Volume 3: Meristem

Issue 2: Foulbrood

Florian Reyes Honeywell

By Roach

I pondered my Science Fair project throughout the day. Bees were the obvious choice. I could use the swarm to run an experiment, and my parents would be more than happy to answer any questions I had. But there was one problem with this plan. I shouldn’t draw any unnecessary parallels between myself and the swarm. At least, if I wanted to be a super… I interrupted myself before I could finish the thought, then corrected myself; if I wanted to keep using the swarm like Camilo and I had in the theater, I had to separate myself from bees as much as possible. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt now, but long-term? Worst case scenario, I risked exposing my swarm. I had to look for other options. The less I associated with bees, the better.

In the evening, I headed to Mount Sutro—one of San Francisco’s Seven Hills, a little west of Chapel High. When I was younger, my parents had kept some beehives stationed on the hill as a part of a pollination initiative. Whenever we went to check on them, we would rotate between which trail we took. My favorite had been the Fairy Gates trail. Equipped with a glass jar, I went there. While I wasn’t exactly expecting to catch fairies, I was hoping to find a non-hymenopteran insect—something entirely outside the order of bees or the closely related ants and wasps—to use for my project. I scrutinized the ground as I walked. Bees crawled out of my ears intermittently. Alone in the woods, I didn’t have to worry about being discovered. Instead, I allowed them to roam freely.

There were multiple fairy villages—a term coined by my parents—alongside the path. These villages were populated with toy figurines; everything from plastic dinosaurs, Pokémon figures, tiny dolls, to glass fairies. They sat on top of logs, sheltered behind rocks, and inside hollowed tree trunks. I stumbled over a collection of action heroes. Starlight’s Asteria, Baozhu, and Neon-Racer were the most recognizable.

I looked at Neon-Racer the longest. To indicate her speed, a bright pink trail was incorporated into her design. There was a button on her back. I pressed it. With slow and rigid movements, her legs and arms swung back and forth. I imagined they would have moved faster with a change of batteries. While I hadn’t personally seen her at Chapel High, it was strange to think that my swarm had crossed paths with her. The uncanny feeling stayed with me as I kept walking along the trail, eyes peeled for insects.

Hive, pay attention.

I flinched at the Queens’ voice. What, your highness?

You don’t notice it? Did you pupate yesterday or are you just that incompetent? she sneered.

Snapping back wouldn’t be worth it. While she had never been a pleasant conversationalist, her mood swings had gotten worse since the theater incident. I tensed. Aside from a breeze stirring the leaves, my surroundings were still. I focused on the scents instead. There it was; faint pheromone traces riding the wind. I singled it out. A beehive, I concluded. So?

Something so impure can hardly be called a hive. Look closer.

Continuing along the path, I closed in on the trail. A stench like rotten fish slammed into me. I recognized it instantly. Three years ago, my parents’ bees had run into all sorts of problems. Some abandoned their hives, others dropped like flies. The Honeywell business had almost shut down as a result. The putrid smell could only come from one thing: foulbrood. The smell of the bacterial disease was so distinct that even without my affinity for bees, I would have recognized it from memory alone. Girls, stay away, I ordered the swarm.

No, the Queen protested. We must eliminate them.

I’m not in the mood to catch foulbrood. Let’s just collect some beetles or something and go home.

Remember that I’m no ordinary queen, and you’re no ordinary hive. You haven’t been ill since the Empire corrected your anatomy. This won’t affect us.

The last six months ran through my mind. In that time, the bees had gradually modified my body to suit their own needs. And the Queen was right; I hadn’t fallen ill since last summer. But that alone didn’t necessarily mean anything. Then again, she had been right when she told me I could take the fall from the catwalk in the theater. If my body could regenerate, maybe being immune to foulbrood wasn’t too far-fetched. Either way, I wasn’t exactly keen to find out. I replied, Maybe. But that’s not a reason to pick a fight.

We can’t show weakness. Nothing can stand in the way of the Empire.

I sighed. Let’s just move on. They’re suffering enough as it is. When antibiotic treatments had failed my parents’ sick bees, the hives were burnt down to prevent the foulbrood from spreading. The smell of smoke followed my parents home that day, lingering in the apartment for the next week. They acted like it was business as usual. But no smoke screen could hide the long conversations behind shut doors, the hushed phone calls, or the growing stack of papers on the kitchen table. No, they couldn’t hide behind the smoke; the smell tainted every word they said, every smile they offered. I never wanted to see them that way again.

This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

That’s barely scratching the pollen. The Queen chuckled in hums. We will show them true suffering.

Your highness… I lost my train of thought once the wild hive came into view. It hung from the branches of an old eucalyptus tree off the path. Its honeycombs grew into deformed shapes, the wax ridden of its hexagonal structure. The cells, sealed off by mold, sunk under the weight of the decomposing larvae inside. A few bees flew around the hive in slow, wobbling circles.

Daughters, gather, the Queen said.

No, I countered. But the swarm already roused inside of me, my own signal overpowered by the Queen’s. Buzzing flooded my ear canals as they crawled out. I clenched my teeth in futile resistance. Their numbers forced my mouth open. I reached for the branch of a nearby tree, steadying myself as the swarm poured out of me. Hundreds of bees gathered. It felt as if an electrical current coursed through me, leaving me numb as soon as the Queen was satisfied with her army.

Exterminate them, she ordered.

The swarm descended upon the wild hive. First, they blocked off each tunnel. Then they entered. They executed any bee willing to oppose them, beheading them with their mandibles. Using their stingers, they slit open the soft tissue of each larva. The wild bees struggled against them. But there was no competition. My bees were bigger, fitter, and meaner. They killed anything in their way without hesitation. They pressed into the heart of the hive—into the enemy queen’s nest.

I detected the dying queen’s pheromones as she relayed her final moments to the world. First, they tore off her wings. Then her antennae. Her legs. Her thorax. Lastly, her head. While pheromones didn’t readily translate to concepts or feelings humans could understand, I couldn’t help but interpret her signals like a wave of mourning in the air. Within the span of a minute, anything that had moved inside the hive was dead.

My swarm retreated inside of me. If I could have felt something, I would have been sick. I would have preferred nausea to my current numbness. Why? I asked. They were going to die anyway.

Then you see that it was a mercy, the Queen said.

A part of me knew she was right. For as long as the hive persisted, the infected bees would have been able to spread foulbrood to other hives, contaminating every flower they visited. My parents had purged their own hives for the same reason. Even now, staring down the obliterated hive, I was reminded of the smell of burnt wax.

At the end of the day, it was just one wild hive out of many. Whereas other native species may find themselves in decline, there were more than enough western honeybees to go around. Their extermination shouldn’t have made a difference to me. But this knowledge didn’t alleviate my anger—it had the opposite effect. I was furious. That the Queen had made me relive my family’s weakest moments. That she made me a witness to her senseless violence. That she didn’t listen to me. That she lashed out now that I had finally figured out a way to use the swarm for something good. I clung to that last thought. In my hands, these bees could do something good. I wouldn’t let her change that. I could still be good.

I trudged back, glass jar hollow. But I didn’t care if I went home empty-handed. The Science Fair seemed so pointless compared to everything else that had happened. There was nothing left for me in this place but the restless buzz in my ears. Long live the Empire, the swarm echoed. Long live…

I checked my phone for a distraction. Nothing new. I opened my messages with Camilo. The last thing he had sent me was a photo of five pigeons sitting on a power line. I wanted to say something, but I didn’t know what. Ask him about the pigeons? About hanging out later? But would he even want to do anything outside of school or fighting monsters? My fingertips hovered over the screen. I closed our messages, then put the phone away.

I reached the fairy villages without any other interruptions from the Queen. As I retraced my steps, a Champion figure caught my eye. He poked out of a hollowed tree trunk. Something about it compelled me to stop. Maybe it was the reminder of my neglected history readings. Or maybe it was the figure’s optimistic pose; hands resting on the hips, chin up. It had a vintage look, appearing older than the toys I played with when I was younger.

Something crawled over the super-soldier’s muscled arms. I picked up the figure, studying the spangled red and blue coating, long since bleached by sunlight exposure. A ladybug walked along the crevices in the plastic.

I cupped my palm over the beetle. On one of our hikes, my mom had told me that if a ladybug flew from my hand, I should make a wish.

I knew exactly what I would wish for. It weighed me down in the same way as the swarm inside of me. But I couldn’t bring myself to put my wish into words.

Even if I could, it appeared to be a lost cause. I opened my hand, but the ladybug never flew away. It rested in the heartlines of my palm. As its antennae explored my hand, the swarm quieted. Its feet tickled my skin, the sensation comforting. When the ladybug made no sign of trying to escape, no sign of self-preservation, I trapped it in the glass jar. Maybe I could work with this, after all.

I traced the ladybug’s pheromones in the air. While I couldn’t garner any meaning from it like I could with the bees, the scent was distinct enough that I could recognize it. And as long as I recognized it, I could track it. It was barely February, so I reasoned that the beetle would have woken up from hibernation recently. My parents had introduced ladybugs to plenty of gardens, and I knew that they aggregated during hibernation. In other words, where there was one, there would be others.

I just had to follow the signal, and hopefully, it would lead me to my Science Fair project.