Another Day, Another Blog

August 3, 2007

Criminal Minds

Filed under: ficlet, humour — iamza @ 2:44 pm

“When I grow up,” said Mervyn, his antennae waggling in the light evening breeze, “I want to be a profiler.”

Sergeant John, who was standing guard with Mervyn, scowled. It had been a long shift, and Mervyn’s fanciful asides had not helped to pass the time. “You’re a private in Her Majesty’s Army, Mervyn. You’ll grow up to be a soldier ant, just like the rest of us.”

For a few minutes, the battlements were bathed in blessed silence. Then,  just as Sergeant John was starting to relax, Mervyn said, “Do you think the army has any profilers?”

“Yes. They’re called commanding officers, and you don’t want to get on their bad side. Now, shut up and start guarding, Private!”

Mervyn’s antennae came to attention. “Yes, Sir, Sergeant, Sir!”  

Sergeant John cocked his antenna in a return salute, and turned away. When Mervyn’s antennae wilted shortly afterwards, he pretended not to notice.

***

The war of the ants was in its seventh year when Admiral Clement was found murdered in the Strategic Intelligence Room. Sergeant John had happened across the body during a routine inspection of the military nest, and had quickly called for backup in the form of the AMPs (Ant Military Police). Unfortunately, given that Sergeant John was both the last ant to have seen the Admiral alive, and the first to see him dead, the soldier quickly found himself sitting in an interrogation cell.

“But I didn’t do anything!” Sergeant John said.

“Admiral Clement was alive when you saw him yesterday?”

“Ye-e-e-es,” said Sergeant John, slowly.

“And he was dead when you came back in the early hours of this morning?”

“Ye-e-e-es,” said Sergeant John, even more slowly.

“And did you see anyone enter the SIR between the time when you last saw the Admiral alive and when you first saw him dead?”

“No.” The word echoed loudly in the room, and Sergeant John’s eyes widened. “Now, wait just a minute. Surely, you don’t think I ha–”

“That will be all. Thank you for your co-operation.” And the AMP interrogators got to their feet. “A lawant will be assigned to you shortly. Good day.” 

***

The Queen was not happy, and when the Queen was not happy, nobody else in the nest was happy, either. Pheromones were flying far and fast, and the antennae network was waggling overtime. Only one ant remained still: Sergeant John was chained to his chair at the front of the throne room.

“Why would you do this?” the Queen asked in a voice shrill enough to penetrate the noisy chaos that had overtaken the nest. “Admiral Clement was a great soldier, and a good man.”

Sergeant John looked up at his queen from under drooping antennae. “I did nothing wrong. I was only doing my job. Admiral Clement was already dead when I found him.”

The Queen glared at her prisoner for a moment, then transferred her glare to somebody behind the Sergeant. “And you? What do you have to say?”

“He’s telling the truth, Your Majesty.”

Sergeant John’s antennae perked up. That voice…he knew that voice! He swiveled on his chair, and there, standing behind him was his one-time guard-companion, Private Mervyn.

“And you know this, how?”

Mervyn cocked an antenna. “Well, because the Sergeant doesn’t fit the profile of the killer.”

“And just what is the killer’s profile?” The Queen’s teeth were clenched so tight, she could barely speak.

“Ah, I’m glad you asked,” said Mervyn with a smirk. “This particular killer’s profile is mine.”

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