Hellstrom's Hive

Altman’s death also revived the recurrent Washington rumor that he was in fact the chief of a secret and highly sensitive investigative agency operating under the government’s executive arm. One of Altman’s senior associates, Joseph Merrivale, issued an angry denial of the rumor, demanding, “Is that bloody gabble still going around?”

All in all, it had been a highly successful afternoon in spite of the earlier alarms, Hellstrom told himself. He stood in the barn aerie, staring out the louvered windows to the north. Vehicles were stirring up dust in the distance, but he felt no threat from the Outsiders at the moment. Reports from Washington and the nearby town indicated an easing of pressure.

Janvert had answered all of their questions with only the most gentle of persuasion. It saddened Hellstrom to think about this, comparing it with their previous procedure. So much pain could have been spared the other captives. When you thought about it, this technique was so obvious. Fancy had done the Hive a truly great service.

Saldo walked up beside Hellstrom with cat-footed grace and said, “Station six says that dust out there is three heavy vehicles approaching our lower road.”

“I think Janvert’s ‘law’ is almost here,” Hellstrom said. “Are we ready for them?”

“As ready as we can be. Mimeca is down in the farmhouse prepared to play Fancy to the hilt. Injured innocence, the whole thing. She’s never even heard of Depeaux, that agency, a bicycle—nothing.”

“Good. Where did you put Janvert?”

“In an empty cell on level forty-two. Everything is on emergency alert.”

With renewed misgivings, Hellstrom thought about what that meant. Emergency alert: time lost from essential supportive tasks; workers detailed to man the system that could block off long sections of the access galleries with solidifying liquid mucilage; masses of hyped-up workers arrayed behind secret exits and armed with stunwands and the few Outsider weapons the Hive could muster.

“They’re coming on very fast,” Saldo said, nodding toward the dust cloud from the approaching vehicles.

“They’re late,” Hellstrom said. “Something delayed them and they’re trying to make up for lost time. Are we all ready to clear out this aerie?”

“I’d better give the word,” Saldo said.

“In a moment,” Hellstrom said. “We can delay them at the gate. Were you able to reach Linc?”

“Nobody answers his phone. You know, when this is over, I think we should provide him with a better Outside cover—a wife, another phone at his home tied to the office line.”

“Good idea,” Hellstrom said. He pointed out the window. “Those are big van-campers. Could they be the ones that were on the mountain?”

“They might—Nils, they’re moving much too fast. They’re almost at the fence. Maybe we should—”

He broke off in shocked alarm as the first of the big vans crashed through the north gate and swerved aside to block off the flat pillbox of the disguised ventilator outlet. Two figures leaped from the van as it skidded to a stop. One of them carried what appeared to be a black satchel. The other vans roared right past the stopped one, coming straight for the house and barn.

“They’re attacking!” Saldo yelled.

A shattering explosion at the ventilator outlet punctuated his warning and was followed immediately by a second, louder explosion. The first truck had been blown onto its side and was burning.

Our own explosives for removing the emergency cover on that ventilator! Hellstrom thought.

There were other blasts now, shots, screams, running people. Two of the attackers spilled from a moving truck, ran crashing through the farmhouse door.

“Nils! Nils!” It was Saldo pulling frantically at his arm. “You’ve got to get out of here.”