. |