He was upon her, his urgency pounded out on her shell, “General Tilth needs you!”
“My father?” Viva panicked.

Dropping her load of aphid milk, she raced without question. Their scent moved at neuron speed up the line causing barriers to be conquered. Carapace bridges and wide alleys chewed out of the landscape hastening their way. Soon the tunnels entrance loomed into view. Hoards of soldiers guarded the lip, her father among them, drenched in scents of pandemonium.

Viva approached, their antennae intertwined, “Where’s the Queen?” she asked. Embracing her, he wept words; “The Hill colonies have declared war, they covertly clogged our vents, everyone inside is dead, including Queen Manna and the entire nursery. We are now without a Queenly heir and no way to birth an army. The Sugars and the Carpenters have been wiped out too. How will we survive?”

500 years ago the Great Milk Slave rebellion freed trillions. Is the Termite King behind this? Viva thought, and sent forth a wave scented with suspicion.