that’s easier to comprehend, it’ll eventually rewrite all of history, erasing all of human civilization in the process.”
“That sucks.”
“Not really. Already happened three times before. Four, if you count the fall of the Neanderthals. And really, you should, because they were a fine primate civilization in many ways superior to humanity. The Neanderthals invented the telegraph a full week before
“So if it’s the future and we can’t stop it, then what are we doing down here?”
“Just because it’s the future that doesn’t mean it happens tomorrow. The Hive pushes against our past. And our past pushes against the future that is the Hive’s past. It’s entirely possible for the future of the Hive to always be tomorrow, to always be out there.” He waved his pipe wrench in a vague manner, as if pointing toward a distant horizon. “Somewhere else, but never quite here.”
“Ah,” she said. “Makes sense.”
“Does it?”
“It’s like the future, but not necessarily the future that ever comes.”
“No, it’s nothing like that, but never mind. If it’s an explanation that works for you, we’ll leave it at that. Mostly I make this shit up as I go along, so it’s not like I understand any of it either. Theories and explanations are just tools to be used and discarded as needed in this job, Number Five.”
A sac of eggs burst open, and puppy-sized maggots squirmed down the wall.
“Don’t mind those,” said West. “They’re grown for food, harmless.”
A trio of four-foot-tall ants appeared and started collecting the maggots, placing them in baskets.
“Drones,” said West. “Harmless too.”
“So how do we keep the insect apocalypse at bay for another day?” she asked.
“We fix the boiler.”
As they went deeper the basement became hardened slime catacombs and worker drones. After a few minutes every trace of the man-made world vanished.
He stopped at an intersection of eight tunnels.
“Been a while since I’ve seen it this bad.” He opened his toolbox and pulled out a map. “Mmm-hmm. According to this, the boiler is either that way or that way.”
“It doesn’t know?”
“At the point where two histories meet, certainty is replaced by probability.” He folded the map. “I’ll go this way. You go that way. One of us is bound to find it.”
Before she could argue he was already halfway down his chosen corridor, vanishing in the sickly glow of the nest.
“Wait! If I find the boiler, how do I fix it?” she called out.
“Use your hammer!” he shouted back. His voice echoed, ringing against the walls for several long seconds. Then there was only silence, and she was alone in the murky luminescence.
She wondered why she wasn’t terrified, but all of this was becoming too ordinary. She couldn’t remember which tunnel West had told her to take. Rather than think too much about it, she just picked one at random.
She walked leisurely through the nest. She ignored the larvae and drones, and they paid her the same courtesy. Once flies the size of small birds buzzed her. One landed on her shoulder and stayed there like a hairy, clicking parrot. She tried shooing it away. It kept returning, and after a while she gave up and let it perch. Whenever she came to a junction she’d turn in a random direction.
She was lost. She imagined herself forever wandering through a future that never happened. It more irritated than frightened her. She had far too many dooms, many worse than this, hanging over her head to be bothered by it.
Diana entered an alcove. Aside from the bioluminescent walls, a single lightbulb dangled from a cord in the ceiling. Several crates sat stacked to one side. A rusty boiler stood in the center of the room.
It couldn’t be this easy, she thought.
A fat red beetle the size of a compact car lumbered into the chamber. Diana pressed against the wall into one of the gray pools of twilight. The beetle wheezed with each breath. It scanned the room, its hundred of glowing green eyes sweeping from side to side. She thought for sure it would see her, but she resisted the urge to run for it. Even if she escaped, she doubted she’d find the boiler again. And if she was going to get eaten by something lurking in this nest, then she figured the beetle would finish her off quickly. Only a bite or two at most.
The creature retched, spitting up an arm, a pipe wrench, and a toolbox.
“Damn,” she muttered.
The beetle snorted. It tilted its head to one side. She held her breath, remained very still, and mulled over her choices.
West was dead. Thleft her as the only one capable of fixing this problem, and she had to fix it. Otherwise the bugs from the future would destroy the past, and even if that didn’t end up erasing her because she lived in an apartment building that didn’t play fair with the space-time continuum, she didn’t think she wanted to live in a world of giant mutant bugs. Her world was strange enough already.
Fixing the boiler would fix the future. She didn’t know how to fix a boiler, but she might be able to figure it out if she didn’t have to contend with the beetle in the room too. Her only weapon was an old claw hammer. Unless it was magical, it wasn’t going to do much against the creature.
She tightened her grip. It didn’t feel magical.
The fly on her shoulder made a loud buzz. The beetle swiveled in her direction.
Diana stepped out of the shadows. She didn’t know why. The best justification she could arrive at was that if she was going to die anyway, she might as well go down swinging. If there was a Valhalla, she’d be dining with the Vikings tonight with one hell of a story to tell.
She remained calm. Where once a giant bug would’ve shocked her, now it was just another oddity that wanted to eat her. Her heart beat faster. Her muscles tensed. She tapped into a part of herself that could view this from a distance, as if she were playing a survival horror video game in which she had only one shot at this level.
The creature didn’t advance. It just stood there, studying her. She wondered if it was impressed by her bravado or confused by her stupidity. She didn’t look it in the eyes. It had so many that that would’ve been impossible. She watched its legs, its body language, trying to be ready for when it tried something.
Diana took one step to her left. The beetle pivoted. Its raspy wheeze quickened.
Speaking softly, she held the hammer in both hands and leveled it at her opponent. “Make your move, big guy.”
But the monster just stood there.
“What are you waiting for?” she growled through clenched teeth. “Come on, you stupid bug. Come on!”
The beetle took a step back, and its wheezing ceased. She’d scared it.
It was ludicrous, but just for a moment she’d managed to intimidate the damn thing.
Maybe it was only surprised. When you were as big as a car you probably weren’t used to being yelled at by little women with littler hammers.
The beetle moved toward her. She shouted. It backed away with a startled shriek.
Diana drew in a deep breath, then unleashed the loudest roar she could muster. It echoed through the chamber, and even she was surprised by it. The beetle turned and dashed away, slamming into a wall with enough force to stagger itself. She stamped her feet, jumping up and down, shrieking. The creature regained its senses and bolted down a tunnel.
She smiled at the fly still perched on her shoulder. “What a wimp.”
She checked the boiler.
“Now how the hell do we fix this thing?”
The fly hopped off her shoulder and walked in small circles on the rusted boiler.
She raised her hammer. “When in doubt…”
She struck the boiler, sounding a peculiar gong that literally rattled the nest. The quake shook dust off the walls. She wasn’t sure if it was a good thing or a bad thing, but it was something.
She hit it again with the same results. This time the noisy buzzing warbles of alien crickets also sounded.
