When the Night Comes Out presents the Hive, Part three. Five years later,
Tristan Bell awoke and stretched. It was early, or so the clock
told him, but it was almost time for his shift. He looked around
his pristine cell and then stretched again, before getting up and splashing water on
his face, then running it through his hair. He stared at himself and
the metal mirror bolted to the wall above the stone sink, which was carved
right out of the wall itself. He was thirty five, but he looked
at least fifty to his own eyes. On the surface, he had a
full head of blonde hair that the women had just loved. Now he could
see so much gray throughout. Much of it was gone. The receding hairline
was as good as notches in the wall to determine how long he had been
here. He was one of the first to be moved here, one of
the first to start work in the mines. The things he had done still
made him shudder. He had been brash and violent, and addicted to more
drugs than anyone his age should have been. He had started a gang,
dealt more drugs, dealt weapons, and then got into printing money, kidnapping,
murder for hire. He had made money hand over fist and then got
sloppy. He trusted too much, got cocky, and was busted at the
age of nineteen. He had been moved from one prison to the next,
always creating problems inside, always looking for the next deal, the next murder,
the next whatever. Then, at the age of thirty, after helping
orchestrate a prison riot in California, he was shipped here. Life for him
had changed fast once he was underground. There was no way to organize things
here. You were watched all the time. The guards were just a few
hundred yards outside the wall. They were part of the community. In fact,
a weird thing had happened inside the hive. The prisoners and guards and
the people who lived in Hive City had become a strange kind of community.
Oh sure, there were guys here who would have gladly gone on a killing
spree in Hive City if they could, But many more of the prisoners had
just adapted to their life here. There was structure, discipline, things that
had always been missing elsewhere. They even got paid well here. The work
down in the mines was dangerous, and they made a lot more than other
prisoners. And other parts of the world, and that could all be used
in ways that earned them movie nights, decent food at meals, monitored computer
access, mail from the outside heavily edited, and candy. Candy was the
money between prisoners here since smoking was not allowed. Tristan had found that he
rather enjoyed this life in a weird way. He had never thought working in
a mine miles below the earth's surface would be something that fulfilled him, but
he had been a good worker and was now a trustee. He handled some
of the drills, got to manage crews, and had men who worked under
him. And the thing was, they really worked for him. They did
not commit murder for him, or rape or any of the myriad of crimes
he had ordered and orchestrated on the surface. Still, the work was hard,
and despite the vitamins that they got and the time spent beneath you v
lights, the lack of sunlight took its toll. He ran his hand through
his thinning hair again. Today they were heading into a new part of the
mine. Tristan was in charge of taking ten men into a new vein,
piling up the rocks to be crushed and broken down into whatever bits of value
that the men who ran the machines found in the pebbles and gravel. He
would be manning one of the jackhammers. All of them would be digging through
brand new rock and carving out a new tunnel. Tristan took off his clothes,
used the sing to give himself a bit of a sponge bath, then
got dressed in the gray uniforms they all wore when they headed to the mines.
Then he waited. Half an hour later, the slot at the bottom
of the door opened and a tray slid in. It promptly slammed shut,
and Tristan grabbed his breakfast. It was delicious again. One of the benefits
of having a self sustaining community was that you got fresh food down here instead
of the powdered and processed shit you got on the surface. Fresh eggs scrambled
with real bacon and sausage. Today they also had two biscuits and the small
scoop of potatoes. It was topped off with the best coffee you could find
in a prison. Tristan ate hungrily. He knew that he would need the
energy for the day. The rest of his crew, all of them trustees,
would be devouring their breakfast and their cells as well. Only people who
wanted to get really hurt did not eat their breakfast. There had been a
few attempts at hunger strikes here, but they did not last long. You
couldn't call your lawyer and get him down here to protest when they stuck the
needle in your arm to feed you that it was your right to starve yourself.
When breakfast was done, Tristan rinsed off the tray in the sink and
placed the tray near the door. Five minutes later, the cell door became
transparent. He waved at the guard standing there. He knew this man well.
His name was Bill. Bill did not wave back, but his face
creased in a slight smile. Then the door opened and Tristan stepped out,
arms out, the guard said. Tristan turned and held his arms out.
Bill's hands wandered and felt and poked all of the places that Tristan might have
used to hide a weapon. Okay, how are you to day, Tristan?
Not bad. Bill had a good night's sleep, and it's a big
day down in the tunnels. Tristan replied, I heard new tunnel. The
last one you managed to turn't quite a profit. So we're all just a
little bit intrigued to see what you find. I have the nose. Apparently,
it was funny to hear guards actually showing a vested interest, and what
the prisoners were doing is their job. Most other prisons made license plates and
other things, and the guards could care less. Down here, of course,
it was different. Down here. The mind supplied profits to the prison,
and if the prisoners and miners did well, they all made more money.
There was always talk between the guards and the trustees about how the mine
was doing and how things were going. Okay, let's set on down,
Bill said. Tristan started his morning walk. Soon he was joined by others
as they emerged from their cells. Guards joined the column As they went down
the spiralink hallway. On their left, thee night shift was returning, also
under heavy guard. No one spoke. There would be time for exchanging messages
and words later. The columns of workers made their way down, Down,
Down, passed the cells, and then hooked a right and went down a
long corridor. The corridor had rock walls, ceiling and floor worn. Smooth
water trickled down the stone. In a few places, the lights hung from
the ceilings and made the way bright. They emerged minutes later inside a larger,
hollowed out room filled with lockers, benches, and clothing. Tristan and
the rest immediately went to lockers with their names on them. Tristan pressed his
thumb into the lock and the door snapped open. He removed his gray uniform
and put on the pressurized suit that reminded him of a spacesuit. He slid
on the pants, the boots, the blouse and sleeves. Then he removed
the plastic helmet and affixed to that. He twisted the helmet into place and
did a quick check to make sure it was all secure. They had all
gotten used to the pressure difference being this far underground. However, they were
going even further below ground in the mines. Plus, there were gases,
dust, and other particles down there that were not good to inhale. At
times, the air was filled with tiny bits of rock and some that resembled
glass. A person could tear up their lungs, the esophagus, the lining
of the nose. The suits helped them keep working, stay pressurized to the
pressure and the hive, and keep them from dying young from lung diseases.
Tristan turned a valve and oxygen flowed. They did not carry a separate oxygen
tank. Instead, the entire suit was lined with heavy duty filters that removed
the harmful elements from the air while also maintaining the pressure. Tristan had no
idea how it all worked, but he knew he could breathe even when the
air turned foul. In the time that the Mind had been active, there
had only been three accidents. Only one of those had turned out to be
fatal. None of the men suffered from mine related health problems. Although the
job was still dangerous, steps had been taken to make it as safe as
possible. Tristan helped some of the rest of his crew get their suits on.
Then he gathered up the rest of the trustees that were about to head
into the new section of the mine. When all nine were there, he
switched on his microphone. Okay, everyone here knows the drill, he said,
ignoring the pun. If anything goes wrong, just head back here.
If you smell anything weird, see anything odd, or something doesn't look great,
don't hesitate, just send out an alert. Everyone set. They had
all heard these speeches before, so they all nodded. The nine of them
turned and headed for the cars that would take them into the mine. Once
they arrived there, the civilian mine workers were waiting, wearing similar suits.
The civilians still really controlled most of the mines. Most of the prisoners were
guys who had spent their lives committing crimes, while the civilian miners had spent
their lives mining. They were there to watch over everything and make sure it
was all safe. Although Tristan and his crew would be off on their own
opening up a new section of the mine, they would be overseen by Ted
Hallister, the civilian miner who had been mining since he was thirteen and had
it in his family for generations. Ted was waiting for them at the car.
Tristan held up his hand, Ted returned the gesture. Then all of
them got into the car. Ted pushed a button at the front and the
car took off, heading for a very low hanging opening carved into the rock.
All of them ducked instinctively as they went through, and the sensation of
being entombed followed. The path for the car was very narrow, just big
enough for them to move forward and then back up. Tristan closed his eyes
and envisioned the day. He did this most morning when they traveled this part
of the tunnel. He knew others who sang to themselves, others who played
mental games, and still others who just sat nervously and clutched the seed in
front of them. It was definitely nerve wracking. They emerged fifteen minutes later.
The equipment waited for them. Most of the group headed for their designated
areas, parts of the mind that they had been excavating for weeks now.
Some of them headed for conveyor belts and other machines that broke down the rock,
separated the good from the bad, and sent the good down further to
be processed. There were more prisoners at other locations to load the good stuff
into shoots that were transported to the surface, where they were then sent to
various locations. The natural gas and other elements were also extracted and contained and
sent to the surface using tubes, all of which shot the stuff to the
surface at such a speed that if a human being attempted to hitch a ride,
the pressure difference would likely kill them. Tristan and his crew headed off
to the left. In front of them was an intimidating looking wall of solid
rock. Tristan conferred with the men over the microphone, again, including Ted.
They all agreed on a plan of action, and then Tristan lifted his
jackhammer. He pressed the pointed end at the rock and waited for Ted to
give the signal. The rest of his crew did the same. Ted gave
the signal they started digging. Mike Kettinger lay down in his bed and pulled
the covers up. There had been a problem at the administrative building with the
internal computer system keeping track of the prisoner's hours and pay. It was the
kind of thing that if word had gotten around to the general population, might
have led to resentment, which could have led to problems in the mine and
among the crews. So Kenninger had supervised the recovery process, and it had
taken all night. Kettinger came in boned, hired, stripped off his clothing
as he walked, and collapsed into bed. He was cold inside his house,
and he pulled the covers up to his chin, turned on to his
right side, and closed his eyes. His second in command, Quentin Slade,
or Q, as he was known, was more than capable of handling
the morning routine. Q had come on board just three years ago, when
it had become obvious to everyone that a second in command was needed. He
had been part of the ranks of guards recommended personally by reg and had been
a life saver up until that point. Ketnenger had put in weeks where he
had worked for days straight without sleep. It was easy to do when you
were down here, far from the sun. Kenninger's health had suffered as a
result, however, and there was a point where the Gemini folks were ready
to haul him back to the surface. Five years since the day Dalton King
arrived, Kettenger smiled to himself just thinking about that. That day seemed so
clear, yet like a thousand years ago. At the same time, so
much had happened to the Hive Hive City and the people inside the prison in
that time. What had not happened, however, was that Dalton King had
gained new converts or caused any more problems. In fact, King had almost
become a kind of friend to Kettinger. It had taken two years, but
Kettinger had finally struck up a conversation with the most feared man in the world
one afternoon. Soon they were playing chess matches in front of King's cell door.
Now it was almost a daily occurrence. King had surprisingly settled into his
life. He was never going to spend much time out of that cell and
would never work in the mines, but he also seemed sort of relieved.
Kettinger had tried to get him to talk about his life once before he had
arrived at the Hive. King had simply smiled, moved his chest piece,
and sighed, trying to change the world can be exhaust Losing Michael, he
said in his British accent, completely exhausting. King was almost a monk.
He had been allowed books and spent most of his time reading. Just a
year ago, Hive City had created its first community radio station, pumped into
the homes via a direct link rather than over the air transmission, and King
now loved listening to the classical music program in the evenings. Hive City had
grown, and more than ever was a world entirely unto itself, a very
strange world and so artificial in some important ways, but still livable. Few
of the men actually went back to the surface. Those who had left had
been the ones never truly suited to this life, and Once they had been
weeded out, the ones that took to this rather strange way of living had
stayed behind and turned Hive City and the Hive into a thriving place. They
had had no riots in the five years they had been open. There had
been only one prisoner on prisoner murder the entire time. There was little drug
problem or alcohol problem. In fact, because the hive was so self sustained,
most of the prisoners enjoyed partaking in the fruits and vegetables grown down here.
They all earned money with the work that they did, and so many
of the hardened criminals had become proud of the work they did. Ketteker was
proud too. The world knew about the Hive, but the world rarely tried
to intrude upon the lives lived down here. Above them, nations went to
war, people died, Natural disasters happened, but down here they were safe
from all of that. Of course, you had to adapt being this far
away from the sun. The entire population was pale, and their senses had
adapted to the lower light levels. It was even more evident in the children
that had been born down here and were seemingly evolving right before their eyes.
Some kids down here could see in almost pitch blackness and had hearing that rivaled
the animal Kingdom. They had thriving schools. Their hospital was as well equipped
as any on the surface, and had performed surgeries from the simple to the
elaborate. The doctors had even used the various gardens to create new medicines,
and there was talk of allowing people seeking treatment for some medical conditions to visit
the High for that treatment. You adapted, You took your vitamins, You
spent time beneath the artificial sun lamps. Despite all of the good things,
it was still a prison. It was easy to want to let your guard
down, but you never could. Most of the prisoners fell in line,
even Dalton King, but there were still trouble makers. You had to keep
your wits about you. That was where Reg came into play. The man
demanded discipline and was named the official head of security six months after Dalton King's
episode in the cell. He made sure that this place was secure, and
he was more fanatical about it than Mike. Mike's phone rang, He moaned,
and then picked up the phone. You okay, Boss, Reg said,
fine, but I've been up all night Mike said, I'll try to
be in this afternoon. Hugh should be able to handle things this morning,
no problem. Reg said, they're opening up a new section of the mind
today. I know. Kenninger said, I'll get a status update later.
Get some sleep, we'll do. Ketenger set the phone down and pulled the
blankets up over his head. He heard the sound of children running and laughing
outside the window of his home. Just past that was the sound of the
golf carts running from one place to the next. Just a bit fainter was
the sound of people talking, laughing of life. This is what I helped
build, he thought, this was what I helped get started to many in
Hive City. Kenninger was the de facto mayor. Technically they had no mayor.
Settled things by popular vote and town meetings, but so many times the
residents and people turned to him for decisions. It was not something he had
anticipated, but he sort of understood it. He was the warden. The
prison was the biggest thing about this town, almost the sole employer, and
he was in charge of it. When you lived and worked with the guy
you considered your boss, it was hard to turn that off. Kenenger had
nothing on the surface. He had hardly any family, and the family that
was left had no desire to see him. He had not had children,
or a wife, or anything that he felt needed his attention. In the
bright sunlight, home was in the Hive. It took him some time to
relax. The tension from the previous night still soaked his bones and tensed his
muscles. His thoughts turned over and over on the problem that he had worked
so hard to solve. How the IT department and the accounting to apartment had
teamed up to resolve the issue. Slowly, eventually, the tension eased out
of his muscles, The sounds of Hive City faded into the background. His
brain settled down, and he fell asleep. At first, the sleep was
fitful, and then in an hour he was deeply asleep. Tristan wiped the
dust away from the visor of his helmet. The tunnel was coming along fine,
and he was pleased. Around him, the rest of his crew was
still cutting behind them. Men came around to provide supports and make sure that
the ceiling did not cave in on top of them or behind them. More
men came down with carts to carry away the rock to the machines that would
grind them up and then send them to the surface. From what Tristan could
tell, this was a rich vein of minerals, and he was looking forward
to hearing the reports from the managers about what they had dug out. Tristan
moved his lips and drank from the tube that sat just beneath the window with
his visor. His suit was straight out of the novel dune. Sweat and
other fluids were drained off of him by the suit and then passed through dozens
of high density filters spread throughout the suit. It was then collected in a
small pouch near the small of his back and recycled as drinkable water. It
saved the need for having to take bathroom breaks and kept them all hydrated.
He was sweating profusely from hefting the hammer, but the suit was whicking that
out of his eyes and away from him. Tristan shifted the hammer and then
himself. He had been digging in a straight line for a couple of hours
now, but Louis, one of the other trustees, was drifting just a
little bit close. He didn't want to collide with Louis and damage the hammer.
He found a spot that looked about right and hit the trigger. Rock
blew apart into bits and crumbled to the floor of the mine. The air
filled with dust until the filters could kick in, sucking the dust up to
remove the particles from the air, but also to capture the bits of rock
and minerals that had been reduced to particle form. Nothing got away from the
miners in the hive. He continued for about another hour with no brakes.
He was now when a small Tristan sized cavern that extended about ten feet from
the main tunnel they had dug. Tristan shifted the hammer again and triggered the
machine. There was a sudden vibration in his hands that caused him to stop
odd. It was as if he had hit something, something metal, or
something that was different from the rock itself. Tristan frowned and stared at the
rock face in front of him. Nothing was different. He shook his head,
figuring he might have to replace the bit at the end of the hammer
soon. Then he fitted the bit into the green roof he had started and
triggered the hammer. The bit began digging into the rock. Then there was
a strange noise that filled Tristan's ears. Over the sound of the hammers and
through the visor and helmet, it was like a cracking sound, as if
a giant egg had just been slammed against the ground. Tristan frowned again was
about to stop the hammer when the entire rock wall in front of him collapsed
forward in a rush. Tristan had been leaning into the hammer with all of
his weight as he usually did, and when the rock wall suddenly vanished,
he fell forward. His hand came off the hammer trigger, and the noise
vanished, but Tristan went over the hammer and ended up in darkness. Tristan
coughed. He looked up through his visor. No one else had noticed what
had just happened. He was relieved. Had any one of the other trustees
or manager seen him going ass over ankles into an empty space, they would
never have let him hear the end of it. Nothing appeared to be broken
save for his ego. Tristan did a quick check of his visor and equipment
to be sure if anything had been broken. It was a long slog back
to the locker room for a replacement. Tristan stood up and turned on the
light located on top of his helmet. He gasped at what he saw.
It was like he had fallen into a cavern filled with already cut diamonds.
White jewels lined the walls and ceiling on all sides. He had never seen
anything like this. Sure, he had seen diamonds before, but the uncut
kind just really looked like dirty rocks instead of the shiny things you saw in
rings and earrings. He looked down and found the jackhammer and hefted it.
What should he do? This was the kind of thing that should be seen
instead of just reduced to powder. What if this was some new discovery.
Perhaps this was some rare mineral or something even more valuable. Hell, he
thought it might even be dangerous. But the jewels set in the wall glittered
in the light like nothing else he had seen before. He leaned in closer
to the wall. They were faceted, clear white, and reflected and refracted
the light as it shone across them, creating tiny rainbows like little prisms.
Tristan found himself smiling. What were these things? He had to go tell
one of the managers. However, they sparkled so much, looked so beautiful,
he just had to Tristan reached out a gloved hand, and his fingertips
barely brushed one of the bright gems that glittered like a star in the light.
When the fabric touched the glistening surface, the gem itself exploded into a
puff of white dust. Tristan gasped and moved backwards. Then a gem next
to the one he had touched burst apart, then another, Then in an
instant, every gem he could see, floor, ceiling, and walls exploded.
The entire chasm was filled with the white powder. Tristan's visor was covered,
his suit was covered. Then he tasted it. Tristan coughed. There
was a moment of pure panic. The filters should have been removing the particles
from the air inside his helmet. They had stopped working. The inside of
Tristan's helmet filled with white particles. They ran up his nose, down his
throat. Tristan coughed, then gasped, then coughed. He turned and ran
blindly, colliding with the wall instead of heading out the corridor. Then he
heard it, more and more of those tiny explosions. There must have been
millions, perhaps billions, of the tiny gems lining the rest of the empty
chamber, all of them were exploding. Tristan turned and saw a wall of
white particles rushing up out of the darkness, heading right for him. Tristan
tried to scream, but could only cough. He was choking, couldn't catch
a breath. Tristan turned and ran for the opening. Just as he was
about to reach the doorway towards the artificial lights and the rest of his crew,
he tripped over the hose that fed power to his jackhammer. He fell
forward, the hose detached. There was a spark, the world exploded.
You've been listening to When the Night Comes Out the Hive. Tune in next
time for the Hive Part four written by Brian w Alaspa and produced by Ali
James. Music by Vivek Bishek. Catch up on the first four seasons of
When the Night Comes Out now. Support us on Patreon for more terrifying content.