Transcriber's Note:
This etext was produced from Galaxy Science Fiction January 1955. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.
The Tunnel
Under
The World
By FREDERIK POHL
Illustrated by EMSH
Pinching yourself is no way to see if you are dreaming.Surgical instruments? Well, yes—but a mechanic's kit isbest of all!
n the morning of June 15th, Guy Burckhardt woke up screaming out of adream.
It was more real than any dream he had ever had in his life. He couldstill hear and feel the sharp, ripping-metal explosion, the violentheave that had tossed him furiously out of bed, the searing wave ofheat.
He sat up convulsively and stared, not believing what he saw, at thequiet room and the bright sunlight coming in the window.
He croaked, "Mary?"
His wife was not in the bed next to him. The covers were tumbled andawry, as though she had just left it, and the memory of the dream wasso strong that instinctively he found himself searching the floor tosee if the dream explosion had thrown her down.
But she wasn't there. Of course she wasn't, he told himself, lookingat the familiar vanity and slipper chair, the uncracked window, theunbuckled wall. It had only been a dream.
"Guy?" His wife was calling him querulously from the foot of thestairs. "Guy, dear, are you all right?"
He called weakly, "Sure."
There was a pause. Then Mary said doubtfully, "Breakfast is ready. Areyou sure you're all right? I thought I heard you yelling—"
Burckhardt said more confidently, "I had a bad dream, honey. Be rightdown."
n the shower, punching the lukewarm-and-cologne he favored, he toldhimself that it had been a beaut of a dream. Still, bad dreams weren'tunusual, especially bad dreams about explosions. In the past thirtyyears of H-bomb jitters, who had not dreamed of explosions?
Even Mary had dreamed of them, it turned out, for he started to tellher about the dream, but she cut him off. "You did?" Her voice wasastonished. "Why, dear, I dreamed the same thing! Well, almost thesame thing. I didn't actually hear anything. I dreamed thatsomething woke me up, and then there was a sort of quick bang, andthen something hit me on the head. And that was all. Was yours likethat?"
Burckhardt coughed. "Well, no," he said. Mary was not one of thesestrong-as-a-man, brave-as-a-tiger women. It was not necessary, hethought, to tell her all the little details of the dream that made itseem so real. No need to mention the splintered ribs, and the saltbubble in his throat, and the agonized knowledge that this was death.He said, "Maybe there really was some kind of explosion downtown.Maybe we heard it and it started us dreaming."
Mary reached over and patted his hand absently. "Maybe," she agreed."It's almost half-past eight, dear. S