The Bees of Autumn

Our Oldest Friends...

Oracle stared at the hives, each thriving in large white boxes. The paint gave off a bluish glow, an effect of the sunlight pouring through the glass dome above. He sat on a large, smoothed stone. He waited patiently, his thoughts focused on the moment.
He raised his hand to his brow, the sweat glistening on his dark brown skin before being wiped away. The apiary was kept warm at all times. The bees couldn't survive Safeharbor's cool and constant climate.
Stacy walked through the door on the far side of the apiary. She was starting to show, and he couldn't help but smile when he noticed. She carried two wooden cups, each filled with water. When she handed him his, he took a sip and savored the flavor of lemon and honey, still strong as the ice barely had time to melt. He felt something on his hand, an itch so faint it could be confused for the wind in the presence of a light breeze. He brought his hand up and saw the worker bee dancing around his fingers and up his arm before flying off.

When humans arrived on Safeharbor, we brought many species native to Earth. We brought crops of all kinds, herbs and spices, as well. We brought livestock, pets, and more. Most of these species failed when exposed to Safeharbor's climate, prompting us to develop methods of providing livable conditions. From hydroponic gardens and greenhouses to shelters and habitats for strays. These developments and more began with a simple initiative. We sought to preserve a species critical to our survival, a remnant of Earth we've relied on since our species first appeared back on old blue: The Honey Bee.

Our friends, The Bees

We brought 6 species from Earth. Only one remains: Apis mellifera. On Earth, it was the most common species, found in every part of the world. Of its thirty-one recognized subspecies, only eleven survived.
We carefully preserved them, their hives gathered and housed in Autumn, the first of our colonies. The apiaries are lovingly tended to, many of them operated by families with generations of experience to work from.
They name the hives, name the queens, and the death of either is painful in more ways than one. Honey bees have lived alongside us since the beginning, and it stands to reason that neither can exist without the other. The pain felt is more than a personal one. The death of the bees could mean death to us all.

A matter of life and death…

The bees needed us to survive, quite the opposite of how things were back on earth. In turn, we need them as well. Their honey is essential to humanity's survival and a staple of our diet. You won't find a single home without it.
There are twenty apiaries in Autumn, each building housing up to forty colonies. Each hive is capable of producing sixty to one hundred pounds of honey in a single year. While much is left to feed the hive, what we get is more than enough for our small population.
Honey is crucial due to its nutritional value, especially when other sources of carbohydrates can't be found. Humans are always active on Safeharbor. A day is spent working not for money or luxury, but to ensure one sees another. Fruit takes time to grow and harvest, but honey is always in supply and never truly spoils.

Strangers in the Garden

The flora of Safeharbor is vibrant, most bearing some shade of red. Most of these plants are pleasantly fragrant, but when introduced to the environment of the apiaries, the bees never interacted with them.
The bees are picky, and despite pollen being present, refuse to mingle with the alien flora. This is likely the reason why so many hives died when brought to the planet. While the climate of the planet didn't help, it may be simply because they didn't have food.
Adding alien flora is now strictly avoided, as it led to the death of many plants in the apiaries that tried. By mixing diseased plants, which no one knew how to detect, the gardens died, and the hives shortly after.