Hellstrom''s Hive by Frank Herbert
“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 full 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
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.
“Some of it.”
“I’d bet my bottom dollar that the doc is clean,” Kraft said.
“Would you?” Peruge asked. “How many missing-persons cases have you really had in his area over, say, the past twenty-five years?”
With a sinking feeling, Kraft thought: He’s seen all of the old records! Nils had been right about this one without even seeing him. The Outsiders had sent a sharp and prying mind this time. Peruge was aware of all the old mistakes the Hive had made. Bad, bad, bad. To hide his reaction, Kraft turned away, resumed his progress toward the farm buildings, now less than fifty yards ahead. “Depends on what you call a missing person,” he said. And, as he noted that Peruge still stood in the willow shadow, “Come on! We can’t keep the doc waiting.”
Peruge followed, suppressing a smile. The deputy really was so transparent. Kraft had been shaken by the missing-persons barb. This was not just a plain, ordinary, run-of-the-mill deputy. Things were beginning to jell in Peruge’s mind. Three agents had been wasted here, chasing a suspicion. Discovery of a deputy-who-wasn’t-a-deputy gave those suspicions a new dimension. Something had been learned, after all. And Peruge thought: Hellstrom’s learned what we’re willing to pay for access to his Project 40. Now, we find out what he’s willing to pay.
“I always thought a missing person was a missing person,” Peruge said, addressing Kraft’s blocky back.
Kraft spoke without turning. “That all depends. Some people want to be missing. Guy runs out on his wife, or his job – I guess he’s technically missing. But that’s not what you’re saying about your man. When I say ‘missing person,’ I generally mean someone who’s in real trouble.”
“And you don’t think any real trouble could happen here?”
“This isn’t the Old West anymore,” Kraft said. “This area is tamer than a lot of your cities. People don’t even lock their doors most places around here. Too damn much trouble fishing around for the keys.” He grinned back over his shoulder in what he hoped was a disarming gesture. “Besides, we wear our pants kind of tight. Don’t leave much room in our pockets.”
They were passing the farmhouse now. The barn loomed before them across a bare stretch of dirt perhaps sixty feet wide. An old fence divided the open area, but only the posts remained. The wire had been removed. There were yellowed curtains on the bay window of the farmhouse wing that jutted toward the creek, but the place held an oddly vacant air. Kraft wondered about that house. Empty? Why? Houses were supposed to be occupied. Did Hellstrom and his crew live there? Did they eat there? Why wasn’t someone inside rattling pots and pans and things? He recalled Porter’s reference to “negative signs.” A very penetrating observation. It wasn’t so much what you could see around Hellstrom’s farm as what you couldn’t see.
There was another positive sign now, though – an acid odor. He thought first of photo chemicals, then rejected that answer. The smell was much more penetrating and biting. Something to do with Hellstrom’s insects, perhaps?
A swinging door had been set into the old sliding door of the barn. The smaller door opened as Kraft and Peruge approached. Hellstrom himself stepped out. Peruge recognized the man from the photographs in the Agency’s files. Hellstrom wore a white turtleneck shirt and gray trousers. His feet were tucked into open sandals. His rather sparse light hair appeared as though it had been tangled by the wind and then pushed into a semblance of order by hurried fingers.
“Hi, Linc,” Hellstrom called.
“Hi there, Doc.”
Kraft strode right up to Hellstrom, shook hands. Peruge, following close behind, received the odd impression of a rehearsed action. They shook hands with such a perfunctory sense of unfamiliarity.
Peruge moved to one side, choosing a position that gave him a view of the barn door Hellstrom had left standing partly open. Nothing was visible except darkness in the small gap remaining.
The action appeared to amuse Hellstrom. He grinned as Kraft introduced him to Peruge. Peruge found Hellstrom’s hand cool, but rather dry. There was a sense of forced relaxation about the man, but no sign of excess perspiration in the palm. He had himself well under control, then.
“Are you interested in our studio?” Hellstrom asked, nodding toward the door and the direction of Peruge’s gaze.
Peruge thought: Now, aren’t you the cool one! He said, “I’ve never seen a movie studio.”
“Linc told me on the phone that you were looking for one of your employees who might be missing in our area,” Hellstrom said.
“Ahhh, yes.” Peruge wondered why he couldn’t see anything beyond that open door. He’d seen Hollywood studios and remembered a sense of organized confusion: bright lights, dollies, cameras, people bustling about, then that frozen stillness of the moments when they were filming.
“Have you seen anyone nosing around here, Doc?” Kraft asked.
“Nothing but our own people,” Hellstrom said. “No strangers, at least recently. When did these people turn up missing?”
“About a week ago,” Peruge said, returning his attention to Hellstrom.
“That recently!” Hellstrom said. “My. Are you sure they aren’t just extending their vacation without notice?”
“I’m just as sure as a man could be,” Peruge said.
“You’re welcome to look around,” Hellstrom said. “We’ve been pretty busy in the studio lately, but we’d have noticed any strangers in the area. We keep a pretty close watch to see that no one bursts in on our work unexpectedly. I don’t think you’re going to find any sign of your people in our area.”
Kraft visibly relaxed, thinking: If Nils thinks they’ve cleaned up well enough, then it’s clean.
“Oh?” Peruge pursed his lips. It came to him abruptly that there were several levels to this conversation. He and Hellstrom knew it. Most likely the deputy did, too. The various parts of the interleaved message were distinct. Peruge was welcome to pry around, but he’d find nothing incriminating. No strangers could come upon Hellstrom’s farm without being seen. Hellstrom remained confident that his powerful connections would keep the real contest submerged. Peruge, for his own part, had revealed to Hellstrom an awareness that people were missing in the immediate vicinity of the farm. In a way, Hellstrom had not denied this, but had merely pointed out how useless it would be to look for the missing people. How, then, were the real stakes to be introduced into the game?
Hellstrom said, “Deputy Kraft tells me you work for some kind of fireworks company.”
Ahhh, Peruge thought with delight. “We have diversified interests in my firm, Mr. Hellstrom. We’re also interested in metallurgy, especially new processes for exploitation. We’re always on the hunt for potentially valuable inventions.”
Hellstrom stared at him for a moment. “Would you like to come in and see the studio? We’re very busy right now, behind schedule on our latest epic.” He started to turn, hesi
You son of a bitch! Peruge thought. He folded his hands casually in front of him, left wrist in right palm, turned off the tiny wristwatch transmitter. And he thought: If you think you’re going to keep me out of your little playpen, baby, you think again. I’m going in there and I may see more than you expect.
Hellstrom, noting the movement of Peruge’s hands, and suspecting the reason, still found himself wondering at the man’s curious statement about diversified interests, metallurgy, and new inventions. What could that have to do with Project 40?
The words of Trova Hellstrom.
Whatever we do in breeding for the specialists we require, we must always include the human being in our processes, preferring this to the intrusion of surgical instruments. The sexual stump can be condoned only as long as we include the body’s original genetic materials in the practice. Anything that smacks of genetic surgery or engineering must be looked upon with the gravest misgivings. We are, first and foremost, human beings, and we must never loose ourselves from our animal ancestry. Whatever we are, we are not gods. And whatever this universe may be, it obviously rests heavily in dependence upon the accidental.
“He’s not transmitting,” Janvert said, moving the control dials on his instruments. He sat in the curtained shadows of their van’s interior, the receiver mounted in front of him on a shelf originally intended as part of the camper’s kitchen. Nick Myerlie’s bluff and sweaty body was leaning over him, one red-knuckled hand on the counter beside the radio. The big man’s heavy features carried a frown of deep concern.
“What do you think’s happened to him?” Myerlie asked.
“I think he turned his transmitter off deliberately.”
“For God’s sake! Why?”