“The scuttlers, prolly.”
The screens were dead.
“They die when the queen does?” Hickey asked.
“Probably,” Voorhees said. “Concentration in here is only parts per trillion, sir, much lighter.”
There were over 240 known Hive facilities on the Main Continent, and battles had been fought in every direction around them as queens led their warrior-workers out to either defend their Hives or attack others. When the massed assaults ended, thirty-two facilities still had queens, some of them badly injured: two were combing through their egg reserves, beginning to fertilize eggs in a valiant attempt to repopulate their Hives. The surface team did not have to physically inspect all of them. Life-form readings, set to queens and the large warrior-workers, showed which facilities had queens and provided a rough assessment of their remaining minions. Recordings had been made of pheromones in a sufficient variety to give the scientists much to study.
Perry lifted the shuttle safely back to the Moon Base. The moment the shuttle doors opened, alarms in the boat deck went off.
“Do we stink that bad?” Gallard asked.
“You do,” was the response of the lieutenant on duty in the base headquarters. “You go through decontam until you register zero on the stinkometer and you guys are thoroughly deodorized. That okay with you, Commander?”
“If we reek enough to set off the alarms, we should clean off before we undress,” Makako agreed, and waved the troops toward the decontam facility. Since the unit held only one person at a time, there was a tedious wait.
“They still stink,” Gallard said, wrinkling his nose at the last man to hang his gear up in the storage closet. “I’ll never get rid of that reek.” He felt his hair, rubbed down his arms and legs. “Yuck! Commander, can we use enough water to get really clean?”
“Permission granted,” Makako said, devoutly wishing she had enough cologne left to get rid of the residual smell. She lifted her arm to her nose.
“All in your mind,” Voorhees said, grinning.
“If it is, I’m in real trouble,” Makako murmured to him. “And that shuttle still stinks. We’ll have to moor it out in space for days. It’s permeated the metal. Gods, those pheromones are pervasive.”
“All in your mind,” Voorhees repeated, enjoying his tease of the commander.
The com unit buzzed for Makako’s attention: “Prime Perry says he’s moved the personnel carrier to the gym so you won’t have to back through boat bay, sir, until it’s been deodorized.”
“Thank him.” He held out his hand to Makako. “Pleasure working with you.”
She shook his hand solemnly. “And with you, but gods, how I hope we don’t have to do it again.”
“Sir,” the com unit continued, “Met says wind’s picking up. What do we do about that? XO says all that smell moving to the eastern continents might be bad.”
Makako groaned. “Get back to the Asimov. We’ll have to do something ... maybe seed some clouds and dilute those pheromones. Some of my readings were off the scale and most of ’em were subtly different.”
“I’ll tell what comes up in the analysis, soon’s I know myself,” Voorhees said and then called for his four to come with him to catch their ride back to the Asimov.
Though the ’port was swift, the five men exuded enough residual pheromones to cause the ensign who opened the carrier to recoil with disgust written all over his face.
“Beg your pardon, sir,” he said sheepishly.
“Into the showers, all of you,” Voorhees said. “Tell the captain I’m taking our readings up to the lab. I’ll shower again there.”
“Yes sir, but Captain Osullivan’s orders were for you to contact him immediately.” The ensign gestured to the boat bay’s com unit on the upper level.
“All right,” Voorhees said, resettling the bag of data disks that contained the readings.
“What’s this about a bad Met report, Voorhees?” asked Captain Osullivan.
“Winds have picked up. Can we do something about diluting the pheromones it’s carrying to the east? I’m on my way to the lab, sir, but I really don’t want to bring a pong to the bridge, if you don’t mind.”
“Appreciate that, Mr. Voorhees. Report when you’re ... deodorized.”
“Yes sir.”
Voorhees then made it straight to the ship’s well-equipped laboratory and started his technicians on a preliminary report on pheromones, levels and types. Either the ensign had warned them or constant proximity to lab smells had dulled their olfactory nerves, but none of them so much as wrinkled a nose when he came near them.
“Do a quick assessment and inform Prime Perry when it’s ready to be forwarded. We’ll do the detailed chemical analyses later.” He caught one of the yeomen by the arm. “Get me a clean shipsuit from my cabin, will you, Naves?”
“Yes sir, right away, sir.” The man jogged out of the lab.
A cloud seeding is advisable, Prime, Perry told Jeff Raven. The consensus here is that we’d best dilute the pheromones as much with rain as we can before the stench spreads across the eastern continents. I wouldn’t like to see such slaughter as on the Main Continent again. The pheromones are diverse and powerful. There is some scuttlebutt that the personnel carrier Commander Voorhees returned in is stinking up the boat deck. I believe he has taken four showers and applied to sick bay for a pungent skin lotion.
Does he really need it? Or is it all in his mind? Jeff asked.
I’ve a message tube ready for ’portation, sir. There was an edge of amusement in Perry’s voice. See what your scientists think.
I’ll ship you appropriate seeding materials. You’ve done it before, I believe, on Betelgeuse?
Yes sir, I have, and the meteorological conditions are fortunately favorable.... Ah, sir? The science officer says we’d better check the eastern continents after the storm to be sure the rain dispersed the aggressive pheromones.
By all means, and my compliments to Commander Voorhees. Good thinking.
eleven
The chromatograms, taken both in the open air and in the queens’ quarters that were visited, with and without the occupants, compared with those taken by Prime Thian on the planet Arcadia, kept the lights burning in laboratories and offices all night long. A preliminary report—with many protestations of being a hurried summation and some speculations—was on Jeff Raven’s desk by the time he arrived at his office in Blundell Building from Callisto. Copies had been sent to both High Councillors and Prime Elizara. Jeff glanced through the first few pages and ’pathed a call to Thian on the Washington.
Thian, sorry to rouse you, but I need to have Lieutenant Weiman and Grm here for an important meeting.
Sure, Grandfather, Thian said, dragging himself from sleep and the comfort of Gravy’s warm body. Right away.
The queens on Xh-33 went to war on the Main Continent yesterday and damned near exterminated themselves.
WHAT? That news brought Thian wide awake and he increased his efforts to get into his shipsuit.
Please have Weiman and Grm bring all their data and visual records. ‘Path me when they’re ready and I’ll assist in the ’port.
No need, sir. I can do it easily enough in gestalt with the Washington’s generators.
It is urgent!
I believe it.
Thian was at his com unit, tapping in Lieutenant Weiman’s quarters.
“A war?” Such news had as electric a shock on Sam as it had had on Thian.
“Grm is also needed and you’re to bring everything you have on Arcadia’s queens and any other research you two might have on the Hivers. Please go immediately to the boat bay and get into the personnel capsule. I’ll alert the watch officer as soon as I’ve roused Grm.”
“It’s here,” Sam said apologetically. “We were correlating some data and ...” His voice trailed off.
“Great. How long do you need?”
Thian could hear Sam’s gulp. “Ten minutes, sir?”
“You’re
a star,” Thian said with sincere appreciation.
Still groggy with insufficient sleep, Sam and Grm found themselves on Earth, in Blundell. The yard supervisor greeted them effusively, hurried them into the great blocky building and turned them over to Gollee Gren.
“Do you have any details about the war, sir?” Sam asked, stumbling along the corridors as the Prime’s top assistant escorted them past security and to the high-speed elevator.
“Visual and data files,” Gren said, “are awaiting you. I’d prefer you to see them first before I comment. Prime Raven has called for a meeting with the two High Councillors and other experts at two o’clock.”
“But ... but ... but ...” Sam began, and followed him into the elevator, absently keeping Grm’s material from slipping out of the Mrdini’s arms.
Gollee turned and grinned at him. “Assimilate what you can in the time you have ... and if a correlation is obvious, make notes of it. We’re all trying to absorb what happened yesterday.”
When the doors opened, he waved to the security guards who had come to attention.
“Lieutenant Weiman and the Mrdini Grm,” he said, looking up at the ceiling. “From the Washington, at the request of Prime Raven. I am their escort.”
The guards relaxed. Another came forward with two scintillating disks, which she planted first on Sam’s chest and then on Grm’s upper arm. As Sam looked down at it, the surface dulled.
“That admits you to this floor only, Lieutenant, Grm. If you need anything, use the com unit in the room,” she said, saluting as she stepped back and gestured down the short hall. “It’s set up with what we thought they might need,” she added to Gollee Gren.
“Grand, thanks, Monnie. This way, gentlemen.”
The room had the dead feeling of a high-security facility.
“Yes,” Gollee said with another grin, noticing Sam’s happy reaction.
“It’s a grand room,” the lieutenant said, glancing around a space that was quadruple the size of his office on the Washington. A full com unit with viewing screens above it occupied one wall, a wide sturdy round table with eight chairs were in the center and comformable chairs and a long couch stretched along the other wall. A serving unit was to the left of the entrance.
“You haven’t had a chance to eat yet, have you?”
“We should get to work immediately,” Sam said, starting to arrange the files he had brought.
“I suggest you eat first, Lieutenant, Grm,” Gollee said with a grave bow. “This will be a very busy day and you’ll need to sustain yourself. Especially before you see the recording of the ... queens’ war on Xh-33.”
“That bad?” Sam asked softly.
Gollee nodded slowly.
“Coffee,” said Grm firmly, “black, and porridge.”
“Good choice,” Gollee said, and dialed it up.
“I’ll have the same,” Sam said, his tone wary.
When they were served, Gollee left them to eat. “There are other preparations to make for this afternoon’s conference. If you’ll excuse me?”
“Of course,” Sam replied, and turned to his meal.
Five minutes before the two o’clock meeting, Gollee collected the two xenbees. He saw the haunted look in Sam’s eyes, the droop of Grm’s poll and knew that the queens’ war had affected them as deeply as it had everyone who had seen the recording. The viewers might have been spared the sounds and smells of the carnage, but the omissions hardly mattered in the overall effect.
“It’s nearly time, Lieutenant, Grm.”
“Yes, yes,” Sam said, hastily bundling up the scattered sheets of the hard copy, his files and notebook. Grm kept dropping files until Gollee gave it a helping hand.
“This way, please,” Gollee said, and to Sam’s surprise, indicated the end of the corridor. “Prime Raven will ’port you himself from this point.”
He nodded to them both and strode back to the elevators.
The next thing Sam knew, he was in a huge office, facing a conference table that had individual units built into its surface. There were twelve conformable chairs, four of which were already occupied. He noticed the Chief Xenbee in charge of the Heinlein Base’s queen installation and bowed to her, but he didn’t recognize the others except that they were all Fleet officers. For a scared moment, Sam wondered if this was where the assassins had made their attempt on the lives of the Primes and the High Councillors.
“Actually, no.” The quiet, slightly amused voice turned Weiman’s attention to Prime Jeff Raven, whom he recognized from newsvids. He was talking to the equally recognizable High Councillors, Admiral Mekturian Tohl and Gktmglnt. “Lieutenant Sam Weiman and Grm are from the Washington,” Jeff said to the others. “Mr. Weiman, perhaps you already know Lieutenant Commander Whila Gallahue from the Heinlein Base.” When Weiman nodded, he continued, “So I will make you known to Lieutenant Commander Jan Voorhees of the Asimov, to the HGHL xenbee, Stg, and to Lieutenant Verla Mitab from the Xh-33 Moon Base.”
As they were acknowledging the introductions, a slender elegant woman seemed to glide into the room from nowhere, causing Sam some consternation, as he was facing her point of entry.
Jeff smiled, holding out his hand. “I’m sure you all must know my wife, Angharad, Callisto’s Prime. No cause for alarm, Mr. Weiman, the Rowan is the only other person who can enter my sanctum sanctorum without invitation.” He guided her, with an air of conscious pride, to the nearest seat. “Please, ladies and gentlemen, take your places. We have much to discuss.”
When they all had taken seats, the two minor ’Dinis slipped reverently into the Mrdini-suitable chairs on either side of the High Councillor, tilting their poll eyes deferentially away from such an august neighbor. Jeff Raven remained standing.
“This meeting was convened at the behest of the High Councillors and in this room for security’s sake. I turn it over to Admiral Tohl.” With a courteous bow to the Admiral, Raven sat down beside the Rowan.
“I trust you all”—the Admiral glanced round the table needlessly, for every eye was on him—“have had time to assimilate the details of ... the war.” He grimaced. “Most unfortunate, especially as that sort of madness could spread to the other four continents of Xh-33.”
He noted that Verla Mitab of the Xh-33 Moon Base winced. “My sentiments precisely, Mitab,” he remarked. “And we must endeavor to formulate some solution. For in the solution for Xh-33, we may find the germ of a way to end the cyclic behavior of the Hiver queens.
“I am given to understand”—and now he nodded to Commander Whila Gallahue—“that the Hiver society exists in an oscillating equilibrium. This theory is borne out by the fact that, once the war was over and some of the surviving queens had returned to their hives, they immediately began to fertilize eggs to replace their losses. That is typical of such a society. It builds up population, overburdens resources and then forces the queens to set out aggressively to acquire enough land to support increased numbers. Since we confined the queens to their planet, destroying their spheres and preventing them from their usual modus operandi ...”
“What else were we to do?” the Rowan interjected.
“Quite so ... the need to expand could only result in more than mere border skirmishes.”
“You’re not suggesting that we’re responsible for their war?” asked the Rowan. ’
“Of course not. But we are certainly responsible for preventing them from leaving Xh-33 in a more orderly solution than war.”
“With respect, Admiral,” the Rowan went on, “what’s the difference? Their war solved their immediate problem. There’s now plenty of unoccupied space available on Xh-33.”
“Not if the other continents erupt.”
“With so many queen Hives vacant,” said Commander Gallahue in an unusually deep voice for a woman, “couldn’t we spread the queens and their followers about the planet, and relieve the crowding that led to the war on the Main Continent?”
“That possibility is currently being examined,�
�� said Gktmglnt, turning its poll eye toward her. “That is only a stop-gap. We who have suffered much from the Hivers look to find a permanent solution to the problem of queen migration.” It turned its eye on Lieutenant Weiman. “Arcadia is much different, is it not, Lieutenant?”
“Ah? Oh yes, indeed, honorable Gktmglnt,” Sam said. “It is pacific, totally nonaggressive, and from what evidence we have, it has been so for centuries.”
Gallahue leaned slightly across the table in his direction. “I have read your report on that Hiver colony with great interest,” she said sincerely. “I must comment that even though the Heinlein queen is quiescent, the pheromones she occasionally releases are unlike those you reported ...” She held up her hand when Sam opened his mouth to defend his findings. “I do not doubt the accuracy of your report. But if you compare Arcadia’s ambience to the concentration of pheromones on Xh-33 ...” She shook her head, leaving her sentence unfinished.
“That’s it,” Sam said excitedly. “There is no comparison, but Arcadia has remained a pastoral, nonaggressive, almost underpopulated planet. So what happened to produce the warlike queens of Xh-33?” He spread his hands in puzzlement. “And those who have plagued our Mrdini allies for two centuries?”
“If we could discover that, we could solve the problem,” said Admiral Tohl, also spreading his hands.
“It is on record,” Gallahue began, “that the Heinlein queen did, on one occasion, emit pheromones similar to, though not as intense or as concentrated as, those reported on Xh-33.”
“She did?” Jeff Raven asked. “When?”
Only his wife knew him well enough to be wary of that tone in his voice: almost teasing and very knowing.
The Tower and the Hive Page 27
