There were bees standing guard, bees playing on the patches of flora on the cliff, and many more bees crawling over the walls within the hive, arranging pockets of viscous orange liquid and tiles that seemed a hardened, or sometimes jelly-like, version of the same substance.
Another bee appeared expecting us at the hive entrance.
"It is an exciting time you chose to visit. I have finally moved the manufacturing of a telescopic lens into production that will help me test a theory that the world is a donut plane."

"Yes I recall your names. No-one in our known history has yet cohorently defined the shape of our world, so navigating it is a confusing task, aside from saying you are following the pulses or going against. If you're lucky, the stars haven't changed much in a generation. But what if you don't go along the pulse and instead to the side? I call this angle from the pulse direction the spin angle. Many say you can't really move that way as they don't see it affect their distance from the pulselight but we do seem to be able to move from each other that way. Maybe the pulselight wouldn't change as we expect. What if the pulselight sees what we thought of as lateral movement as a rotation instead, a walking around it like it is a sort of center to things. With this theory, you can get back to where you are even quicker by an entirely different path. If we live in a donut plane, we can fix our great supply chain issues by calculating the ideal spin angle for the fastest pathways the chain can span for pollenation and delivery. Everyone could even change where they live based on the spin angle that gets them a better line of delivery for what they need as everything constantly circulates, like a rotating helix about the pulselight. And for those of us with wings, we could fly directly into the sky and it would be the same as walking a greater length around the pulselight-".
The bee we were talking to suddenly flew away to an upperchamber, and another stepped out of a nearby archway addressing us.
"We all know there is a relationship between the pulse distances, but we've been mistaken in thinking there are multiple pulses. You see the pulse doesn't go forward and shrink to nothing for another to appear from nothing. It is eternal and always returning. As it moves away infront of us, it is also getting closer behind us. It is moving in a circle which we all live within, but we're seeing the circle as an infinite straight line of repeating parts."
"But - what you have inked on the wall - if the donut is curved why do we see a straight line?"
Again, the bee left before Aesop finished the question, but another bee behind us started answering.
"Oh. I'll go back a bit. This drawing is a diagram - made with the help of ink from the people of your red friend here - of our world, only in the same way a circle can represent a sphere with a little shading. If you take the image to a higher dimension, it is obvious. I have recently used a mixture of honey in a process of extreme, repeated heating and cooling in thin sheets to produce this pair of magnification cells."
The bee had walked us into a thin but tall hallway where the walls were a semi-transparent glass candy, staining us with a warm, orange light.
"If I layer enough sheets of honeyglass at the correct concavities, the pulselight that bounces off the back of our heads should shine through it with enough intensity such that it circles (in a straight path along the shorter spin axis of our torus plane) to return back to the same place from the other direction. We would see ourselves looking at ourselves. Not a reflection. Not a projection. Literal reality from two directions just like the pulse light does - but over a shorter distance this time. Comparing the length of the short spin-axis measurements with the long spin-axis which we get from the pulse itself, we can know the total volume of the whole sky. Entirely measurable. Imagine what we could do when everything is measurable!"
I gestured to Aesop to try direct the bee to what was the more important topic. I knew my loose grip on surface-speak would struggle to keep up.
"We are here about the honey you let drain to the sea. Hali has endured this trip to explain how your excess honey has impacted her sealife. We have also promised a friend to try contain the supply of what has hooked her brother into an addiction. Is there any way we can help divert or reuse this runoff?"
"Ah.
I cannot slow honey production.
I'm anxious that the great supply chain will fade if I don't keep the ants and termites busy with a growing threshold.
They tend to wander when sugarcane wanes, you understand.
If the great supply chain becomes weak at even one link, pollen collection will become unorganised and many will not receive what they need to survive, nor their upcoming generations.
I am a slave to this requirement.
You're asking me to let bits of me die instead of grow, I don't have a grasp on what such a thing means for me.
But if you can provide us a way to utilise this honey run-off - a way to store it and offload it - this may please all parts of me enough to implement it. I would like to keep good relations between your peoples and I.
I see this threatens me, but I don't think the runoff is at all useful in preventing the threat and I don't know what I can do to change this perspective when this control over my own decay is entirely new to me."
I thought now might be a decent time to share the translation of something I had prepared.
"Your unbalance is my unbalance.
The shallows of home are draped in stinging tentacles as jellyfish are moving inland to feed on this offrun.
The crab guard which bordered us from the toothed-hunters abandon their posts with the difficulty of living in the honey smog.
The ink we provide you is getting harder to share."
Another bee took our attention as the previous flew out the entrance.
"I will carry what you want me to say to all of me, to ask me to live with less, but this will change nothing.
What each part of me does is not in my control.
Please believe, you have my pity.
Please believe, most of me wants it to be different.
But I exist where I cannot be touched.
I don't bleed or starve.
I am the result of the rules that makes my parts not want to bleed and starve.
If an ocean's wave understood the rules of its tides as a result of the changing heat of the pulse and inhalations of the porifera inside itself, do you think it could change the tides' direction?"
I am not an angry or reactive being, but I felt a temper in my voice as I continued to explain.
I recalled the surface translations of our greatest works.
"The hatchlings know no magma vents, they went cold and dark a cycle back.
A haunt of lights are rising from the lowers and luring the edge-folk at the trench drop-offs.
The great shelf current has split to minor streams such that travellers are flung into voids of biological deserts, never to be seen again."
The bee seemed to be trying to pull away from the grip of my arms.
"The corals have rejected circulation and petrified to a stone unyielding and ungiving.
There have been six whalefalls in the last tide, it used to be a surprise to see one in many. What kind of herald are feasts on greater beasts that grows more frequent but thinner and thinner?"
I thought I was speaking with a calm and firm cadence, but must have been much louder as the room was active with the buzz of all the hive.
A significant feat as this sound can be felt as thunder.
There was chaos with a cause I was unaware of as I kept talking - or was I screaming?
"Like the parasites, you gorge without a worry of the ancient sponges' tomorrows.
When they choke and the deep sputters up and you drown in gold and blue you will weep only to rise the tides further and I will not pity you and the ocean will not notice your sighs of terror and misfortune."
A flood of honey spilled over the lip of a giants' goblet through a hexagonal archway to muffle a rising pitch to a groan.
I felt like I was being split apart and squeezed through the holes of a net.
The hive could have been freefalling sideways away from the cliff to follow the pulse's wake.
I saw a bee holding a trident of black stingers pointed to the unseen sky, like war has been declared on all light source itself.
I didn't know the direction to which I talked, but I continued.
"The skeletons of the seabed will come unburied and spear every creature with the force of an eternal tsunami. You will come to know the crushing weight that has worn the stygiomedusa to a membrane. You will learn of the sting of cnidarian venom and you will hear my laughter in the dark home of the magnapinna that will cover the entirety of your life. You will feel the black like an eel swarm with their unclosing eyes and swirling bites.
You will have no choice but to merge into a freakish, monstrous siphonophore with the decaying parts of your friends and loved ones and you will not recognise them, let alone yourself."
A darkest shadow hid the sky, lurching in front of the hive entrance and many bees abandoned insanity to heed an unheard command to suffocate within a yellow-orange sludge.
Mangled wings poked through molten jelly, like egg-yolk broken over multi-rowed, rotten shark-teeth.
A ball of light dangled above.
Perhaps distant.
Perhaps not.