#11. Leisure in Oblivion (5)
While tending to my battered body and clearing the backlog of paperwork, the day to leave the safehouse drew one day closer. On the way back, I planned to make a quick stop in the United States to check on the fungal empire of Mycelium and the Giant's Forest. The relatively less urgent Sequoia colony could wait for another opportunity.
On the final afternoon in Mexico, I brought the kids to a long, deserted beach. Beneath a clear sky dotted with scattered cumulus clouds, waves the color of the clouds rolled in white, crashing and breaking repeatedly. The primary-colored sea, as if shattered and scattered by the tropical sun, held not a single ship in sight. This uninhabited landscape felt like the perfect equivalent to my ideal of debased tranquility, and reclining obliquely on a sunbed under the parasol, I sank into a comfort bordering on daydreaming. The peace of this port clung preferentially to the floating, beautiful land, carried on winds from the open sea.
The farther one strayed from the beach, the thicker the unease grew in the city, teeming with dark, starving residents, charred ruins burned ugly, and the robberies, looting, violence, murders, and rapes threading between them. But none of that was my concern—or FPDA+1's, or the Mexican government's. The two behind me desperately needed immediate results to show, and the journalists who flocked to the beach captured only images of luxurious leisure and restored public order through their lenses. Since the wind blew solely from the southwest, there was no chance of smelling the city's acrid smoke on the shore. Unless the back-alley residents came charging with torches in hand.
This seaside safehouse was a rental villa far removed from the urban sprawl. Originally a private corporate facility like any other luxury villa, it had fallen under government management after the company went bankrupt. The pretext was direct government operation to attract tourists, but as with all corrupt administrations, proper oversight never materialized. Officially, the villa we occupied had no registered guests. The facility manager was lining his own pockets. By omitting us from the registry and renting it out at his discretion, he skimmed the payments that should have gone upward. A truly good man, that one.
The scent of burning kindling and roasting meat rode the same breeze. Kyung-tae and the rest clustered around the barbecue grill, laughing boisterously. Each boasted they grilled the best. Scattered at intervals were others swimming, holding breath-holding contests, or itching to try water skis and racing yachts. Amid all this, the only sound of typing came from Soo-yeon.
She sat with a chair pulled up to a small wooden table between us, laptop balanced on her thighs, messenger-chatting with headquarters departments. When conversations lapsed, she searched for work-related info. One earbud dangled loosely from the singly inserted earpiece, local news murmuring through it. I turned my gaze back to the sea and said,
"You've never known how to rest, then or now."
The typing stopped.
"I feel most at ease when I'm working, sir."
"I know." At first, I'd insisted rest was an order too, but she always gave the same reply, and she never seemed to be lying to me. Once I grew familiar with her bodily tells through my eyes, I could confirm it. It wasn't just that she didn't know how to relax; she didn't know how to live any other way. Even now, dressed in a suit, probably armed. Despite the security teams on watch.
With my silence, Soo-yeon returned to her tasks. The monotonous tap-tap of keys. No doubt her mind was stacking up matters to report to me. Not a bad sound to hear.
"Hyungnim."
This time it was Kyung-tae.
"Try these in order and rate 'em for me, yeah?"
The plate he brought held neatly sliced beef. The handiwork of those competing in grilling skills, apparently. Kyung-tae's eyes brimmed with expectation as he watched me.
"Second from the left is the best."
"Yes!" Kyung-tae whooped, spinning to yell back, "Dinner duty's mine again today, you bastards!"
The subordinates around the grill erupted in enthusiastic cheers. Did he even realize he was the only one who genuinely enjoyed such chores? He must know, but watching him, I couldn't help wondering sometimes.
"Finish the rest with hyungnim and noona!"
Kyung-tae set the plate on the table and rejoined his group. I stared at it blankly. It tasted good. But it clashed with the serene enjoyment I'd been savoring, that effortless flow with time.
Steam was rising. I pulled up my tablet and opened a document I'd been reading that morning. Not internal organization material, but an article from a periodical deeply analyzing the ecology of the Raspberry crazy ants.
As revealed by joint research from Edward G. LeBrun, Nathan T. Jones, and Lawrence E. Gilbert, and verified by numerous follow-up studies, the Raspberry crazy ant (Nylanderia fulva) possesses chemical neutralization capabilities against the venom of the fire ant (Solenopsis invicta), previously the most destructive invasive species. Leveraging this ability, crazy ants are expanding across the entire U.S. South, with spot outbreaks occurring elsewhere via human transport networks.
Moreover, all crazy ant colonies form supercolonies where multiple queens coexist simultaneously, rather than typical single-queen structures. This is another reason they steadily displace other ant species.
The spread rate of crazy ants is accelerating yearly; with sufficient food, a single colony can extend over a mile in a year, not uncommonly. In September this year, one colony near Balcones Canyonlands outside Austin expanded approximately 12.7 miles (20.4 km) annually—over three times the previous record. Verification is needed to rule out confusion with adjacent colonies, but…
[…Thus, at present, no method exists to halt the spread of crazy ants.]
Reading through, the chapter's final paragraph on distribution, expansion rates, and countermeasures concluded thus. This unstoppable ant earned its title as a southern U.S. disaster because—as I'd witnessed firsthand on the Indian reservation—it had the bizarre habit of swarming electronics. Electrocuted upon contact, it released alarm pheromones signaling attack, drawing hordes of comrades to trigger chain short-circuits. Outcomes were binary: lucky ones ended in mere shorts; unlucky sparked fires and worse.
No wonder the EPA ranked it among America's top biological threats, alongside kudzu and feral hog overpopulation.
Lately, I'd been mulling using these unkillable ants as plague vectors.
First, start real estate investments in London's most rundown neighborhoods. Set up shell companies…
Places like Peckham, not far from Charing Cross, or farther south in Dewsbury—prime slum investments. Peckham had London's lowest white population ratio; Dewsbury, the cheapest housing and worst security across mainland UK.
Rough plan: Acquire dozens of buildings in such slums, excavate basements, tunnel horizontally a bit, release crazy ant queens to build colonies. Sustain heat to explode populations; by surfacing, the colony would be vast enough to evade origin-tracing. Authorities wouldn't bother anyway. Why invest in poor areas first? The poor's complaints weigh as light as their thin wallets outside elections. They couldn't afford pricey private exterminators.
Dewsbury, moreover, was overwhelmingly Muslim. Home to Mohammad Sidique Khan and his 2005 London suicide bombing supporters. Would UK authorities seriously heed gripes from residents who tried forming rogue Sharia zones, ignoring public justice? No. The Britain I knew wouldn't.
They wouldn't even check what ant species caused trouble. Amid their negligence and foot-dragging, I'd scale investments with the ant kingdom's growth. Eventually, an irremovable mega-colony would form. Officials would panic at the speed. But they'd never pinpoint the cause. I'd import only sugar—tons of it. Sugar's harmless.
Research showed southern Brazil hosted a termite city half Britain's size; Europe's Argentine ant empire stretched from northern Italy to Spain's Pyrenees—8,000 km wide. My fed ants could swallow London whole.
The key was what followed. With Round Table assault imminent, my citywide properties would feed ants disease-tainted bait.
Plague first… Smallpox if possible.
Plague was easy: Steady U.S./Central Asian cases yearly. Deploy hunters for marmots and such; soon secure live bacteria. Culture samples, mix into ant feed. Ants aren't intermediate hosts, but could transfer before dying. Dead ants at fried electronics would expose repair techs. Antibiotics as prophylaxis? Perfect—no friendly fire risk during host hunts or Round Table strikes.
Smallpox: Officially eradicated, acquisition hellish. Only U.S., Russia, maybe China/North Korea hoarded it. Vaccinating terrorists? Strategic reserves, state-controlled. Bulk vaccine hunts alone flagged bioterror watchlists.
But virus and vaccine secured? Devastating follow-up. Plague to seal zones physically, then smallpox for targeted second strike. Surgical excision: London alone carved from the map. Can't unleash world-culling plagues recklessly. Not for the peace I envision.
Even in mana-rich environs hostile to microbes, this plague cocktail would aid Round Table assault immensely. Maybe claim a Master or two. Solid overture.
Yet the plan had two issues. Internal ones, personal and organizational.