IV

Three weeks had passed since Kimball Trent's arrival. At first, he had

met doubt and suspicion from the inhabitants of the tunnels beneath the

rubble of New York. His manner of speech was odd, as were his weapons,

his clothing and his knowledge. But gradually, he had been accepted by

the majority of those he had met through the Elder.

The dwellers of the underground caverns were a strange admixture of

modern and primitive cultures. None but the Elder, the Reader and his

acolytes could read or write. They knew nothing of the past except what

the Reader gave to them from his books, or what the Singers gave to

them in their songs of legend.

They had been cleaved into three classes: workers, warriors and

growers, each with its distinct duties, each contributing to the

welfare of the whole. The warriors were the hunters of wild game and

the protectors of their homes; the workers kept everything used in as

good repair as they were capable of doing, except upon the mechanical

machines and contrivances of which they had no knowledge either

inherited or acquired. The growers were the food gardeners and flock

tenders, utilizing their skill in abandoned subway tubes where gardens

grew fabulously beneath the radi-lights studding the walls, and where

various food and milk animals and food fowls were kept in penned-in

tunnels.

Over all were the Elder and his council of five. They ruled by

election of the people, and so kindly and wise had been their rule that

never had one been deposed except by death. They studied the old books,

sent parties searching on great journeys in efforts to contact other

groups of men and women hidden from the invaders. They made the laws

that were needed, interpreted them, and meted out what punishment was

necessary. Major crimes were unknown, for the knowledge had been bred

into generation after generation that life could only be maintained by

absolute dependence upon each other.

This was the society that Kimball Trent found beneath the earth, one

that amazed and embittered him; for in his mind was the world that had

been his, one of freedom of movement and thinking, with only the coming

of the Gharrians to mar the peace that had seemed eternal.

He found a great admiration, too, for the people of the caverns.

Never had he heard grumbling among them, always there had been soft

laughter. And always had there been, deep beneath their mannerisms,

that steel-like will that would never bow beneath the weird tyrants.

For the first week, he had done little more than meet the men and women

and children, acquainting himself with their way of living, measuring

them against his memories of those who had fought at his side five

hundred years before. He had felt the bite of conscience, remembering

the fortress that lay hidden but a few hours away from these tunnel

homes; but he kept the knowledge to himself, not certain that these

people were what they claimed to be in actuality.

In the second week, he began his repairing of the machines that lay

abandoned where they had fallen into disuse. He grinned at the sounds

of amazement made by Lura and Korm, his constant companions, as he

replaced wiring and reset the atomic burners so that machines would

work and run again. To him the repairing was as simple as the setting

of a watch, for the machines had been almost indestructible and

foolproof when they were built. They had needed but to have certain

small parts replaced, and the atomic vibrators replenished with fuel;

but to Lura and Korm the sudden working of machines discarded long

before they were born was little short of miraculous.

Kimball Trent had explained as he repaired, showing the simplicity

of every machine, indicating how many others could be repaired and

maintained. Korm had grasped the knowledge with a natural skill, had

elected himself to instruct others in the 'mechanic' art. Lura had been

more slow, mechanics not her natural bent, but she retained what she

learned, and demonstrated it on several occasions.

There had been other long hours, too, spent in talks with the Elder and

the Council of Five. In them, he had told of the past, had explained

the manner in which people lived, had told of the religions and the

work and the miracles of machinery that made living comfortable and

easy of accomplishment. He had used his smattering of several foreign

languages to open dusty books to the inquiring mind of the Readers, had

given knowledge that would raise the standard of living of the cavern

dwellers.

In return, he had learned that colonies were scattered over the world,

underground cities where tens of thousands of free men lived and died,

waiting for the day when the Earth would be delivered of the monsters

that held it in an iron grip of tyrannical mastery.

He had made his decision to disclose the location of the underground

fortress, with its weapons and facilities for living in comfort. He

knew now that these were his people, even though they had come five

centuries after him. Within them burned the flame that motivated him,

and he sensed that within them might lie the salvation of the world.

* * * * *

He was finishing the repairing of a water pump, when first he heard the

excited voice of Korm calling from nearby. Straightening, wrench in

hand, he waved an answer, waited until the blond giant had come to his

side.

"Your guns, Trent," Korm said breathlessly. "We make a raid today."

"A raid? Where?"

"At the south of York. Spies have brought information that new

prisoners have been brought to the encampment; they will be more than

willing to escape. And perhaps others may come, too."

The thrill of the words swept through Kimball Trent's mind, surged hot

blood into his temples. He dropped the wrench, caught up his guns from

where they lay beside the pump.

"How many are going?" he asked.

"A few," Korm answered, setting the pace toward a small group waiting

beside a tunnel mouth.

"Hurry," a voice called clearly.

"Lura!" Kimball Trent said. "Surely you're not letting her go along."

Korm frowned. "Of course," he said. "She is good with knife and spear;

she has been on many raids."

"But she is a woman!"

Korm shrugged. "That is good; she will influence the female breeders to

escape."

Then they were at the edge of the group, and Korm was introducing the

five men and two women. Valur and Lura, Trent had already met. He shook

hands with Frong, a jovial red-haired giant almost as huge as Korm.

Neela, the second woman smiled shyly in greeting, clung hand to hand

with her dark-skinned husband, Matt. Nels and Parb, the last two men,

nodded silent greetings, their strong hands caressing the spears they

carried.

They had discarded the tunnel-robes, were dressed now in chest

harnesses hung with knives, and in brief leather skirts that came

halfway down their thighs. Sandals protected their feet and ankles.

"Come," Korm said, led the way into the side tunnel.

They walked the length of the tunnel, entered a large mono-wheel car,

Korm sending it speeding down the single track. The walls blurred from

the speed, and conversation was impossible for the fifteen minutes of

the ride.

This was the first time that Kimball Trent had travelled in this

direction from the tunnel city. He prodded his memory, trying to

recall details of the city, recognizing Grand Central Air Terminal,

and farther on the tubes that had been used by ground traffic and the

underground trains to reach New Jersey. But after that, he recognized

no stations or details; evidently the tunnels had been built after he

had been frozen in the fortress.

Korm touched studs on the control panel, brought the car to a sliding

stop. "We go no farther by car," he said quietly. "Follow me, and be

careful to make no sound; broks might be around."

He stepped to the small platform at the right of the car, gently eased

open a small door, went through the black opening. Lura followed on his

heels, and after her came Trent and the rest of the party.

They followed a dank sloping repair tunnel, slipping on the mossy

damp flooring, going toward the faint glimmer of light a hundred feet

ahead. Korm hissed for silence at the end, carefully parted the fringe

of camouflaging bushes, searched the landscape for signs of hidden

watchers. Satisfied, he slipped into the open, gave a helping hand to

Lura. Within seconds, all stood within the cover of a thick growth of

trees and bushes.

"This way," Korm whispered.

They squirmed through the brush, taking care to make no sound, keen

eyes searching everywhere about. Kimball Trent felt the tension

mounting unconsciously in his heart, felt the cold sheen of sweat on

his body. He gripped the rifle with nervous hands, felt a bit of relief

when Lura flashed him a brief warm smile. Somehow, they were very close

at the moment.

"There!" Korm said at last, squatted behind a bush.

* * * * *

Kimball Trent saw the building first, towering like the round silo of a

Midwestern farmer, slotted windows strips of black against the gleaming

red surface of seamless plastic. His gaze drifted to the ground, and

muscles bulged along his back.

There were people there, herded together in a great wire pen. There

were men and women and children; and even from a distance, Trent could

see the hate and fear and despair that tortured every face.

He scowled unbelievingly when he saw the guards. They were metal men,

robots, stalking steady guard duty a few feet outside of the wire

enclosure. They were weird caricatures of men, quartz eyes staring

straight ahead, concussor boxes dangling from waist cords, tiny puffs

of dust spurting with each step of their flat mechanical feet.

Kimball Trent shook his head. He had heard nothing of the robots, had

never seen them when first he fought the Gharrians. Evidently they had

been created after the world had been conquered. Now they walked in

deadly silence, a menace against which an unarmed man would have no

chance at all.

A man died, even as Trent watched. He cried his hate and raced toward

the fence, leaping high so as to clamber over it with catlike speed and

agility. Trent felt the unheard warning coming from his chest, stifled

it, even as electricity crackled and writhed along the figure of the

man and dropped him in a smouldering blackened heap onto the ground.

No sound came from the prisoners; they stared in dull hate, as the

nearest robot ignored the crackling electricity and pulled the body

below the lowest strand of wire. Dragging the corpse by the legs, the

robot soullessly pulled it toward a shallow ditch, dumped it in, then

again began its endless patrol.

"The inhuman beasts!" Lura cried softly, tears in her eyes.

A Gharrian came from the base of the tower, walking with its ponderous

smoothness, the single eye glittering in the sunlight. There was

something obscene and deadly about its deliberate stalking of the

prisoners huddled within the enclosure.

Its long multi-fingered arms were like writhing tentacles, as it

singled out a man and woman, capturing them before they could move.

Three men hurled themselves at its broad back, beating insanely

with their fists. A robot came rushing in, battered them free,

then beat them into unconsciousness with mailed feet. The Gharrian

turned, stalked toward the tower, dragging the man and woman with an

unconscious incredible ease. It was like a blue monster from hell

dragging two victims to some hideous sacrifice.

"Where?" Kimball Trent breathed.

Korm shrugged. "We're not certain," he said. "One escaped prisoner said

that, in the tower, tests are made of their mentality and fertility."

His great hands knotted about the heavy spear shaft. "Some day I shall

enter that tower, and all hell shall not stop my destroying every

Master therein!"

Then the passion was gone from his voice, and he was their leader

again. "Matt, Nels, Parb," he ordered. "Go around to the other side and

create a diversion. We shall tear down the fence from this side."

The three men nodded and were gone like drifting shadows. Korm opened

the small bundle Frong, the red-haired giant, handed him, disclosing

several plastic ropes, gang-hooks attached to one end of each. He

distributed the ropes to Valur, Frong and himself. Trent watched

intently, as they fitted the spears to the hooked end of the ropes.

"Is this your plan?" he asked quietly.

Korm nodded shortly, testing a knot with heavy fingers.

Kimball Trent lifted his rifle. "I can blow the fence to pieces with a

couple of shots?" he said.

"No!" Lura laid a slim hand on the rifle barrel. "We want no more noise

than necessary. They discovered us early the last time we raided, and

loosed the broks. We lost more than half of our group."