The Bee Emissary Chapter 11

The morning after returning from Door County, the State issued an update that family members could return to the fire-ravaged areas

Chapter 11:

The morning after returning from Door County, the State issued an update that family members could return to the fire-ravaged areas of Door County in two or three weeks to give the National Guard time to clear the roads and inspect the damaged areas.

I showered, dressed, and headed to the lab, not wanting to be alone with my thoughts. As I walked, the cool winds of October helped clear my mind and the smoke from the Madison sky.

Arriving at the lab, I saw my professor in his office.

Dr. Carlson called out. “Rob, how are you doing? Come sit.”

My throat tightened, my voice cracked, and I was tearing up. Dr. Carlson handed me a tissue. Watching me dab my eyes, he gave me a minute to compose myself.

“Rob, I am so sorry I can’t imagine. Let me know what I can do.”

I could barely get the words out. “Thanks, it’s been rough. I lost my grandma four years ago, and my mom has been in the service for the past four years. Now, my grandpa is missing. I pray he got out, but it doesn’t look good.”

“Waiting is the hardest part, Rob. If you need counseling, services are available on campus.”

Dr. Carlson reached out his hand and patted my shoulder. “Hang in there. My door is always open.”

“Thank you. I appreciate your concern and will keep it in mind.”

I stood to leave but remembered. I may need a day or two to head to Door County once it’s declared safe by the authorities.

Dr. Carlson nodded. “Whatever time you need.”

I hung my backpack on the chair at my lab desk, then wandered the lab, trying to regain a sense of calm. The lab’s sameness comforted me, a constant in an ever-changing world. I walked to the back hallway and heard the faint buzzing of bees inside the apiaries. I wondered what they were talking about. Grandpa was never far from my thoughts.

The main lab was still empty when I returned. Then I recalled that my lab mates were busy with field studies, collecting information about autumnal changes in diverse insect populations. I had the lab to myself until the afternoon.

A pile of scientific journals laid on my desk. I picked up the first journal, and underneath saw a thick, brown envelope. When I opened it, a book entitled Infra-acoustics and Insect Language fell out, along with a note. I read the cover of the book: Dr. Blake, the author, a professor at the University of British Columbia, studied animal communication.

The note read.

I enjoyed chatting with you at the social.

This book may interest you and your grandpa.

Please return the book when you finish reading it.

Twany

My mind wandered. A lot had happened since Twany and I met at the departmental social the week before the Door County fire. The event took place in a small conference room, usually reserved for invited speakers. Graduate students, post-docs, and faculty attended and stood around a table with refreshments. A few empty chairs lined the walls.

I noticed Twany as soon as I entered the room. She was tall with short, spiked black hair, and lips covered in black lipstick. Large, hooped silver earrings dangled from her ears. A series of small, sparkling piercings decorated the outer edge of her left ear. She wore a white T-shirt and black pants. White socks and black tennis shoes completed her outfit. Had she worn chains, I might have assumed she was Goth.

We bumped into each other as we each tried to sink deeper into invisibility.

There was a moment of silence, then Twany spoke without making eye contact. “Awkward, isn’t it?”

I chuckled nervously, turned my head to see her, and cleared my throat. “Ah, a bit, yeah. I didn’t know being a graduate student involved being social. My professor told me I had to come. Oh, I’m Rob, Rob Apoedia, by the way.” I smiled.

Twany turned toward me, still not making eye contact. “Twany, Twany Retton. I just arrived from the University of British Columbia to join Dr. Bullion’s lab. I just got my PhD in computer science.”

“A computer scientist? What brought you to Environmental Sciences?”

Twany appeared a little flustered. She whispered, as if sharing a secret. “Don’t think I’m crazy, okay?” Twany looked for reassurance. “I came to help develop an algorithm for an acoustic-video model to understand bees’ language and turn that understanding into human-bee communication.”

My face must have registered bewilderment.

She continued, “UW-Madison is a leader in generative artificial intelligence, AI.”

“Yeah, AI’s in the news every day. It scares people, doesn’t it?”

“Um, yeah, there is some fear mongering, but I want to use AI to advance our understanding of the natural world.” She took a breath. “I’m working on a convoluted neural network to assimilate spatial and acoustic data to decipher naturalistic bee communication.” Twany added, “The UW has a world-class reputation in the field study of insects. The National Science Foundation earmarked funding to advance these interdisciplinary projects. So, here I am.”

“Honestly, I understood maybe half of what you just said.” I moved to sit down on a nearby chair, and Twany followed.

“Are you drinking sparkling water? Can I get you another?”

Twany nodded. “Yes, please. The one with lemon.”

I got up to get drinks and to think about what to say next.

Returning, I shared what I knew about bees. “My Grandpa raises bees. He spends hours tending his hives, talking and singing to them, even believing they sing back. He talks a lot about how bees communicate, sometimes it’s too much.”

I realized I hadn't explained why I was at the University of Washington.

“Sorry, I should mention why I am at the UW. I’m a first-year graduate student working with Dr. John Carlson, a neuroscientist and entomologist whose lab focuses on bee gene expression related to synaptogenesis, particularly under stress, primarily stress resulting from climate change. Dr. Carlson finds some stressors induce new synaptic connections, the purpose of which is unclear.”

Twany looked curious. “Synaptogenesis? You mean the creation of new nerve-to-nerve connections, right?” I nodded. “Have you ever monitored the bees’ communicative behavior under these stressful conditions? The results might be invaluable to the research my laboratory is doing. Your Dr. Carlson might finally understand the purpose of this neural reorganization.”

Twany added another inducement. “The Department of Defense funds studies on bee behavior. Maybe our labs could write a joint grant.”

“The DOD, the Department of Defense? Why is the military interested in bee communication?” I doubted that Dr. Carlson would ever take money from the military.

“Ah,” said Twany. “Bees have incredible eyesight, electroreception through their antennae, and far more chemoreceptors than humans. The military wants to use these unique abilities to check battlefield conditions.”

I shook my head in disbelief. “Bees in the military. Who would’ve thought?” The idea intrigued me. “Twany, can you send me some literature? I want to learn more.” I also couldn’t wait to tell my grandpa about these advancements in bee science.

“No problem. I’ll send you some peer-reviewed articles and maybe a book I just purchased — after I finish reading it.”

That seemed ages ago, but it was only a week before Door County burned. The book became a welcome distraction.

I went to the chapter on bees. It was fascinating. Combined video and acoustic data of a single bee revealed a complex language unraveled by AI. Using the bee language, engineers in Germany programmed a robot bee to mimic a waggle dance, which successfully directed bees to a food source.

A thought struck me. Was it inspiration or sorrow? My mind whispered a possibility — this technology might reveal what happened to my grandpa during the fire. The idea seemed far-fetched, yet it lingered.