Free Antman by Robert V. Adams Page B

though. I didn't want strangers prying.
    "Below the surface of the soil, of course, was where the conditions had to be absolutely ideal. Here the detailed planning followed everything I'd learnt over years of keeping ant colonies in the laboratory. Not too cool, not too dry, not too moist. Above all, not too warm, or they race so fast in confined conditions they overheat and die. To achieve the right climatic conditions, I installed a mister which automatically sprayed very fine droplets of warm water in infrequent but regular bursts from a strip along the inside of the roof of the conservatory. The final two touches of which I was particularly proud were first, the connection between the activator for this and a humidity tester. Second, there was the little windscreen wiper I had taken from the front headlight of an upmarket car at the scrap-yard and installed at the front of the camera, after some early attempts at filming which only gave me a few seconds before the lens steamed up.
    "Take deep breaths to regain control. (You see how candid I can be. With such insight and self-awareness, I can't be insane.) The pig stood still, not squealing any more, but panting slightly from the exertion of resisting his prodding towards the barn housing this contraption. It was the size of a large Labrador dog, not fully grown but by no means a piglet either. It weighed a good thirty kilos. I had to keep glancing back at the screen while leaning over to switch on the kettle at the other side of the kitchen worktop. I could just about reach the coffee jar and a mug without moving from my stool. There wouldn't be much happening for a while, I knew that. But then the action would move quickly, and I wanted to be ready. My stomach was wobbling, my head slightly woozy – sometimes the stuff helps. I can't say what, in case this record goes astray.
    "Can't keep this up. Body won't take it. Got to though. Deep breaths now, so as not to be sick at the crucial moment. (You won't believe this, but watching anything die excites me, but cuts me up rotten. I feel so physically sick I could die myself.) There was a rustling in the thick carpeting of leaves on the island. My pulse quickened. I knew where to watch. It was the shadowy patch half hidden from view by a large-leafed pitcher plant growing over a rotting log. I rubbed my hands together unconsciously and then gripped them tightly together at a flicker of movement from the shadow. It was a tiny flickering body, no larger than a blow-fly or large earwig, scuttling so fast from the shadows that he lost sight of it immediately under some leaves. Then another and another, till half a dozen of the darting insects had emerged. One or two stopped, clearly sensing the slight movements made by the pig. The animal scuffed up leaves as it moved nervously. The tiny insects were too small though, to make any impression on it. They couldn't even climb up its shiny hooves to gain a purchase on the coarse hairs of its slender legs.
    "Despite this apparent stand-off between beast and insects, the effect on the small number of wandering ants was surprisingly uniform. Three or four of them immediately became very excited, running round in circles, waving their heads and exercising their considerable mandibles as though willing to bite any object within range. Several times it looked as though they were about to bite each other. Then they made off at great speed towards the prone tree trunk, continually criss-crossing each other's path.
    "I leaned forward in anticipation. I knew that the shadow where they had disappeared was really an elliptically shaped object like a giant rugby ball which hung from the underside of the tree trunk. It was made up of hundreds of thousands of army ants clinging to each other's legs to form a protective ball around the young ants, brood and queen within. This was their bivouac whilst on the march. The few ants which had emerged were foragers with particular sensitivity to possible