Hive III

by Griffin Hayes

  Soon we come to the pile of Zee corpses. A few of them are still alive and Sneak finishes them for good. I stay back and out of the way. I’ve been trying to keep a low profile and the last thing I wanna do is let Skuld know where I am. Part of that process goes further than staying out of sight from Zees, though. I need to stay off of Zee central, which is a double edged sword, since it’s the only way of knowing for sure what part of the ten territories Skuld is in the process of ravaging.

  The smell of human waste greets us as we make our way from Krantz’ hideout into the sewers. There’s a light up ahead. It’s faint, but I know it means freedom. Freedom from the paranoid Grinders who are currently running Sotercity, now that all semblance of order has broken down. Then I sense Skuld and it feels like he’s reaching out, looking for me. It isn’t more than a tingle at the back of my neck, but I know he’s searching and that our only chance of getting close, perhaps the only chance of keeping the people I love safe, is by making him think I’m dead.

  -14-

  Ret

  We’ve been strapped to these chairs for well over three hours without any sign of Tind or that runner he sent off to check on Sotercity. I’m sure if Azina were with us, the commander would have taken one look at her and known we are telling the truth. Course, he might have blown her away on account of her looking like a Zee but, either way, we wouldn’t be waiting around wasting time. The two barrel-chested men Tind left to watch us look about as friendly as a pair of cut throats. They’re playing a dice game, over by the entrance, glancing back every few minutes, almost looking for an excuse to end us for good.

  Bron sits beside Oleg, his arms tied with heavy ropes, knuckles pointed at his chest. If he wants to fire those 20mm guns, his own body will be the first thing they tear a hole through.

  Beside me, Dhal is asleep, snoring quietly, his head resting against the heavy ropes keeping us in place. The naïve little punk actually thinks Tind is gonna free us when his man finds Sotercity clogged with dead bodies. For all we know, he’s just as likely to pin this mess on us. I nudge the kid with my foot. He stirs, but doesn’t wake. I try it again, with a similar result. That’s when I stomp on his foot and see his eyes pop open. “Ow, what’d you do that for?”

  The guards are looking over now and I bob my head like I’m dreaming some crazy dream that’s got me stomping feet and lashing about. They watch me for a moment, chuckle at what a ‘tard I am and then return to their dice. I find a similar expression on Dhal’s face, one I’m embarrassed to say I saw from others the time I accidentally ate a wild mushroom. It probably nearly killed me, but the ride was fun as hell.

  Dhal still looks pissed that I woke him up when I say, “Think you can get yourself out of these ropes?”

  The fear on his face is immediate. “Are you crazy, Ret? If those guys see me gone they’ll eat me for breakfast.”

  “They’re not gonna eat you,’ I whisper back. “They’ll kill you, no doubt about that, but I can guarantee you won’t be eaten.’

  The kid doesn’t look impressed. “What do you want me to do?” he asks with the kind of skepticism that usually precedes a no. “Get outta these ropes and go beat them up?”

  “What’s going on?” It’s Bron. He’s at the far end, stuck beside Oleg, feeling left out.

  “Nothing,” I whisper back, hoping it’ll shut him up.

  Bron’s still asking questions as I begin telling Dhal what I have in mind. “Once you work those ropes free, you think you’ll be able to get one of the Titans up and running?”

  “Oh, geez, that’s hard to say. I mean, the power core has to be removed and reinstalled all without the guards finding out…”

  “Just make sure when you fire that tin can up, they don’t start attacking us.”

  “I never said I’d go.”

  “Yes, you did.”

  Dhal swallows hard. “I did?”

  I nod. “Don’t worry, if anything happens we’ve got your back.”

  The kid is still skeptical and I can’t say I blame him one bit. Tied to these chairs, the rest of us are about as useful as a bunch of newborns.

  Dhal starts wiggling and writhing. “Thata boy,” I say. “I’ll cough if the guards start to turn around.”

  My reasons for making Dhal do this wasn’t ‘cause he’s the only one who can get those oversized garbage bins working again. By far he has the slightest build and the best chances of working himself free. One of the guards begins to glance over and I pretend to clear my throat. But Dhal’s not stopping. He’s making good progress and not paying attention. I cough a bit louder and this time he freezes. The guard’s still glaring at us when his partner throws the dice and shouts gleefully. A second later, both of them are focused on the game again.

  When I turn back to give Dhal the all clear, he’s gone and so is his chair. I turn to look behind me and see what the smart little bugger has done. He’s slid his chair back behind mine and lined up the legs so the next time those guards turn around, they won’t immediately see an empty chair. Course, something about the sight before them will look different, but hopefully they won’t quite be able to put their fingers on it. My next concern is the tools Dhal’s gonna need to get the job done. Already, I can hear a tiny clank here and there and I just know he’s gotta hurry before these two gambling addicts figure out what we’re up to. Slowly I turn my head, so as not to draw any unwanted attention, and catch sight of Dhal climbing the scaffolding around the largest of the two machines, with something that looks like a breadbox in his arms. He’s about to insert the power core. I’m not certain, but that’s my best guess. I turn back and at once my heart leaps into my throat. Dusty Beard’s just entered the room and both of the guards are standing at attention. He’s giving them shit over something, playing dice maybe, dereliction of duty, the usual riot act petty men use as their stock and trade.

  A metal door slams behind us and there isn’t a chance in hell those assholes didn’t hear that. Dusty Beard is scanning through the dimly lit chamber for the source of the noise, then his eyes pass over us and stop in the space where Dhal was sitting.

  He charges forward growling. “The boy, where is he?”

  Behind us, almost in answer, comes the sound of compressed air and spinning gears. We all turn at once to see one of the bronze behemoths raise its arms and tear the scaffolding away as though it were cobwebs. The machine’s eyes glow a bright yellow and Dusty Beard’s just standing there, with this jaw hanging open. The guards nearby are wearing the same dumb expressions.

  Without a moment to lose, I begin working free from my ropes. Dusty sees me and pulls out a knife from a sheath on his belt. I’m sure he’s gonna stick all of us before we can escape and, judging by that gleam in his eye, he intends to start with me.

  The knife in Dusty Beard’s hand is ten inches long with a serrated edge. The kind that hurts like hell going in and tears you apart coming out. I haven’t a clue where Dhal is now, after all that scaffolding came crashing down, but I can hear the joints of his machine squealing and the ground rumbling with every giant step it takes. Looks like Dusty’s estimating how much time it’ll take to kill me. Probably figures the job won’t be hard, since half of me is still tied to the chair. Ten yards behind him, those two guards aren’t sure whether to stay and help their man commit murder or hi-tail it out and save themselves from becoming turds under the Titan’s shoe. Dusty’s about two feet away, and making ready to stick me straight in the chest, when I straight kick his knee. Even over the screaming whine of the Titan’s approaching footfalls, I catch the sound of his joint bending back on itself and snapping in two. He stumbles forward and I stomp his face, sending him sprawling back in agony. His beard is still dusty, except for the imprint of where my boot connected with his jaw.

  I slide under the loosened ropes, snatch the knife from his limp hand and begin cutting Bron’s ropes. They tied so many, it looks like an anaconda’s coiled around him. I’m not even halfway done when he flexes his arms and the remaining
coils fall away. The machine passes us as Bron stands and the sight of a twenty foot, brass giant sends the guards scurrying to safety.

  We untie the others and the Titan stops at the mouth of the ramp leading up to the main entrance. Time is in seriously short supply, but we can’t just leave without Dhal. He’s the only one who knows how to work this thing. But, more importantly, this place’ll be crawling with hundreds of those bearded White Rock Keeper guards and there’s no telling what they’ll do to the kid once they get their hands on him.

  Oleg and Bron are staring in awe at the machine’s glowing yellow eyes. I start racing toward the collapsed scaffolding and already I hear the sound of boots charging toward us, men shouting orders and weapons being readied.

  The Titan lets out a metallic shout and it stops me dead in my tracks. I turn to see the top of its head peel back and a tiny figure stand up. It’s Dhal. He didn’t just start the thing, he’s driving it and, judging by the smile on his face, having one hell of a time in the process. The hatch slams shut and Dhal begins steering the machine up the ramp. The others are close behind and so am I. A moment later, we’re through the front doors. There isn’t any sign of those White Rock guards, but Commander Tind’s surely gonna be mad as hell when he hears what we’ve done. My only regret is that we only came away with one of those metallic beasts. Somehow, I’m not quite sure it’ll be enough.

  -15-

  Azina

  It feels like we’ve been following this old road forever. Highways, the Dusters called them, and, like long spindly fingers, they once stretched into every nook of the country. At least that was what Oleg told us, during one of his particularly boring historical sermons. More amazing were the mechanical boxes on inflatable wheels that used to clog the streets of million-man cities. That sort of transportation certainly would have served us well on our long trek from Sotercity. Back when Oleg first spoke of the old world highways, Bron’s initial impulse had been to doubt what the old man was saying, although even he couldn’t explain the not infrequent rusted hulk, rotting away on the side of every major thoroughfare. That the Keeper elite had outlawed any form of motorized locomotion was grounds enough for a rebellion in my view. Not that people knew what they were missing. Technology was the Keeper’s currency and the carrot and stick they used to exert control. Only they could issue the necessary licences for engineers to work bits of metal into cogs, springs and gears. Master Lund was a member of an exceptionally tiny group. A group that a snotty nosed Dhal was likely excluded from, given he didn’t have a license of his own. But the truth was, those Keeper sonsabitches were sitting on more than one technology that could revolutionize the world. I’d seen it with my own eyes and I’m not just talking about Bron’s arms. Course those were a marvel and Bron’s father had to pull the kind of strings only the very wealthy can afford to grasp to get them. Machines like Goliath seemed to be the next stage, kept underground and hidden away from the masses. Control the technology and you control the people. That was how Oleg had explained the Keepers’ position. What use would a horseless wagon be to a Grinder anyway; they didn’t have the time or the means to go off sightseeing or traipsing off on long trips. Besides, there wasn’t much to see, not in the empty, mostly desolate space between cities. Didn’t matter if you were a Grinder, Prospector, Trader or a Merc. In the Keepers’ eyes, you were little more than a brainless child.

  Klaus is beside me, still staring on with those bright, bulging eyes like he’s never set foot outside of Sotercity his entire life. Though that may not be too far off. Bron said it perfectly before: Sotercity was a trash heap. Even as a Keeper, if you were unlucky enough to be born there, you could kiss your chances of advancement goodbye. Yet another reason I became a Merc. I don’t take orders so well. A commander expecting a salute is just as likely to get a pair of brass knuckles in the face.

  I hate to admit it, but I can almost sympathize with Prior Skuld’s frustration. He’d been locked on the lowest rung of the totem pole and now he was gonna burn to ashes the very apparatus that imprisoned him. The logic itself melded perfectly with those Grinders you sometimes read about, who kill their co-workers with a socket wrench because their supervisor passed them up for a promotion. Men like Oleg used fancy Duster terms like sociopathic, although I’m more partial to what the old timers used to call people willing to sacrifice the life of thousands: bat-shit crazy.

  “This’ll be my first time in the capital,” Klaus says. “Do you think we’ll get to meet the Patriarch?”

  Oh, boy, this one’s worse than a newborn. “We’re not on vacation, in case you haven’t noticed.” There’s a distinct note of disgust in my voice and Klaus looks almost wounded by the comment, but I don’t have time to bother with hurt feelings. It’s questions like that that are making me more certain he won’t be able to handle seeing the ocean of Zees I’m sure are surging before the capital’s walls.

  We veer off the highway and onto a well worn footpath which leads to Attica’s main gates. The path that’s cut through the forest is wide enough for an entire battalion of Wardens to travel ten abreast with ease. Still, beyond that, the damp ground beneath the trees on either side has been trampled by what Sneak and I can only guess was a swarm of Zees. Hundreds of years ago, swaths similar to this were cut through the countryside by massive herds of what Dusters called Buffalo. The Keepers taught us how settlers moving west would peg them off from smoke belching trains and nearly drove the species to extinction. Now we’re the ones on the verge of extinction.

  Sneak’s on point, up ahead, and raises her hand in the air, curling it into a fist. I stop and crouch and need to tug at Klaus’ Keeper robe before he does the same.

  Sneak’s signing back. “You should see this.”

  Except I don’t need to, ‘cause I know exactly what’s there. In spite of Skuld’s attempts to block my abilities to tap into Hive central and gain control of the horde he’s assembled, tiny bits of code are always bleeding through, like a slow leak on a sealed jar. Klaus and I inch ahead anyway, although I’m growing more and more certain of what I’m about to see. The terror on his face when he witnesses the shocking mass of Zee flesh in the valley below, rushing through the city gates like a single dark organism, makes one thing perfectly clear. We’re too late. They’re already inside.

  Klaus’ whimpers draw my attention away from the trails of smoke rising from Attica and the unbelievable carnage surely taking place there, to the young Keeper. I might not be able to reach Klaus’ mind the way I can with a Zee, but I can sure as hell see he wishes he’d never left the bowels of that Keeper archive in the first place. Burying your head in the sand is what the Dusters used to say, and that’s just what Klaus wishes he could do. Although, somewhere in there, he must know it’s far too late for any of that. The fingers of his hand are cupped over his lips, holding in a scream. Even his eyes begin watering, like he’s about to cry, and I slap him across the face.

  “Man up.”

  The shock he’s in dulls the pain, but he looks over at me all the same and to a passerby, the sight would almost be comical. A Keeper being slapped in the face by a Zee.

  A burst of Zee code hits me with sudden force. A group of them are nearby, feeding. Tearing flesh from a recent kill is the closest thing they know to joy and they’re beaming with it. But I’m starting to realize that the hunger they feel never goes away; no matter how much they eat, the stabbing pain of starvation is always tearing at their insides.

  I reach out to meld with their minds and feel an invisible barrier keeping me at bay. I can’t get through to them, not with Skuld and the Queen so close. I’m still not strong enough to overpower them and I can hear Oleg’s words running through my head in a loop.

  What remains to be seen is how she will fare when she enters Skuld’s effective zone of control. Who are the Zees likely to follow?

  And it makes sense. I mean, if the broadcast from every Hive leader was competing with that of the Queen, the Zees would be left in a mass of confusion.


  Sneaks throws a rock at my feet to get my attention. There’s a slope to our right, where the ground begins to roll down into a slight depression. Sneak’s at the edge of it, pointing. We head to her and see the Zees I was feeling a moment before. It isn’t a large group. Ten, maybe twelve of them, but they’re munching on a corpse dressed in a short purple tunic and tights. “The Patriarch’s personal messenger,” Sneak signs and neither of us need to get any closer to see that she’s right. Behind the body, recessed into a large rock, is a door that’s slightly ajar.

  “Looks like the poor bastard took an underground passage,” I say, “and got nailed as soon as he popped out.”

  “It’s like they were waiting for him,” Klaus says in a conspiratorial whisper.

  “More like shit luck,” I reply. “Whatever message he was supposed to send is as dead as he is.”

  A fate I’m growing more and more certain awaits us all. Most people don’t need a reason to live, just a reason not to die. For a while now, my team’s been that reason for me and now, with them gone, that reason is Sneak. I haven’t a clue how she’ll manage when I’m not around anymore. The thought of her tied to another Trader’s cart makes the blood in my veins boil with rage. And then there’s Ret. I’ve tried so hard not to think about him and the others. What I wouldn’t give to reach out with my mind, the way I can with these Zees, if for no other reason than to make sure he’s okay.

  Sneak is in the middle of asking what I think we should do and suddenly stops. The Zees have stopped ripping the poor messenger apart and they’re now looking in our direction, eyes glowing, bits of flesh dripping from their blood soaked mouths. The Zee closest to us hisses and springs to his feet, stumbling into a full run. The others aren’t far behind and they’re heading straight for us.