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to entertain the thoughts flowing through his mind. What was the
Chief really doing?
The magnetic woman at Hellstrom's farm -- was she just teasing him? Some
women considered him handsome and his big body exuded a sense of animal power
that might explain most of what had happened up there.
Nuts! Hellstrom put her up to it!
Did the Chief consider Dzule Peruge just another of the many expendables?
"You still there?" Janvert asked.
"Yes!" Voice angry and sharp.
"What gave you the idea there might be more people on that farm than we can
see? The tunnel?"
"That yes, but there's more that you can't put your finger on. Record this
for transmission, Shorty.
I want a watch put on the ordinary supplies going into that place. How much
food, that sort of thing? Be discreet, but pry."
"I'll take care of it. Do you want DT assigned to that?"
"No. Send Nick. I want an estimate on how many people would match the normal
food orders."
"Right. Did the Chief tell you about the diamond bits for well drills?"
"Yes. They would've been delivered just about the time Carlos and Tymiena
were supposed to be there."
"Weird, isn't it?"
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"It fits an odd kind of pattern," Peruge said. "We just haven't found the
precise nature of that pattern." He cast about in his mind, wondering at the
reason for diamond drill bits in a movie company. There was just no
explaining it and no sense wondering without more evidence. More likely to
come up with a wrong answer than a right one, and, either way, he couldn't be
certain.
"I agree," Janvert said. "Anything more for this report?"
"Nothing." Peruge signed off, replaced the equipment in its cover packaging,
stored it in his shaving kit.
Janvert had been more talkative than usual, and the surface attempts to be
pleasant couldn't be anything but false from that feisty little bastard.
Peruge thought about this as he lay in the quiet darkness of his motel bed.
He knew he had been cut off. He was alone, removed even from the protection
of the Chief, and he wondered why he went on.
Because I want to be rich, he thought. Richer than the bitch of the board. I
will be, too, if I can get my hands on Hellstrom's Project 40.
Script consultation, Nils Hellstrom speaking. On the screen, the audience
will see a butterfly emerging from its cocoon. We will see much more and, in
a deeper sense, we want the audience to see what we see, unconsciously. The
butterfly personifies our own long struggle. It is the long darkness of
humankind when the wild ones imagined they talked, one to another. It is the
metamorphosis, the transformation of our Hive into the salvation of the human
species. It foreshadows the day when we will emerge and show our beauty to
the admiring universe.
"The transmitter is in his wristwatch," Saldo said. "We caught it just before
he turned the thing off."
"Good work," Hellstrom said.
They stood in the electronic gloom of the barn aerie, the security command
post, workers going about their jobs quietly all around, a sense of
determination in every movement. Nothing would get through this guard.
"Those probes we detected came from Steens Mountain," Saldo said. "We've
located the position on the chart."
"Excellent. Is their lack of success igniting a renewed effort or are they
quiet now?"
"Quiet. I've arranged to send a picnic party into the area tomorrow. They'll
play and enjoy themselves and report back tomorrow night. The party will be
composed only of extremely experienced fronts."
"Don't count on them learning much."
Saldo nodded agreement.
Hellstrom closed his eyes tightly in distress and fatigue. He couldn't seem
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to get enough rest and what little he got failed to restore him. What they
needed and would never find was a way to send
Peruge packing, a way to answer all of his questions without answering them.
Those mysterious, probing questions about metallurgy and new inventions
irritated Hellstrom. What could that possibly have to do with Project 40?
New invention -- yes, possibly. But metallurgy? He decided to communicate
his question to the lab at the earliest opportunity.
Saying of the Hive specialists. How primitive and far behind us are the
behaviorists of the wild
Outside!
Peruge heard the scratching at his door as part of a dream. It was a dog from
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