were made by constant consultation, through the formation of working parties which chose their own projects. If he wasn't capable of generating one of these nerve centres - in short of forming a group — his experience was useless.
She couldn't even help him.
The 327th male persisted. For once, as he was talking to someone who seemed willing to hear him out, he emitted the most seductive molecules with all his might. According to him, the catastrophe was a matter of priority. Spies should be sent immediately to try to find out about the secret weapon.
Belo-kiu-kiuni replied that the Tribe was collapsing under the weight of 'matters of priority'. Not only was the spring awakening not yet totally complete but work on the city's skin was still in progress. And as long as the last layer of twigs had not been laid in place, it would be dangerous to go to war. On top of this, the Tribe was short of protein and sugar. Lastly, it was already time to think about preparing for the Festival of Rebirth. All this would take up everyone's energy. Even the spies were overworked, which would explain why his message of anguish couldn't be heard.
There was a pause. Only the sound of the workers' labia licking Mother's shell could be heard. She had started playing with her carnivorous plant again, contorting herself until her abdomen was wedged under her thorax and her two front legs were left dangling. When the plant's jaws clamped shut, she withdrew her leg promptly before taking him to witness what a formidable weapon it might make.
We could raise a wall of carnivorous plants to protect the whole of the north-west frontier. The only trouble is, the little monsters still can't tell the difference between people from the city and strangers.
327th returned to the subject uppermost in his mind. Belo-kiu-kiuni asked him how many individuals had died in the 'accident'. Twenty-eight, was the reply. All members of the exploring warrior caste? Yes, he had been the only male in the expedition. She then concentrated and laid twenty-eight pearls in succession.
Twenty-eight ants had died and these twenty-eight liquid sisters would replace them.
one day inevitably : One day, inevitably, fingers will turn these pages, eyes will read these words and brains will interpret their meaning.
I do not wish that moment to come too soon. Its consequences could be terrible. And as I write these sentences, I am still struggling to keep my secret.
However, people will have to know what happened one day. Even the most carefully guarded secrets come out in the end. Time is their worst enemy. Whoever you are, I want firstly to greet you. When you read these words, I shall probably have been dead for ten years or even a hundred. At least, I hope so.
I sometimes regret having acquired this knowledge. But I am a human being, and if I now feel very little solidarity with others of my kind, I recognize all the duties incumbent on me for having been born among you, the inhabitants of the human universe. I must pass on my story.
All stories resemble one another if you look at them closely. In the beginning, there is a subject in the making who slumbers. He undergoes a crisis which forces him to react and either change or die. The first story I am going to tell you is about our universe because we live inside it and because all things, large and small, are interdependent and obey the same laws.
When you turn this page, for example, you rub your index finger on the cellulose of the paper. The contact generates an infinitesimal, but very real, quantity of heat. In the context of the infinitely small, this heat causes an electron to jump from its atom and collide with another particle.
But this second particle is in fact so huge in comparison with the electron that the shock of collision changes it completely. Before, it was cold, empty and inert. When you turn the page, it undergoes a crisis. It is shot through with gigantic sparks. The simple gesture sets off a