The Hive (standard:science fiction, 551 words)
Author: Salamander	Added: Oct 04 2000	Views/Reads: 3557/3	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
Some odd work, mostly my thoughts that nothing can stay the same forever without any change.

“The newest birth is not strong. Kill them all.” 

“Yes, Queen.” 

It trudged over to the wriggling larva next to the bloated Queen, and
tore at the flesh with its mandibles. They had no shells yet, and they 
died quickly. 

“Admirable. You may eat them.” 

“Yes, Queen.” Nothing ever questioned the Queen. It certainly didn’t
choose to now. It had never known not agreeing with the Queen. It was 
simply one of the things you do. You eat, you sleep, you obey the 
Queen. The Queen was the center of The Hive. Without the Queen, The 
Hive was nothing. Just a dry husk to be blown apart by the winds. 

It ate the still-fresh corpses, and left the chamber. It saw the mayhem
of the Central Hive, with everything smashing into everything else, the 
dull purple of the walls, the First Ones tearing at the walls for food, 
the workers rebuilding the walls faster than the walls could be eaten. 
It saw everything, and took it all in without even seeing the chaos. 
Everything was following its pattern. Some of these patterns took years 
to complete but it all made sense to it. You eat, you sleep, you follow 
your pattern. 

It walked down the corridor to its assigned guard post. It waited. It
waited. 

Days passed. It stayed, a silent sentinel, waiting for its turn at guard
duty to end. 

The days stretched into weeks. Nothing happened. Nothing ever did. It
did not even bother to stop anything that went through the area it was 
guarding. Everything was following its pattern. Everything was fine. 
Stopping a pattern was not dreamt of. 

But nothing had dreams in The Hives anyway. 

It realized it was time to sleep. It walked over to The Sleepers, and
examined the place, keeping up to normal. It looked at its assigned 
Sleeper and began to get in. 

IT WAS OCCUPIED. 

It was impossible. Everything followed its pattern. Everything worked
fine. 

But it was not working. Its pattern was interrupted. It looked at the
thing inside the cubbyhole. It was resting peacefully. It was 
impossible. It could not happen. It could never happen. It always 
worked. 

It did not work. The pattern did not work. 

It reached out, grabbed the thing, and tore at its leg. It suddenly
awoke, and began to get up, unaware of the thing blocking its pattern. 
It chewed through its leg, tore it away, destroying what could not 
exist. 

The thing in the cubbyhole fell over, still trying to follow its pattern
while being ripped apart. It spewed blood over the cubbyhole. Finally, 
it was entirely devoured. The thing got into the cubbyhole, and 
suddenly realized – on its own – that it was not this thing that was 
impossible. 

It had made an error. It had not stayed on guard duty for the entire
expected time. But that could not happen. It could not make a mistake. 
Could not. HE. It suddenly struck him. HE had made an error. HE had 
been at fault. HE. He. 

It collapsed to the floor, twitching. It could not handle this new
perception. It could not perceive self-awareness. It did not 
understand. 

It continued to shudder until it died. It rotted in time, leaving no
trace of what was impossible. And everything continued its pattern.


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