The words of Nils Hellstrom.


The living prototype of the computer was designed by nature long before man ever set foot on earth. It is nothing more nor less than the termite mound, one of the first experiments in social order. It is a living reminder that all may not be as man would wish it to be among the life forms that share this planet with him. We all know, of course, that compared with man, the insect does not display what we could describe as intelligence. But why should we feel proud about that? Where there is no intelligence, there may be no stupidity. And the termite mound stands there as a living accusation, a finger pointed at our pride. A computer is a mechanism programmed with a thousand tiny bits of information. It operates by juggling information into a form of logic. Think about it. Is a beautifully functioning society not a form of logic? I say that the creatures of such a mound, each a bit of the whole, move through their hidden circuits, a thousand tiny particles of information organizing themselves into an indisputable form of logic. Their source of power is a brood mother, a queen. She represents a great throbbing mass of energy, motivating all around her with insatiable need. Thus, our Hive rests firmly on its breeding chambers. Within the queen’s pulsating body lies the future of the mound. Within our breeding chambers lies our future and, in truth, the future of humankind.


Kraft called the farm as soon as Peruge had broken the connection. He had Hellstrom on the line within a minute.

“Nils, there’s a fellow at the motel named Peruge. Says he’s from the Blue Devil Fireworks Corporation and he’s looking for a missing salesman and the salesman’s wife. Missing in your area. Says he has a letter from the salesman which mentions Guarded Valley. Should we know anything about that?”

“I told you to expect this,” Hellstrom said.

“I know, but this fellow sounds very sharp. He’s already talked to the State Patrol and I wouldn’t be a bit surprised if he called in the FBI.”

“Don’t you think you can handle him?”

“I may’ve made him suspicious.”

“How?”

“I kept probing for some kind of admission from him that this wasn’t an ordinary missing-persons case. He’s on his way over here right now. Says he has a photograph of the missing couple. State Patrol has a copy, too. FBI is sure to get another one. Somebody’s bound to’ve seen this pair, and they’re going to center them right here.”

“They won’t find anything at the farm,” Hellstrom said. He sounded sad and tired, and Kraft felt the first twinge of a deeper concern.

“I sure hope you’re right. What should I do?”

“Do? Cooperate with him in every way. Take the photograph. Come up here to inquire.”

“Nils, I don’t like this. I hope you’re—”

“I’m trying to keep the interface of our conflict as small as possible, Linc. That is my most urgent concern.”

“Yes, but what if he asks to tag along?”

“I hope he does.”

“But—”

“Bring him!”

“Nils—if I bring him up there with me, I hope he’s coming back with me.”

“That is our concern, Linc.”

“Nils—I’m real worried. If he—”

“I’ll handle it myself, Linc. We’ll have everything smooth and ordinary when you arrive.”

“I sure hope so.”

“How did he get to Fosterville, Linc?”

“Rented car.”

“Is he alone?”

“I don’t think so. There’s several new campers up on the mountain.”

“We noted the activity. Rented car, hmmm?”

“Look, Nils, this guy had better not have an accident in that car. I got a funny feeling about this one. He’s big trouble.”

“No doubt of it,” Hellstrom agreed. “They’ve sent in the first team.”

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