Hellstrom's Hive Read Online Free PDF

Everything was so damned motionless in the valley. He experienced the skin-creeping sensation of being watched by countless eyes. When he rolled over and peered backward through the brush, he could see not one moving thing. Why did he expect trouble from these conditions? He did, though, and his inability to explain the expectation filled him with irritation. What were they hiding here?
    Despite Merrivale’s attempts to present this case as a plum for the chosen agent, Depeaux had tasted the sourness of it from the beginning. Shorty Janvert obviously had shared that sense of something profoundly wrong. This thing was sour! And it was not the sourness of green fruit and easy pickings. It was a prickling of the senses that came from knowledge of something overripe and rotten, something stewed too long in its own sour juices.
    The truck was just beyond the valley now, making its final climb up the easy slope to the north fence. Depeaux brought his binoculars to bear on it once more, saw two white-clad figures in the cab. They were visible only dimly through sun reflections on the windshield.
    And still, no one came from the farm buildings.
    The truck turned close to the north fence, revealing large words on its flat white side: N. Hellstrom, Inc. The machinemade a wide turn until it was heading away from the farm, stopped then, and backed up to the gate. Two blond young men emerged from the cab. They trotted briskly to the rear, dropped the gate that extended to a ramp on rollers. They clambered up into the open cave of the bed, slid a tall yellow and gray box from the shadows there. The box appeared heavy from the way they strained. They tipped it onto the gate’s rollers, let it slide swiftly to a jolting, dusty stop on the ground.
    What the hell was in that box? It was big enough for a coffin.
    The men hopped down, strained against the box until they brought it teetering upright. They walked it then to a position clear of the tail gate, closed up the truck, got back into the cab, and drove away.
    The box remained about ten feet outside the north gate.
    Depeaux examined the surface of the box through his binoculars. It was taller than the men from the truck and it was heavy. It appeared to be made of wood and was bound by what seemed to be flat metal straps that ran around it from the top to the bottom.
    A delivery, Depeaux mused. What in hell could be delivered to this farm in a box that shape?
    Hellstrom had his own truck to bring things to the farm, but he didn’t worry about his deliveries waiting in the sun outside his gate. There might be nothing unusual about that, on the surface of it. The Agency’s dossier carried considerable information about Hellstrom’s film company. That was the N. Hellstrom, Inc. Hellstrom was both owner and manager. He made documentary films about insects. Sometimes, Hellstrom’s film efforts were incorporated into quite substantial productions which were distributed through other companies in Hollywood and New York. It was all easily explained until you sat on this hillside and watched the operation, as Depeaux was doing now and as Porter had done before him. What had become of Porter?And why wouldn’t Merrivale permit a straightforward missing-person investigation?
    There was something else about Hellstrom’s operation.
    His nonoperation.

 
    From the Hive Manual. The relationship between ecology and evolution is extremely close, deeply implicated in organic changes among a given animal population, and profoundly sensitive to the density of numbers within a given habitat. Our adaptations aim to increase the population tolerance, to permit a human density ten to twelve times greater than is currently considered possible. Out of this, we will get our survival variations.
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    The conference room held an air of detached waiting as Dzule Peruge strode in and took the Chief’s chair at the head of the long table. He glanced at his wristwatch as he put his