Tymiena realized quite slowly that her hands were bound behind her and that she was fastened securely into a chair of some kind. The chair’s surface was hard and she could feel the cold smoothness of its back against her arms. The most central part of her mind focused on her ankle, which throbbed painfully where she had sprained it. Fighting a deep reluctance, she opened her eyes, but she found only an impenetrable darkness, thick and ominous. For a moment, she feared she might be blind, but a faint glow insinuated itself into her awareness. The glow existed at an indeterminate distance directly in front of her. It moved.
“Ahhh, you’re awake, I see.”
It was a deep, masculine voice from somewhere above the moving glow. Something about the echo quality of the voice told her she was in a room, quite a large room.
She put down her terror with difficulty, forced a false nonchalance into her voice, and said, “How can you see? It’s pitch dark.”
Hellstrom, seated in a corner of the laboratory where he could watch the glowing instruments that told him the female’s reactions, could only admire her courage. They often were so very brave, these wild ones.
“I can see,” he said.
“My ankle hurts like hell,” she said.
“I truly regret that. We will give you something for that presently. Try to be patient.”
She found an oddly reassuring sincerity in the voice. It was a man’s voice, ranging from low to tenor. Exquisite control.
“I hope it won’t be very long,” she said.
She must be brought into some semblance of calmness, Hellstrom told himself. The nightmask was irritating where it pressed against his nose and forehead. He did not like the way it limned the female in a silvery glow. The irritation came from fatigue, he knew. Sometimes the Hive demanded too much of him. But this Outsider female must be questioned, and he found himself reluctant to turn her over to the merciless youngsters who waited so eagerly for the opportunity to prove themselves. He told himself that he delayed with this female because he did not trust what the others had wrenched from Depeaux. How could the Outsiders know about Project 40? One of the interrogators must have mentioned it! That was it, of course. Well, it could be tested with this female.
“First, I must ask you a few questions,” he said.
“Why’re you keeping it so dark?” she asked.
“So you cannot see me.”
Sudden, wild elation filled her. If they didn’t want her to see someone, that meant she would have an opportunity to describe her captors. It could only mean they meant to release her!
Hellstrom read her reaction on his instruments and said, “You were very hysterical out there. Did you think we were going to harm your?”
She wondered what he meant by that question. They had her tied up like a Christmas turkey, which didn’t indicate the best of intentions. “I was terrified,” she said. “Did—did I hurt anyone?”
“You killed five of our people and injured two others,” Hellstrom said.
She had not expected such a coldly candid answer and it shocked her. Five dead? Could they actually release her after that?
“I—I felt trapped,” she said. “My—my husband was not back and I was—alone. I was terribly afraid. What’ve you done to Carlos?”
“He is suffering no pain,” Hellstrom said. And that was true, he told himself. It was difficult to lie outright, even to a wild Outsider. His statement was true. Depeaux had been blissfully unconscious when his torn body had been slipped into the choppers and thence to the dissolving fluids of the vats. He had suffered no pain there, and surely death had overcome him before any glimmering return to consciousness. The choppers were quick.
“Why do you have me tied this way?” she asked.
“To keep you in one place while I ask my questions. Tell me your name.”
They would have her cover identification papers, she thought. “My name’s Tymiena—Tymiena Depeaux.”
“Tell me about this government agency for which you work.”
Her heart skipped a beat, but she managed a semblance of masked response. “Gov—I don’t work for any government agency! We were on vacation. My husband sells fireworks.”
Hellstrom smiled sadly at what his instruments revealed. It was true, then. Both of them worked for a government agency and that agency was curious. Although he had been opaque to most of their probings, Porter had revealed as much. But Porter had not said anything about Project 40. Would this female impart such information? He felt a quickening of his pulse. This was the kind of danger the Hive had always feared, but there was something in it that aroused his hunt juices.
“Is your agency the CIA?” Hellstrom asked.
“I’m just a housewife!” she protested. “Where’s Carlos? What’ve you done with my husband?”
Hellstrom sighed. It was not the CIA, then—provided her responses could be trusted, and provided she even knew the connections behind her employment. It was possible she did not know. Such agencies had a proclivity for putting covers on covers on covers. “Do not worry about your husband,” he said. “You will be with him soon. We know, however, that you are not a simple housewife. Simple housewives do not carry such weapons as you had in your possession. They certainly do not demonstrate the proficiency you displayed with such a weapon.”
“I don’t believe I killed anyone,” she said.
“But you did.”
“Carlos insisted I have that gun. He taught me how to shoot it.”
Another lie, Hellstrom observed. He felt cheated. Why was she continuing to hide? Surely, she must know by now that she had been exposed by her accomplice. His questions could not conceal this. Hellstrom had forced himself to read the Depeaux interrogation account, avoiding nothing. What the merciless youngsters did, they did in the name of all the Hive. He wondered if he dared put her through a chemical reduction of personality. The youngsters argued against it. The method was painless, but uncertain. It had reduced Porter to slavering imbecility. The heroic totality of such an effort tended to erase memories as it exposed them. He did not want the Porter effort repeated and decided not to listen to his own inner revulsions. What must be, must be. He would continue with present methods, however, as long as she did not suspect her emotions were being monitored and as long as information was being gathered. The tapes were spinning to record everything that occurred here. They could be subjected to full analysis later. Even the Hive’s central computer might be helpful in the analysis, although Hellstrom tended to distrust computers. They had no emotions. Having no emotions, they failed when confronted by human problems.
“Why do you lie?” he asked.
“I’m not lying!”
“Is the agency that employs you an arm of the U.S. State Department?”
“If you won’t believe me, there’s no sense answering. I just don’t understand what’s going on here. You chase me, knock me out, tie me up, and all for—”
“And you killed five of my friends,” he reminded her. “Why?”
“I don’t believe you. You’d better let me go. Carlos is a very important man in his company. There are people who’ll come looking for us if I don’t call them.”
“If you don’t report in?” Hellstrom studied his instruments. She’d been telling the truth there, for once.
“It’s not like that!”
So she was supposed to report in, probably at regular intervals, Hellstrom thought. The eager youngsters had not elicited that from Depeaux. But then they hadn’t asked.