Taterskin & The Eco Defenders: Book 2, Chapter 30
Book 2 ("Tell It to Future Generations"), Chapter 30 of 56
CHAPTER 30
“You might scare them, though,” Rinky said, “Or your aerobatic maneuvers may leave them transfixed. What will you do if they are so mesmerized by your dynamic billboard that” —
“Or, on the other hand,” Chapawee chipped in, “What if they are only mildly entertained by the show and refuse to follow your directions? In other words, what if they are not scared enough?”
“In that case, we will increase the pressure,” Buzz answered.
“How?” I asked.
“By buzzing around their heads, faster and faster, louder and louder, then reforming ourselves as living signposts. We will add an exclamation mark to the message,” Buzz said. And then a few of them demonstrated that by forming their bodies into a ‘!’ shape.
“Then we will buzz around their heads again, closer and louder this time, then form our bodies into an arrow shape that points toward the door. Don’t worry, they will get the, well, point.”
And that is exactly how it turned out to be. Blanck and Harris were at first flabbergasted, then blusteringly defiant, but finally resignedly deigned to convene on the 8th floor.
“Now what?” Blanck said to the bees when they arrived there. He didn’t speak to Buzz directly, because the bees, individually, were not large enough for him to tell who the leader or spokesbee was.
The bees formed the following sentence with their bodies:
STOP THE MACHINES AND CALL A MEETING OF ALL EMPLOYEES
It was done. Harris gestured to all the workers to come forth. Some were hesitant, either because they were allergic to bee stings and such a horde of the little buzzing creatures gave them the heebie-jeebies, or simply because they were afraid of getting stung, even though not allergic.
Buzz sent forth an emissary (only one, so that the workers wouldn’t be startled, as if they were being ganged up on or targeted for attack) to allay their fears and warmly invite them to the meeting that was to be held in their honor, so to speak.
Buzzy or Buzzly — I don’t remember which one it was now — implored them in honeyed tones to come forth, writing the words in the air like a skywriter who had forgotten his paraffin oil, promising them that they would not be stung or harmed in any way.
First, a few intrepid employees approached, then gradually more and more, until finally all had left their machines and had gathered around. Some remained as far away from the scene as they could, still being leery of the Bees. Others were reluctant to draw close because of the presence of the owners. The bolder ones among them marched right up, though, and waited expectantly to hear what was to be announced or demonstrated.
All the workers had one thing in common: they were curious. The pessimistic were dreading bad news; the optimistic were expecting an improvement of some sort.
Buzz flew a circle around all the Bees. It looked to some as if he were a general ‘inspecting the troops,’ but what he was in reality doing was telling them all the words they were going to spell out. All the humans heard was a buzzing sound from him and a barely-audible response from the mass of bees.
Remember that the rest of us animals weren’t even there; the bees handled this operation all on their own. I am merely reporting what was relayed to us after the fact by Buzz Beesnees, the leader of the Bees.
Clara Lemlich, a member of the ILGWU (International Ladies Garment Workers Union), was among the first to have bravely approached, and was standing at the apex of the group of workers.
Once all on the 8th floor had gathered, and while many workers and managers were filing in from the 9th floor, the Bees set to work. Buzz flew in a pattern outlining the message, one letter at a time. As he was finished dancing out one letter, as many as were needed of the other Bees would come and fill in the pattern with their bodies. In this way, letter by letter, the sentences were formed. They first wrote out the following with their bodies, hovering in place and vibrating:
WEEKLY WORK HOURS WILL BE REDUCED FROM 84 TO 50
“Who says!?” cried out Blanck.
The Bees’ only reply was to send forth a contingent of about 20 from their number who spun around his face like a living lasso. Two hovered directly in front of his eyes and stared at him. Blanck got the point.
“Oh, you say so,” he meekly said. “OK, whatever you say, Bees.”
Blanck then looked at Harris, who was taking all this in with a befuddled expression on his face. Blanck whispered in Harris’ ear: “When the Bees leave, we’ll go back to the status quo — business as usual.”
But Bees, although they don’t have ears, can ‘hear’ quite well, by detecting the airborne vibrations caused by speech. Even the whispering behind a cupped mouth was clear as a bell to them.
Thus, the next message they had for the owners was:
WE WILL BE MONITORING YOU. FAILURE TO COMPLY WILL RESULT IN SEVERE REPERCUSSIONS!
“What, exactly, will you do?” Harris asked. “You can’t sting us without harming yourselves, so we’re not too worried about that.”
Another swarm of Bees flew forth. This group divided in two, with half of them landing on Blanck’s forehead, and the other half on Harris’. Those on Blanck’s forehead formed the word “BLATHERSKITE” with their bodies, while those on Harris’ wrote “SCOUNDREL.”
The two men told each other what had been written on their foreheads. They dared not brush the Bees off, or slap at them, because they knew the Bees would sting them if provoked to that extent, even if it was a pain in the gluteus maximus for them to do so.
The Bees then disassembled, though, of their own accord. The teams dissolved and became individual Bees again. But then even more arrived and landed on the heads of the two owners. The Bees formed into the shape of a bullseye on the top of the factory owners’ heads. The two had to bend forward to show each other the pattern that each was sporting.
The Bees buzzed. The workers giggled. The owners fumed.
“What’s the meaning of this? Why have you turned our heads into targets?!?”
“It’s for our partners, the Pigeons,” Buzz answered, via the choreographical calligraphy of his friends. When they see you thus decorated, they will be sure to practice on you during their ‘bombing raids.’
“You mean, you mean” — Harris stuttered.
“Yes, your noggins will be the recipient of prodigious ploppings of Bird poop, raining down, as it were, from the heavens above,” Buzz said. “If you scrape the stuff off, you might be able to eventually begin a side-hustle as a guano monger.”
The Bees all laughed. The owners were flushed (no pun intended); They turned red — partly in anger, partly in fear. Before they could utter further protest, Buzz spoke again.
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