“Throw it away,” Janvert whispered. “Please, throw that damned thing away.”
From a news story, dateline Washington, D.C.
…and it was noted that Altman’s death was not the first such suicide of a highly placed government official. Washington observers immediately recalled the death on May 22, 1949, of Defense Secretary James Forrestal, who shocked family and associates by leaping from a hospital window.
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.”
The wisdom of Harl.
A society that cuts across all of the conduct that Outsiders accept can exist only in a constant state of siege.
Mimeca sat in the farmhouse living room waiting for the arrival of Janvert’s “law” when the first explosion rocked the building. A piece of metal from the first van ripped through the north wall a foot above her head. It crashed into the opposite wall and stuck there, smoking. Shots, screams, explosions erupted in the yard.
Ducking low, Mimeca sprinted for the kitchen. Mrs. Niles stored a stunwand in there. She crashed through the swinging door, surprising Mrs. Niles, who was using a stunwand to clear the yard between the farmhouse and barn. Mimeca gave the scene only a passing glance. Her own presence to play the part of Fancy was vital to the Hive’s survival. She had to save herself. A door behind Mrs. Niles opened onto solidly built old stairs into the original root cellar. Mimeca jerked the door open, thundered down the stairs. There was a crash overhead, shots, breaking glass. She dashed for the fake shelves that concealed a tunnel to the barn, squeezed through. Workers armed with stunwands were pouring toward her from the other end. Mimeca ran panting past them, through the door to the barn basement. The tunnel behind her was already empty of defenders and she could hear the hiss of mucilage filling the area, plugging it.
A short hall stretched in front of Mimeca, open at the far end on a scene that only the Hive-born would recognize as not one of utter confusion. She trotted toward the area. Workers were dashing about, packages were being carried toward the gallery head, a temporary repeater station had been installed against a wall on the left and guardworkers were keeping it clear there.
As Mimeca entered this area, the concealed hatch over the emergency stairs opened above her. Saldo and Hellstrom came dashing down followed by armed workers. The opening of the hatch amplified the clamor of battle overhead, but the noise died abruptly. There came one more explosion, another shot. She heard the brain-resonating humming of many stunwands.
Silence.
Hellstrom saw Mimeca, signaled her to join him, but continued his course toward the temporary repeater station. At his approach, a senior observer turned, recognized him, and said, “We’ve accounted for the ones who got this far, but there are still two more down by the fence. They’re out of stun-range from this distance. Shall we get them from behind?”
“Wait,” Hellstrom said. “Is it safe for us to go back to the aerie?”
“The two by the fence are armed with at least one machine gun.”
“I will go back upstairs,” Saldo said. “You wait here. Don’t risk yourself, Nils.”
“We’ll both go,” Hellstrom said. He motioned for Saldo to lead the way, spoke to Mimeca. “I’m glad you escaped, Fancy.”
She nodded, beginning to recover her breath.
“Wait here,” Hellstrom told her. “We may need you yet.” He turned, followed Saldo, who waited with armed workers at the stairhead. The abruptness and savagery of the attack still had Hellstrom in a state of shock. They were really into the fire now, really into it.
The studio area of the barn presented a scene of remarkably little damage except for a hole blasted in the wall to one side of the north door. Some equipment had been scattered and lay in smashed disarray there. Part of the equipment included a small hive of the new guard-bees. The survivors were buzzing around angrily, but were not attacking the Hive’s workers—a remarkable test of efficiency in the conditioning process. Hellstrom made a mental note to compliment the directors of that project and to assign additional resources to it.