“The tea is excellent this season,” one queen observed.

“Indeed,” another noted, sipping again from her porcelain cup, “and the biscuits have elevated once again. This flavour is just divine.”

There was a general chorus of agreement from the “table” the gathered royalty sat around. The special seats invented by the carvers had certainly evolved since the early days. Once upon a time, they were simply a stone edifice, carved to fit the carapace of the ant who sat upon it.

The queens now rested upon seats lined with the finest leather, stuffed with the softest feathers, and coloured to each of their own personal favourite shades. Gold thread had been used to embroider and decorate each of the chairs with personalised filigree and symbols representing each of the eight gathered ants.

“They spoil us too much,” another huffed. “The waste of resources and time is simply profligate.”

“What can we do about it?” laughed the first. “We have asked them to stop, but they won’t.”

The eight gathered queens all nodded seriously in understanding. They had indeed asked their precious family to stop lavishing such extravagant gifts on them, even threatened to risk themselves as the Queen did, but to no avail.

“How are things going in the second egg-chamber?” the fourth asked. “Any interruptions or issues?”

“No,” replied the fifth in her typical blunt fashion. “We’ve been meeting our quotas easily. There seems to be plenty of Biomass to go around.”

“Same for us,” the seventh noted, “everything has been working so smoothly lately. The Brood Tenders have been ecstatic.”

The eight queens sipped from their tea again, a few of them lowering their massive frames to nibble on the delicate biscuits. They had to be careful not to damage the plates. Exquisite works of gleaming porcelain, the plates were beautiful to behold, but not entirely practical for an ant to eat from. As of yet, an eating vessel designed specifically for their mouths had not been created, though doubtless someone somewhere was working on it.

“The biscuits seem a little sweeter than usual,” the second queen noted, her antennae swaying thoughtfully. “Perhaps they’ve adjusted the recipe?”

The first took a larger bite and chewed carefully.

You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

“I believe you’re right. They may have increased the amount of sugar.”

“Are they ever going to stop experimenting with the snacks?” the eighth grumbled. “They were perfectly fine before.”

“I don’t know,” the second continued to take small sampling bites, “I think they may be better this way.”

“Nonsense,” the eighth refuted, “they’re too sweet. They no longer have the perfect balance with the tea.”

“Isn’t that just because you put too much sugar in your tea?” the seventh prodded her sister with an antenna. “You’re making a bad habit of that lately.”

The queens continued to chat and laugh amongst themselves in the centre of the chamber. Around the outside, scores of ants patrolled in a never-ending cycle, with thousands more guarding the tunnels beyond the chamber, and thousands more beyond them.

These eight represented the single most important aspect of the Colony’s social structure, the young. Without the queens, no young would be born, an unthinkable atrocity to the ants. Despite the size of their mining, smelting operations, or the vast fields of crops and fine tea leaves, by far the largest industry within the Colony was the harvest and transport of Biomass. Hundreds of tons flowed into this nest every day, to be consumed by the eight and turned into new young. To make that happen, a workforce of thousands laboured around the clock.

Ever since the queens had evolved to tier six, the demands on the workers had only increased. Patrols had been extended for kilometres in every direction to ensure the Dungeon provided enough food to fuel the nest.

The ants had learned to tend to the Dungeon just as they would a garden. Overhunting would eliminate spawn points, devastating the rate of replenishment. If they hit an area too heavily, they risked reducing the diversity in that part of the Dungeon, which was also a problem. The aim was to extract as much Biomass as possible, after all. That meant allowing the monsters within their territory to hunt and fight each other, to mutate and evolve so they provided better food for the queens.

The scouts were relentless in their observation of the hunting grounds. Carefully monitoring populations, tiers and mutations to maintain the most rich selection of prey.

As the discussion wore on, eventually the tea had been drunk and the tray of snacks had been depleted.

“Time to sleep, I suppose,” the first noted cheerfully. “Very important to get our rest, let’s not forget.”

The others nodded solemnly. The Eldest had decreed that all needed to rest and queens were no exception. They were also known to fall victim to the… enforcers, if they pushed the limits. No one could flaunt the instructions given by the Eldest.

The eight said their farewells and turned their large, ponderous bodies around before making their way to their own rest chambers. Tomorrow would begin with a cleansing as the healers ensured that they were in peak physical condition, followed by a feast as the food that had amassed as they slept would be brought to them.

Then they would begin their work, laying the hundreds of eggs they could produce each day, contributing to the next generation.

A queen's work was never done.