Hellstrom's Hive (14 page)

From the Hive breeding record.
This new group must be watched with extreme care. This includes all of the breeding batch designated Fractionated Actinomycin Nucleotide Complex Y (FANCY) series. Although they offer us a great potential in several specializations desperately needed by the Hive, they may harbor a strain of instability. This instability may be evidenced in a heightened breeding drive, in which case it can be diverted to the Hive's advantage. However, other symptoms may crop up and should be reported to Breeding Central immediately.

 

Hellstrom sat in reflective silence after the emergency meeting of his Council. He felt that the entire Hive had become something of what he imagined a hunted submarine to be: rigged for silent running. All power systems, including ventilation, were operating at minimums; water interchange with the deep underground river that ran their turbines and was their major water source had been put under special observation to prevent anything from entering it that might arouse Outside suspicions when that water reached the Snake River system.

Hellstrom wondered how much Peruge and his cohorts knew about Project 40. It had been a question left unanswered by the Council meeting. The Outsiders could not know everything
about Project 40, nor was it likely they knew anything about the Hive as yet. Hellstrom felt confident of this. At the barest suspicion that something like the Hive existed, they would be in here with an army. Some accommodation had to be reached with these Outsiders before they learned too much. The deaths were regrettable, but they had followed as an inevitable consequence of Porter's death. That had been an error.

We have lived too long in the security of our camouflage, he thought. We have become too bold. Making films did that, and all the necessary intimate arrangements with Outsiders that grew out of the films. We have underestimated the Outsiders.

Hellstrom suppressed a weary sigh. He missed Old Harvey. The present security team was a good one, but Old Harvey had possessed a special ability, a balancing wisdom. The Hive needed him now more than ever, and all they had of Old Harvey's legacy was his favorite protégé, Saldo. Was Saldo that which came out of the vats new? Saldo had undergone a profound maturing since the night of the hunt. The transformation appeared to Hellstrom in some ways like a metamorphosis. It was as though, on that fatal night, Saldo had really inherited Old Harvey's wide experience and wisdom. Hellstrom knew he was leaning on Saldo for the same kinds of support he had learned to expect from Old Harvey. Whether Saldo could bear up to these demands remained to be seen. Thus far, he had shown bursts of brilliance and imagination, but still…Hellstrom shook his head. It was difficult to lean on a young and untried member of the new breed in a crisis such as this one. But who else did he have?

The Council meeting had started at noon in a screening room that occupied one entire corner of the barn-studio. It was a room of outwardly conventional appearance: oval table flanked by massive chairs, Hive-made of heavy extrusion plastic to counterfeit teak. A pulldown screen filled one end of the room, a speaker on each side of it against the ceiling corners, and a
small double-glass window at the other end leading into the projection room. The walls were baffled and hung with loosely draped heavy fabric to dampen random sounds.

Saldo had remained behind the others at Hellstrom's request. The bullet scar along his jawline had not completely healed. It stood out whitely against his dark skin. The hawkish features remained relaxed now, but there was a steady alertness in his brown eyes. Hellstrom recalled now that Saldo was also of the S
₂
a-1 series on the female side. That made him one of Hellstrom's cousins. The younger man had been picked from prime stock and subjected to all of the proper chemical reinforcements. And now, Saldo represented a nice convergence of the functional traits upon which the Hive relied so heavily.

“We must be prepared at every level to respond quickly and thoroughly if anything goes wrong,” Hellstrom said, looking up and starting the conversation as though Saldo had shared the preceding reverie. “I have sent messages to all of our special fronts Outside that they must be prepared to proceed on their own if we are lost. All records alluding to such fronts have been made ready for demolition.”

“But have we anticipated every contingency?” Saldo asked.

“The question I've been asking myself.”

“I know.” And Saldo thought: Our prime male is too tired. He needs rest and we cannot give him that rest. Saldo felt in this moment extremely protective toward Hellstrom.

“You were right to suggest that Peruge probably will be carrying special electronic equipment,” Hellstrom said. “At the very least, he'll be transmitting his position and condition to monitors Outside. I'm sure of it.”

“Those people on the mountain.”

“To them, yes. We must know the nature of his equipment as soon as possible.”

“I've made all the preparations for that,” Saldo said. “Nils, shouldn't you get some rest?”

“No time. Peruge is on his way and he's just the tip of the iceberg.”

“The what?”

Hellstrom explained the allusion, then, “How many people do you think he has on the mountain?”

“There are at least ten people camping up there. They could all be his.”

“That many?” Hellstrom shook his head.

Saldo nodded, sharing Hellstrom's disquiet. The idea of at least ten people snooping into the Hive's affairs created a profound disturbance of his inbred caution and conditioning.

“Does Linc have anyone he can send up the mountain to play camper with those others?” Saldo asked.

“He's looking into it.”

“Linc is bringing this Peruge personally, isn't he?”

“Yes. But we mustn't assume that Peruge trusts Linc.”

“Linc was no match for Peruge, that's obvious,” Saldo said. “I heard his account.”

“Learn from that,” Hellstrom said. “It's good to have our own Outside fronts, including a deputy sheriff, but each one creates its own problems. The more we expose ourselves, even in seeming secrecy, the more danger we're in.”

Saldo tucked this lesson into his memory. One did not put out agents with complete impunity. The very existence of an agent carried its own message when that agent was exposed. If Peruge suspected Lincoln Kraft, that revealed something about the Hive. Saldo vowed to remember this when the present crisis was past. He had no doubt that they would surmount present difficulties. His trust in the prime male, Hellstrom, was profound.

“Peruge may possess a device to reveal that we're probing for his equipment,” Hellstrom said.

“I have given instructions to monitor for that,” Saldo said.

Hellstrom nodded, pleased. Thus far, Saldo had anticipated every contingency that had arisen in Hellstrom's own mind—and
some that had not. Prime breeding stock always showed its worth in the crunch. Saldo possessed a penetrating intelligence. The younger male would be of inestimable value to the Hive when he had been tempered and fully trained.

“What excuse have you prepared if he detects our probes?” Hellstrom asked.

“I want to discuss that with you. Suppose, for the film in progress, we are making a sound track with a great deal of complex mixing. It would be perfectly explainable electronic activity. The visit of this Peruge surely could not be expected to interrupt that. We have a schedule to keep. Any interference with Peruge's equipment could be explained by this work.”

Hellstrom nodded thoughtfully. “Excellent. And I ask him when he arrives if he has a radio, because—”

“A radio would interfere with our equipment,” Saldo completed for him.

“See to the cover preparations,” Hellstrom said.

Saldo arose, stood with his fingertips touching the table, hesitating.

“Yes?” Hellstrom asked.

“Nils, are we sure the others didn't have such equipment? I've been reviewing the tapes and records and—” He shrugged, obviously loath to criticize.

“We searched them. There was nothing.”

“That seems odd—the fact that they didn't carry such equipment.”

“They weren't considered important enough,” Hellstrom said. “They were sent in to see if they would be killed.”

“Ahhhhh—” Saldo's expression betrayed both understanding and shock.

“We should've understood that about Outsiders,” Hellstrom said. “They are not very good humans, the wild ones. They commonly waste their workers this way. The ones who intruded here were expendable stock. I know now that it would have been far
wiser for us to confuse them and send them away with a believable story.”

“It was a mistake to kill them?”

“A mistake to make it necessary to kill them.”

Saldo nodded his understanding of the fine distinction. “We made a mistake,” he said.

“I made a mistake,” Hellstrom corrected him. “Too much success made me careless. We must always keep that possibility in mind: any of us can err.”

The words of brood mother Trova Hellstrom.
Let me introduce a word about the quality that we call caution. Where we say we have been and where we say the Hive is headed—somewhere in that mysterious future—are by necessity somewhat removed from what we imagine are facts. Our own interpretation always intervenes. What we say we are doing is inevitably modified by our own understanding and by the limits of our comprehension. First, we are partisan. We see everything in terms of Hive survival. Second, the universe has a way of appearing to be one thing when it is actually something else. In this light,
caution
becomes a reliance upon our deepest collective energies. We must trust the Hive itself to possess wisdom and to manifest that wisdom through us, its cells.

 

When they reached that point on the lower road where Peruge could get his first look at Hellstrom's farm, he asked Kraft to stop. The deputy brought his green and white station wagon to a skidding, dusty halt and peered questioningly at his passenger.

“Something wrong, Mr. Peruge?”

Peruge merely tightened his lips. Kraft interested him. The deputy could have been typecast for the role he played. It was almost as though someone had looked at him and said, “Now, this one, we'll make him the deputy.” Kraft had a sunburned, western appearance, thick nose and beetling brows, pale yellow
hair topped by a wide-brimmed western hat. His blocky features surmounted a blocky body that moved with a stiff-legged horseman's walk. Peruge had seen several people on Fosterville's one main street who looked vaguely like Lincoln Kraft.

Kraft accepted Peruge's silent appraisal without qualms, secure in the knowledge that he was a Hive hybrid whose appearance could not possibly excite questions about alien background. Kraft's father had been a local rancher seduced in a gene-foray by a breeding female. Many Fosterville locals had remarked Kraft's resemblance to the father.

Now, Kraft cleared his throat “Mr. Peruge, I said—”

“I know what you said.”

Peruge glanced at his wristwatch: a quarter to three. Every delay imaginable had been thrown in the way of this excursion: telephone calls, careful examination of the missing-persons report, a lengthy study of the photograph, question after question and a laborious assemblage of answers on paper, all executed in a slow and meticulous longhand. But here they were, finally, in sight of Hellstrom's farm. Peruge felt his pulse quicken. The air carried a dry, cloying silence. Even the insects were still. Peruge sensed something out of character about the stillness. He grew aware slowly of the absence of insect sounds and asked Kraft about this.

Kraft pushed his hat back, rubbed a sleeve across his forehead. “I expect someone's used a spray.”

“Really? Does Hellstrom do that sort of thing? I thought all the environmentalists were against sprays.”

“How'd you know the doc was into ecology?”

Sharp! Sharp! Peruge reminded himself. He said, “I didn't know it. I just assumed an entomologist would have that as one of his concerns.”

“Yeah? Well, maybe the doc isn't spraying. This is rangeland right here.”

“Somebody else could be doing it?”

“Maybe. Or the doc could be doing something else. Did you have me stop just so you could listen?”

“No. I want to get out and scout around the area and see if I can spot any sign of Carlos's camper.”

“Not much sense in that.” Kraft spoke quickly with an undertone of sharpness.

“Oh? Why?”

“If we decide he's really been around here, we'll do a thorough search.”

“I thought I told you,” Peruge said. “I've already decided he was around here. I'd like to get out and have a little look at the area.”

“Doc don't like people wandering around his place!”

“But you said this was rangeland. Does he control it?”

“Not exactly, but—”

“Then let's have a look.” Peruge put a hand on the door.

“You just wait a minute!” Kraft ordered.

Peruge nodded silently. He'd found out what he wanted to know: Kraft was here to block
any
investigation by strangers.

“All right,” Peruge said. “Does Hellstrom know we're coming?”

Kraft had put the station wagon in gear, prepared to resume their lurching progress toward the farm, but now he hesitated. Peruge's demand that they stop had shocked him. The first thought had been that the Outsider had seen something suspicious, something overlooked by the Hive's cleanup workers. Peruge's attempts to get out and search the area had done nothing to ease that initial disquiet. Now, it occurred to Kraft that Peruge or his people might have tapped the telephone to the farm. But Hive Security was always wary of that; surely they'd have detected such intrusion.

“Matter of fact, he does know,” Kraft said. “I called to make sure the doc was here himself. Sometimes he goes gadding off to mighty strange places. And I wanted to clear it that we were coming. You know how these scientists are.”

“No. How are they?”

“They do experiments sometimes. Outsiders go blundering in and upset everything.”

“Is that why you don't want me to get out here?”

Kraft spoke with obvious relief. “Sure it is. Besides, the doc makes movies up here all the time. He gets a bit testy if you ruin his pictures. We try to be good neighbors.”

“You'd think he'd put out guards or something.”

“No-o-o. The locals all know about his work. We steer clear of his place.”

“How testy does he get if one ruins his experiments or his movies?” Peruge asked. “Does he—ahhh, shoot?”

“Nothing like that! Doc wouldn't really hurt anybody. But he can be mighty rough mouthed when he wants. He's got important friends, too. Pays to be on his good side.”

That he has, Peruge thought. And that could explain the strange behavior of the local law. Kraft's job must be a sinecure. He'd be careful not to lose it.

Peruge said, “Okay. Let's go see if we can find Dr. Hellstrom's
good
side.”

“Yes, sir!”

Kraft got the car moving, made a special effort to act casual and unconcerned. Hellstrom's orders had been explicit: this was a routine investigation into some missing persons. All cooperation would be extended.

Peruge admired the farm buildings as they approached the north fence. The farm had been built in a time when materials were squandered without any worries about the supply. There wasn't a knot in any of the lumber visible on this side of the farmhouse or the barn, although the wood had that dark gray of long weathering and probably could have used a coat of paint. Peruge wondered idly why the farm wasn't painted.

Kraft stopped parallel to the fence, just clear of the gate.
“We walk from here. Doc doesn't like us bringing cars up to the buildings.”

“Why's that?”

“Something to do with his work, I expect.”

“The place could use a coat of paint,” Peruge said as he got out of the car.

Kraft got out, closed the door, and spoke across the roof of the car. “I heard tell Doc used some kind of wood preservative on his buildings. They just
look
weathered. Kind of pretty when you think about it.”

“Oh?” Peruge walked to the gate, waited for Kraft. “What's that concrete building over there?” He pointed to the low structure inside the fence to the left of the gate.

“Might be a pumphouse. About the right size for a big one. Or it could be something to do with the doc's work. I never asked.” Kraft watched Peruge carefully. The concrete structure housed an emergency ventilation system which could be opened by explosives and was linked to standby pumping. There were several more such installations scattered around the area, but the others were camouflaged.

“Is Hellstrom married?” Peruge asked.

Kraft opened the gate before answering. “I don't rightly know.” He stood aside to let Peruge enter, closed the gate. “Doc has lots of pretty gals around here sometimes. For his movies, I s'pose. Maybe he thinks there's no sense buying a cow when milk's free.” Kraft chuckled at his own hairy witticism and added, “Let's get along up to the farm.”

Peruge shuddered as he fell into step with the deputy. That humor had been a little heavy. This deputy was neither pure western, pure yokel, nor pure anything else. Kraft tried too hard to appear the semirustic of earthy origins. The trying was so obvious at times that it dominated every other action. Peruge had decided earlier to watch the deputy carefully, but now he put an extra note of caution on his resolve.

“Place looks kind of shabby,” Peruge said, hurrying to keep pace with Kraft's long-legged stride. Despite the stiffness of his gait, the deputy moved with a no-loitering directness that suggested he didn't want Peruge to take too close a look at the surroundings.

“I thought it looked pretty good here,” Kraft said. “They keep the farm area pretty neat.”

“Do they do much farming?”

“Not much anymore. His folks used to keep a lot more crops. Some of the kids the doc has here plant corn and things in the spring, but they're just playing at farming, seems to me. City people, most of them. They come up here from Hollywood or out from New York and gawk at us natives and play farmer.”

“Hellstrom has a lot of visitors?” Peruge kicked at a dusty clump of grass as he spoke. The dry, hot air of the place bothered him. There was an irritant humming sound in the background, and an underlying animal smell that made him think of a zoo. This odor had not been apparent outside the fence, but it became stronger the deeper they went into the little valley. What he could see of the creek on his right showed only a thin trickle of water. It was mostly pools and puddles connected by narrow rills of green algae that waved in weak currents. There appeared to be a small waterfall at the upper end of the valley, however.

“Visitors?” Kraft asked after a long pause. “Sometimes the place is crawling with 'em. Can't spit without hitting someone. Other times, he probably doesn't have more'n ten or twelve people here.”

“What's that smell?” Peruge demanded.

“What smell?” Kraft asked, then realized Peruge meant the Hive odor, most of which was washed from the vented air but was always detectable here in the valley. Kraft rather enjoyed the odor. It reminded him of his childhood.

“That animal smell!” Peruge said.

“Oh, that. Probably something to do with the doc's work. He keeps mice and things in cages up there. I saw them once. Regular menagerie.”

“Oh. Is that a year-round waterfall?”

“Yep. It's pretty, isn't it?”

“If you like that sort of thing. What happens to all the water? The creek seems rather small down here.” Peruge stopped as Kraft looked directly at him, forcing the deputy to come to a halt, also.

“I expect the ground soaks it up,” Kraft said. He appeared impatient to continue, but unable to think of a good argument. “The doc may take part of it up there for irrigation or cooling or something. I dunno. Let's get on up, eh?”

“Just a minute,” Peruge said. “I thought you said Hellstrom didn't do much farming.”

“Doesn't! But what he does still takes some water. Why you so curious about his creek?”

“I'm curious about everything on this place,” Peruge said. “There's something
wrong
about it. No insects. I don't even see any birds.”

Kraft made a swallowing motion in a dry throat. Obviously, there'd been a very thorough night sweep recently. Trust this Peruge to notice the absence of local fauna! “Birds often hide where it's cool in the hot part of the day,” he ventured.

“Is that right?”

“Didn't your bird-watching friend ever tell you that?”

“No.” Peruge glanced around him, peering carefully at everything in sight. It was a quick and intense motion of head and eyes which alarmed Kraft. “What he did say, once,” Peruge continued, “was that there was an animal or a bird for every time of day or night. I don't believe the birds are hiding; you can't hear them. There are no birds here and no insects.”

“Then what was your friend doing here?” Kraft asked. “If there are no birds, what was he watching?”

Ahhh, my friend, not so fast, Peruge thought. We aren't ready yet to take off the gloves. He was convinced now that Kraft was in league with Hellstrom. “Carlos would've noticed the absence of birds and he might've gone hunting for an explanation. If he found an explanation that could cause trouble for someone, that might explain why he's missing.”

“You sure got a suspicious mind,” Kraft said.

“Haven't you?” Peruge asked. He moved into willow shadows at a bend in the creek, forced Kraft to follow. “What's this Hellstrom really like, Deputy?”

Kraft didn't care for being called
Deputy
in that tone of voice, but he kept his manner casual. “Ohhh, he's just a plain, ordinary, run-of-the-mill scientist type.”

Peruge noted how Kraft's voice came out flat and reasonable, but something in the set of his body, especially in the watchful turn of head and eyes, put the lie to this mask. Peruge nodded, as though he understood this, silently urging Kraft to continue.

“They're all crazy, of course,” Kraft said, “but not dangerous.”

“I've never really agreed with that harmless, crazy scientist picture,” Peruge said. “I don't think they're all innocent and harmless. To me, no atomic physicist is completely responsible and trustworthy.”

“Ohh, come now, Mr. Peruge.” Kraft was making a valiant attempt to sound jovial and hearty. “The doc makes movies about bugs. Educational. I expect the worst thing he's ever done is bring some pretty girls up here for some moonlight nooky.”

“Not even dope?” Peruge pressed.

“You believe all that stuff you read about Hollywood types?” Kraft asked.