EXTRACT FOR
The Hive
(Author Unknown)

Prologue

    

    The moonlight cast a gentle blue hue across the forest giving the land a fairytale appearance. The woodland creatures went about their nocturnal activities as if nothing were different; the world was as it had always been. There was peace. It was an illusion.

    Above the tree line sat the menacing peak of the Hive reaching into the night sky. It stood 50 stories above the highest treetop like a sinister forbidden mountain none would dared climb. Even in the dark of night much was happening around it. Waspoids fluttered about in a buzz of activity. These wasp-like, six-legged creatures with torsos of various colors and humanoid-type faces were more than giant insects. They operated hover vehicles that entered and exited openings in the outer walls, carried tools and weapons, nature and science in apparent harmony. Advanced beings with a purpose, build the Hive.

    Entering the Hive past brown Waspoid armed guards, there was even more taking place within the brightly lit honeycombed interior. Waspoid workers distinguished by their tan bodies were busy at their tasks; building, unloading, moving. The colony was a never-ending place of work, order and responsibility.

    Deep under the multi-layered structure was a room of subdued light. On a large slab lay the Oracle, set apart from the other Waspoids by her smaller wings and light blue body. The wings could not support her weight were she to attempt to fly. But she did not, would not. Her curse was to be completely dependent on the Hive as the Hive must rely on her to survive. From the shadows, the tan worker Waspoids fluttered out and back as they saw to her needs.

    The General entered flanked by his aides and floated across to her, he and those under his command were brown in color. Out of reverence, they removed their weapons before entering. Though the General was comfortable in her presence, his aides were not and kept back out of awe and fear.

    His tone was respectful but firm, his speech a cross between buzzing and the spoken word to human ears. "Oracle, I am told that you do not eat. You must maintain your strength. Please take nourishment. I beg you."

    "For what purpose, General?" moaned the Oracle. "I have seen the creature again. It was most unpleasant. Numbered are the days of the Hive. We are doomed on this cursed world."

    The General winced at the defeat he heard in her voice and regretted immediately having brought his aides. They were too young and too impressionable to understand that this revered one had periods of contentment but mostly wallowed in the bad she saw in her visions.

    "Perhaps we shall yet defeat it?" he responded hopefully.

    But the Oracle merely laughed a mirthless laugh.

    "That is the soldier speaking," she said. "It is your task to fight for the Hive. But I was not birthed as you. I can only do the task that is mine to perform."

    "The Queen does not share your interpretation of the visions. If she is correct, we will need your skills to build the power of the Hive. I implore you again; take nourishment for the sake of the Hive."

    "I shall try, General."

    The General bowed and retreated from the room, his duty fulfilled.

    Movement in the darkness caught her attention. Something had just entered her chamber. It had come from outside, far, far away. The Oracle was not alone as a shadowy figure lurked, watched, waited. It was human.

    The creature strained to make out the features of the insect's face from where he thought himself concealed but the room was too dark and the shadows too long. His eyes, the only part of him visible in the dim light were filled with fear.

    Abruptly, the Oracle shuttered causing the workers to fly away the then fluttered back to her to resume their tasks as though nothing had happened.

    "Leave me," she commanded them harshly.

    Obediently, they complied and she was alone, almost.

    She scanned the room with more than just her eyes, for not just her wings were limited but also her physical sight. It was that sense, the ability to see with her mind that located his presence, it was indeed human. Her gaze rested on a shadowy spot where she could make out his silhouette. The intruder was not a danger to her, not as yet.

    "I know you are there though these frail eyes cannot quite see you," she said to the shadows. "I can feel you, Liberator."

    The human stepped from the darkness just enough that his face was visible.

    The Oracle fought the dread and foreboding he caused in her but instead, presented a bold attitude in the presence of the human.

    "Yes, I feel your presence," she responded to the questioning eyes. "You do not belong in our world. Leave before our Queen tastes your blood. Stay in your world. There is safety for you there."

    She knew, sensed that, for the present, this creature feared her, feared the Hive. As long as that fear remained there was hope. She had one weapon.

    "You have no power to liberate," she buzzed.

    The human cautiously approached the Waspoid and his close proximity to her sent a sense of terror through her being. Her natural reaction was the flap her wings. For a normal Waspoid it would have prompted escape or attack. But for the Oracle and her feeble wings it meant only that the flutter created a chirping sound that caused the human beast to recoil.

    Chirp, chirp, chirp?



Chapter 1

    

    Chirp, chirp, chirp?

    Wham, Barney Berry woke from his nightmare and swatted the alarm.

    "The Oracle," he whispered. She was new to his nightmares. A bug with a human face. This time he saw the creature so closely that he saw her features. She was so real, so very real that he thought he was watching a real person?a real being. When would they end? In fact, the dreams were becoming worse. That face?

    Chirp, chirp, chirp?

    Crap! He had hit the snooze alarm. Whap, this time he switched it off.

    How he hated that monster. Through slit eyes, he tried to focus on the numbers. He knew already what they said; 6:40.

    Melissa McDay, the lump beside him, did not move.

    "Hey," he whispered but not too softly. Still, the lump remained. He considered touching her, his hand hovered over her shoulder. His brain reminded him of the last time he touched his wife and his cold hands against her warm skin brought such a reprimand, and no lovemaking, which was the original intent. Instead, his hand fell to her side just close enough to feel her silky negligee.

    It was probably best. Love was drifting away from them and he was clueless on how to bring it back. 6:41, he needed to get moving before he was late for work.

    He struggled out of bed, shuffled to the bathroom, glanced at the pathetic figure in the mirror then plopped down on the toilet. He no longer peed like a man in his own apartment. It was easier to do his business from the sitting position than it was to listen to his wife complain about the urine stains on the side of the bowl. He did not know where his backbone was living these days but it was not at 123 High Park Terrance that was for sure. However, he refused to admit that it was considerably easier to urinate sitting down in the mornings and there were times when he actually caught an extra wink of sleep. Then he found himself in the shower and the hot water soothing his bruised ego and warming his cold body.

    The razor did its usual nasty job on his face as he fought for that smooth skin with the overly-priced instrument of torture and its three blades. All the while he wondered how those models with the chiseled good looks managed to pull the thing across their faces without scraping off skin. Anyway, it was a good morning, no cuts or nicks but there were patches that were less than smooth.

    In the bedroom on the way to the walk-in closet, he noticed the lump was gone and hoped for a cup of coffee waiting for him in the kitchen. Breakfast was out of the question but coffee was a possibility. He picked out a dark blue suit from a rack of dark blue suits, selected a shirt and tie, slipped on polished shoes then made for the kitchen and coffee.

    In the hallway, Barney wondered why he set himself up for disappointment. The odds were that he would have to make the coffee or purchase an overpriced cup of not-so-great brew from the corner coffee shop on his way to work.

    Yep, Melissa sat at the counter in her bathrobe with her silky long blonde hair, beautiful features and gorgeous body but with an empty coffeemaker beside her and an empty cup in hand.

    He managed to catch himself before he commented on how she could have made the coffee while he was in the bathroom but decided today was not the day for a fight. Instead, he made the coffee and flipped on his electronic tablet while he waited.

    Unfortunately, he made his first mistake of the day by clicking on the link to the job website where his resume was posted. The list of new want ads popped up and he scrolled down it.

    Melissa sighed loudly.

    Barney continued to review the ads while he unconsciously poured coffee into two cups.

    Melissa sighed, again, louder.

    He sipped the coffee and savored the taste. He made a fine cup of coffee and resented that she was adding flavored creamer and sweetener?

    Crap! He goofed by looking over at her as he assumed that she would be doctoring his magnificent brew. She was not. Nope, she was glaring at him.

    "We're not going through another job crisis, are we?" she chided him.

    The want ads, he forgot how they riled her up in the mornings. He should have waiting to look at them in the subway. He started to sigh and caught himself. What he could not do was stop his idiotic mouth from saying what was on his mind.

    "I hate my job," he said.

    "Everyone hates their job, Barney. It's the American way."

    "You don't. You love selling those six-figured properties and making those big commissions."

    "You're just jealous because this year I might make more money than you."

    "I hate my life. I feel worthless."

    Oh, that was a poor choice of words.

    "I'm part of that life," she snapped. "Do you hate me?"

    He wanted to say no. That was what he was supposed to say.

    "I had another nightmare?"

    "So every time you have a nightmare, I must endure another flurry of job searching? We need your income to reach our financial goals. The condo we're looking at will run us over a million. Then we'll have to decorate it. Vacation will be here before you know it."

    "Is that all life is to you?" he demanded. Okay, if she wanted a fight, he would give her a fight. "Bigger house, make more money, buy more stuff, go to the right parties?"

    "I'm sick and tired of these bad dreams. I keep telling you, it's because you eat M&Ms or some other unhealthy junk before going to bed. Just stop doing it and the dreams will go away," she retorted.

    "M&Ms? Listen, the nightmares are so real that I think I'm actually there, in person. Last night?"

    "Tell me you don't talk to anyone else about these dreams?" Melissa interrupted. "Please tell me that. Phobias and psychoanalysts are no longer in fashion."

    That was the way Melissa McDay fought. She never responded to criticism of her but forced him to constantly defend himself.

    "No. I didn't? I don't?" That always frustrated Barney. And she always caused him to make the cardinal sin of couple's fighting, the personal attack. "And I certainly didn't mean to inconvenience your life."

    It did not help that his tone was dripping in sarcasm.

    "What's that supposed to mean?"

    "Nothing. I'm just tired." Barney retreated. The only thing left to do was surrender.

    "Sometimes I wonder just how much you love me," she snapped.

    The problem was that, very often, Melissa did not accept surrender and refused to take prisoners. She wanted total victory.

    "What?"

    He spilled coffee over his hand and the counter. She waited until he had the paper towel to clean it up.

    "Love, Barney. You know, that expression of affection two people show each other."

    "Wow! This is?unexpected."

    "Why? Why would it be unexpected? You know, I can't remember you ever telling me that you loved me."

    "And, you've told me you love me?"

    Barney learned long ago that a man should never get caught in a discussion with a woman about love. It was a no-win proposition. Yep, he certainly learned long ago, he just never learned to apply what he had learned.

    "I most certainly have!"

    "How?"

    "I show you, that's how."

    "Show me? How have you shown me that you love me?" Barney demanded.

    Oops, he forgot the litany of reasons she always threw back at him when they got into the love argument.

    "Are you forgetting that my father's connections gave you your job? I've always tried to motivate you." Melissa ticked them off like a list chiseled in stone. "Pushed you to succeed. Wanted you to be the best employee Baxter Life ever hired. Turned this drab apartment into a fashionable home."

    She glanced at the tablet with distain and he knew the end and his complete defeat were on the horizon.

    "How do you show your love for me?" her demanding voice echoed in his head.

    Barney sighed, unable to answer, and switched from the want ads to the sports websites like any real man would do in the morning. She smiled, the argument won.

    "I have to attend a closing for the Breadon apartment then mother and I are going shopping," she announced using her triumphant tone.

    "Shopping?" he wanted to say with a great deal of indignant righteousness but did not. He had lost the right with his surrender.



Chapter 2

    

    The tunnel interior flashed past the car that bounced and bumped its way to the next stop. Barney Berry rode in it like a sardine among the other commuters packed into the subway car. Then he shuffled along with the mob up out of the earth and onto an equally crowded sidewalk where he could see the monument to the insurance industry rising high above the other structures. So long as he was moving with the flow, he could hunker down to his own personal self-pity party but, eventually, he had to fight his way against the stream until he made it safely to the entrance of his workplace, the Baxter Life Building.

    It was the building that profits built, tall and imposing over the city as it was in the business where it ruled with absolute power and might.

    The tall and massive structure housed the company that a fear of the future and poor financial planning had created; Baxter Life Insurance Company was its official name. Everyone within and without of the company called it Baxter Life. Years of profiting from people who used insurance as a means to assure an inheritance for their family meant the company could construct a mammoth stone and steel structure that reached high above the city skyline and blotted out the sky. There was no more impressive building in the city. Below, thousands of employees dressed in the garb that befitted their jobs streamed in. Those attempting to ascend to the higher floors were appropriately dressed in dark suits for men and bland, shapeless versions of the suit for the women. Employees with less lofty aspirations wore clothing suitable to their place in the pecking order. At an exclusive car park entrance to the side, limousines deposited the lords and ladies who ruled from the top floors. Above, a helicopter landed on the heliport to deposit the queen at her hive.

    The building's shadow loomed over Barney from the point where he left the subway entrance all the way to the front doors.

    Inside the building was symmetry, choreographed activity that all had a purpose, profit. Each worker bound for his or her space, the place where they would create commerce, was a necessary link in the well-organized harmonious community. A hive, a planned and organized chaotic dance.

    It was nearly eight o'clock so the lobby was filled with Barney's fellow workers all trying to arrive at their desks at the same time, the hour they were required to begin their tasks. One of the ironies of the corporate life was that no one had ever considered staggering employee work hours to trim commuting time. Which was why Barney was in a line of people crowding into elevators then, finally packed among them in the box, lifted up. On the 10th floor, he wiggled his way out onto his section of the hive, an open space of office cubicles already buzzing with activity.

    "Hello hell," he muttered and trudged through the maze to his old familiar workspace.

    Barney glanced at the clock. Flush mounted into the light gray wall, it blended in, a natural part of the business environment. Mostly, it was his adversary, advancing like a snail, in no hurry, going no place. He sighed. The thing controlled his life, dicing it up into little increments. Even when he was not at the office, it dominated every aspect of his existence. Tick, tock, the minute hand slid gradually to two minutes shy of the hour. He blinked. Nothing changed. The slow methodical arch of the sweep second hand started another round. Again, he sighed and dragged his poor self to that familiar three-and-a-half walled area human resources called his office. An L-shaped desk consumed one-and-a-half walls, a file cabinet rested in the corner, a chair for visitors and his worn swivel chair made up the furnishings, all a shade of gray.

    A mountain of reports sat in his inbox. They contained lines and lines of data, meaningless to all except a trained eye. And Barney had eyes trained to cipher the meaning of the symbols, breaking them down into words and numbers. He slid into the chair, switched on his computer and pulled the first report from the stack. Thunk, it lay in front of him. The computer blinked on and he signed in with his latest password while praying that it had not expired. Every six weeks he had to think of a new one that met the criteria of the sadist nerds in IT then he had to remember what is was. Thankfully, the password worked, the day had begun.

    He took the 12" metal ruler from his desk drawer he used to assist his experienced eyes in following the symbols across the page and laid it on the first line to be considered.

    Then he looked up to the computer screen sitting 24" away. The information matched. He placed a check mark on the paper and pressed a key on his keyboard. On the screen the next cell was highlighted. Barney sighed.

    His workspace in gray section was confined to five-foot high gray cubicle walls which matched the bland gray of his furniture. The carpet was a gray Berber weave and clear mats strategically placed in high traffic areas and under chairs protected it from wear. Gray section was designed by researchers who would never work in such a plain environment.

    There was a light blue section, tan section and a faded, muted yellow section on the 10th floor.

    Chatter, a low level of human voices, phones and general activity drifted over his short walls in a never-ending, mind-numbing stream.

    With his mind in a kind of neutral, Barney slogged through the report. When he finished it, he placed it in his outbox and dared glance at his mortal enemy. The clock said that he had worked for over two hours. Coffee time.

    Barney grabbed his coffee mug, the one he bought in the Caribbean with the birds and palm trees on the side. He liked it because it was larger than a regular mug so he could indulge his taste for coffee and it reminded him of his life before Melissa. The Caribbean vacation was the last he took as a free man. It was supposed to be his last big splurge before he gave his notice and started to live a real life of adventure. Two months later he met Melissa. One year later they had somehow managed to get married. The year from meeting her to marriage was a blur, if not a complete incomprehensible puzzle.

    It started innocently enough.

    The party was dull, no, really, really boring. The apartment was so large that it was not difficult to slip away from the other guests so he did. The music drifted to where Barney sat in the kitchen along with a myriad of assorted conversations. He nursed a drink and wondered why he was still there. Over the rim he spotted the most beautiful woman he had ever seen through the back entrance acting very strange. She was on the floor behind a large potted fern and had a drink of some type that appeared to be a slushy which she sipped with a straw. Occasionally, she glanced back down the hallway into the main room. She had blonde hair, gorgeous eyes and a killer figure. Not model skinny but what was once known as an hourglass figure. She oozed sensual sexuality.

    He approached her. He was slightly hammered. That was the only way he would have ever done so since he thought that this woman was way out of his league.

    "You look like you're hiding," he slurred slightly as he dropped beside her.

    "Perceptive," she replied, her tone suggested that she was bored and uninterested in him.

    But then, he was under the influence of his beverage and beyond being inhibited.

    He glanced down the hallway where the party was still going strong.

    "Why don't you leave?"

    She signed. "You want to know the truth?"

    "Nope," he interrupted her. "Lie to me."

    "What?"

    "Lie to me." He took a long drink. "I am a cost accountant. You couldn't make up a more tedious job leading to a dreary life if you tried. I could use some excitement in an otherwise very boring life."

    He raised his glass, "So lie to me and make your story worthwhile or I will kill myself."

    She stared at him for a minute then burst out laughing. It was a beautiful laugh. He could have sat there on the floor and listened to it all night.

    Finally, she offered her hand, "Melissa McDay."

    He took it. That soft, smooth hand came with a gentle whiff of a perfume. "Barney Berry," he managed as he drank in the aroma of her scent.

    Like a fool, he kept the hand longer than he should have then his eyes followed hers and he realized that he still had it. He did not want to release it. Embarrassed, he eventually let her have it back.

    Then she asked him what he did.