There was nothing good in letting those ugly gnomites feed on my daughters even a second longer, and there was little I could do to prepare for the cell-opening operation.
And that little I did.
All bees who weren't involved in the cell opening were told to avoid this part of the hive until further notice. All bees that *were* involved had to thoroughly wash themselves, and not just in the nearest suspicious rainwater pond, but with boiled water!
Our pottery didn't develop far enough to make bathtubs, yet, so it was just a sponge bath.
But hey, sanitation, right?
And we all wore leather masks, of course—for all the good as they did without gloves.
There were only three bees involved in the first operation: , Tabletina, and Writingdown. If all went well, Writingdown would docunt the operation, and Tabletina will teach others how to do it.
All three of us gathered in an empty cell in the brood comb for the last check.
"Are the tools ready and still clean, Tabletina?"
"Yes, Father." She showed two sharp knives and long wooden tongs for picking mites from hard-to-reach parts of a cell.
Well, before this infestation, we used tongs like these for cooking—they were part of the "stone tools" tech. I wouldn't cook a mite, though. They were too disgusting even to eat!
(Plus, I was sure it was cannibalism. Like eating pigs who were used to dispose of bodies…)
"And the writing tablets are ready, too, Father." Writingdown showed the stack she carried.
I was the assistant carrying candles. One was in my hand, already lit, and half a dozen were waiting their turn. There wasn't enough light for an operation otherwise. I also brought a jar to put mites in.
I took a deep breath.
There was just one last thing I could do. Maybe.
'Hey, system, can I *now* create a physician title?'
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