UNDERGROUND MOVEMENT
By ALLEN K. LANG
Illustrated by ENGLE
A mangled corpse held them captive
in that dark tunnel beneath the Earth's
surface—and taught them a lesson
about what freedom really means!
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Infinity, December 1956.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
The hatch to the front compartment swung open for the first time. Oneman came out. He turned at once to make sure that the air-tight doorbehind him had locked. Satisfied that it had, he turned again to lookdown the cabin at us. His face showed that insolence we'd learned toknow as the uniform of the "Bupo", the State Secret Police.
The man from Bupo walked down the aisle between the passengerstoward the rear of the car. He swept his eyes right and left like asuspecting-machine, catching every detail of us on his memory. Peopleleaned toward the walls as he approached, like children shrinking backfrom a big animal, and relaxed as he went by. He was out of sight inthe galley at the rear for a moment, then was back, carrying a pitcherof water in one hand and the key to the front compartment in the other.
A battering-ram hammered into my belly. I slammed bent, hitting myhead against the knees of the man sitting across from me. The capsuleshuddered, smearing some obstruction against its outer wall. Therewas an instant when I weighed nothing. Then my head snapped back withhangman's violence as the capsule bounced forward a few meters. Then wewere still. From the shock to the silence was a matter of ten seconds.
I pulled myself up from the floor. Surprisingly, my skeleton stillhinged at the joints and nowhere else. The Bupo man was flat in theaisle, bleeding black splotches into the green carpet. He still hadhold of a piece of the water-pitcher's handle. I ignored him, while mybrain began to push out explanations for this impossible accident.
Something had gotten into the Tube, that slick intestine we'd riddenthrough under the Andes, below the Matto Grosso, out under the pampas.Something had got in the way of the hundred hurricanes that pushed us.The eyes and ears and un-man-like senses I'd helped build into thisfive thousand kilometers of metal gut had stopped the pumps. The vacuuminviting our capsule on had filled with air, no longer tugging us tothe terminal nest by the Atlantic. We were abandoned, fifteen metersunder God-knows-where.
Mrs. Swaime, who knew that I'd helped in the Tube's engineering, turnedto me for explanation. "What happened?" she asked. "What did we hit?"
The foreigner across the aisle, Mr. Rhinklav'n, smiled, a curiouseffect. "A cow on the track, I believe," he said, his voice brassy withthe accent of Mars.
"How did a cow get in here?" Anna demanded. She was the girl whosegirl-ness had snagged the eyes and riled the hormones of every male inthe car.
"The gentleman is joking," I assured Anna. I glanced towardSurgeon-General Raimazan, the man whose knees had hammered my forehead.He was clutching his right forearm, his eyes squeezed shut by pain."What happened, Doctor?" I demanded, laying my hand on his shoulder.
"Fractured my arm, my ulna. Get my case under the seat. I want to lookat him." The doctor nodded toward the Bupo man, who was struggling tosit up. I got out the doctor's bag.
"Morphine?" I asked, finding it.
"Codeine, next tray, will be plenty." I dropped three of the pillsinto Dr. Raimazan's left hand. He swallowed them without wate