Free Hellstrom's Hive by Frank Herbert

Hive would bind them into a common defense.
    In common with many of the key workers who would unite thus, Hellstrom knew how thin the Hive’s defenses really were. The knowledge sent fear through him now and he longed for the mental oblivion of the common worker who had few concerns beyond immediate tasks.
    Driven by his fear, Hellstrom opened a filing drawer, extracted a folder tagged “Julius Porter.” The ordinary vat mark had been stamped on the outside of the folder to tell what had happened to Porter’s flesh, as though he had been discarded breeding stock whose records were kept as commentary on offspring, but Porter had no offspring in the Hive. He had merely brought a sense of mysterious threat which he had left largely unanswered. Something about the new intruder made Hellstrom think of Porter. Hellstrom trusted such instincts. He glanced through the closely spaced lines of information inscribed in Hive code. Porter had carried credentials identifying him as an employee of the Blue Devil Fireworks Corporation of Baltimore. He had babbled something finally about “the agency.” This agency had represented in his terrified mind something that would revenge him.
    Agency.
    Hellstrom regretted now that they had sent Porter so soon into the vats. That had been callous and careless.
    The idea of using the pain of a fellow creature, however, went against Hive sensitivities. Pain was a recognizable phenomenon. When it occurred in a worker and could not be eased, that worker might go to the vats. Outsiders did not behave this way, though. This was a Hive peculiarity. One killed to eat, to survive. The killing might cause pain, but that was quickly ended. One did not prolong it. Ohhh—survival might dictate another course, but the Hive had avoided those ways.
    Presently, Hellstrom put the folder aside, depressed a key at his repeater station. He asked for one of the security overseers in the aerie watchroom of the barn-studio. The instrument that carried his voice was of Hive construction and he admired its flat functionalism as he waited for a response. Presently, Old Harvey came on the Screen above the instrument. His voice quavered slightly. Old Harvey would have to go into the vats before long, Hellstrom reflected, but that could be delayed because this man had talents that the Hive required, and never more desperately than right now. Old Harvey had been one of the first breeders. His seed was all through the Hive. But he was also knowledgeable in the ways of the Outside and an imaginative guardian of Hive security.
    They spoke openly on the internal circuit. There wasn’t even the remotest chance that the Outsiders possessed instruments that could penetrate the Hive’s electronic barriers. In this field, Hive specialists already had moved far ahead of Outsiders.
    â€œYou know about the intruder, of course,” Hellstrom said.
    â€œYes.”
    â€œYou’ve been watching him personally?”
    â€œYes. I sent the watchworker to call you.”
    â€œWhat’s he been doing?”
    â€œJust watching. With binoculars mostly.”
    â€œDo we have anyone out?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œAny exterior activity scheduled?”
    â€œOnly a delivery—diamond bits for our level-fifty-one drills.”
    â€œDon’t pick it up until you clear with me.”
    â€œRight.”
    â€œIs there any chance he’s carrying relay instruments that could monitor his activities from a distance?”
    â€œPorter carried no such instruments.”
    Hellstrom suppressed a feeling of irritation, but noted that Old Harvey had also made that unconscious connection. “I mean, have we checked?” Hellstrom asked.
    â€œNot completely; we’re still in process of checking.”
    â€œAhh, you’re being thorough,” Hellstrom said.
    â€œOf course.”
    â€œTell me as soon as you’re sure.”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œWhat about aircraft?”