It was six months later, according to the official calendars. Really it was before. In the cellar, naturally enough, the eye had transferred to the walls. That was to be expected. Black walls and yellow eyes. Small yellow eyes in the corners. Or large yellow eyes. It depended on where one was. Many things depended on where one was. Where and when. That was the essence of Spacetime.
Whoever had effected the transfer had attempted to frame B. by covering him in paint, but a simple DNA test would resolve that in an instant. B. wondered when Jeremy Kyle would come. For now, he lived in the television, between Phillip Schofield and Noel Edmonds, but Jeremy was the one. He had been the keystone all along. It was clearly in his eyes - he had eyes too - and there it was - hidden deep in the sincerity. That and the 'all-important DNA test results'. All important. That was the clue, that was the signal.
DNA. The Divine Code. The facts were open source. Anyone could look them up. And B. had done just that. The genome of a locust was twice as long, contained twice the information, as that of a human. Unless the code was wrong - was badly written - and Divine Codes were never wrong - then locusts were twice as complex as humans. That was the key. The locusts. Where had they hidden their complexity? They weren't saying. B. could respect that. In his time at the headquarters he had only told the troika his name, rank, and graphite grading, HB.
It showed they were a disciplined outfit. A worthy opponent. They made far fewer mistakes than before before. This was only natural. That is what evolution was. The locusts were the elite. The elite Republican Guard. Many had thought the elite Republican Guard to have been a pretence - something made up by construction speculators in America and the like - but not B.. And here they were. Few could have seriously doubted they knew the whereabouts of the WMD. And yet they wouldn't talk. Not properly. Only intermittently would they say anything at all, and then only in shrill and heavily disguised code-voices. But B. excelled at codes. He was like Turing in that respect. Not gay, no, although he had once slept with a man who was, but no, that had been research. And now the research was paying off. Paying off big time. Some of the locusts would be gay. It was a simple matter of the ESS - the evolutionarily stable strategy. But they wouldn't work their gaycraft on B. Not now. He had made himself immune to their advances.
None of this explained where they had hidden their complexity. Not by a long way. Not by any means at all. And B. had all the means. He had been gathering the means for as long as he could remember. Ways and means. That was the way to get to meaning. And only B. could discern the meaning of the universe.
Others has tried before. Tried but failed. It was inevitable. The failure of the others. And this was because of the mirror neurons. The mirror neurons and the locusts. If you cut off the head of a locust, it flew around the room. Clever. The delegation of brain power. Like other humans, and stationery, B. had two main brains - one in the head, and one in the stomach. And a few smaller ones elsewhere that would no doubt be discovered later. But the principle was the same. The delegation of brain power. The locusts had delegated their brains to elsewhere. That was where they had hidden their complexity. There must be some kind of central computer. Some kind of central wifi, possibly gay, bluetooth locust brain computer, beaming orders, flight paths and WMD locations to the headless locusts everywhere.
B. resolved to enquire at the Post Office the next day.