Гарри Гаррисон - 50 in 50

They waited, weapons clenched and eyes rolling with anxiety, until the Sergeant returned. Jerry Cruncher hummed to himself tonelessly as he tapped various valves with a small ballpeen hammer, then carefully tightened the gasket retainer on one.

"Nothing much," the Sergeant said. "Burne-Smith got a finger mashed putting the lid back on."

"They never listen," Jerry Cruncher coughed disapprovingly.

"Move it out.” the Lieutenant ordered.

"One thing we haven't mentioned," Jerry Cruncher said, unmoving as a block of stone. "You guaranteed that my supervisor would see that I received my pay for this job."

"Yes, of course, can we talk about it as we go?"

"We go when this is settled. I forgot that this being Sunday I'll be getting double time and triple after four hours."

"Fine, agreed. Let's go."

"In writing."

"Yes, writing, of course." The Lieutenant's scriber flew over a message pad and he ripped off the sheet. "There, I've signed it as well, with my serial number. The army will stand behind this."

"Had better," Jerry Cruncher said, carefully folding the slip and placing it securely in his wallet before they moved out again.

It was a nightmare journey for all except the gray, solid man who led them like a Judas goat through this underground inferno. The main tunnels were easy enough to pass through, through pendant valve wheels and transverse pipes lay constantly in wait for the unwary. Had they not been wearing helmets, half of the little force would have been stunned before they had gone a mile. As it was there was many a clank and muffled cry from the rear.

Then came the inspection hatch and the first crawltube leading to a vertical pit sixty feet deep, down which they had to make their way on a water-slippery ladder. At its foot an even damper tunnel, this one faced with blocks of hand-hewn stone, led them through the darkness — no lights here, they had to use their torches — to an immense cavern filled with roaring sound.

"Storm sewer," Jerry Cruncher said, pointing to the rushing river that swirled by just below their feet, "I've seen it bone dry in the season. Been rain in the suburbs lately, and here it is now. Stay on the walkway, this is the shortest way to go, and don't slip. Once in that water you're a goner. Might find your body fifty miles out in the ocean if the fishes don't get it first."

With this cheering encouragement the men slithered and crawled the awful length of that great tunnel, almost gasping with relief when they were back in the safety of a communications tube again. Shortly after this Jerry Cruncher halted and pointed up at a ladder that rose into the darkness above.

"Ninety-eight BaG dropwell. This is the one you want, to that second center you talked about."

"You're sure?"

Jerry Cruncher eyed the Lieutenant with something very much like disgust and he groped his pipe from his pocket.

"Being you're ignorant, mister, I take no offense. When Jerry says a tunnel is a tunnel, that's the tunnel he says."

"No offense meant!"

"None taken," he muttered around the pipe stem. "This is the one. You can see all the wires and communication cables going up there as well. Can't be anything else."

"What's at the top?"

"Door with a handle and a sign saying 'No Admission Under Par. 897A of the Military Code.' "

"Is the door locked?"

"Nope. Forbidden under paragraph 45-C of the Tunnel Authority Code. Need access, we do."

"Then this is it. Sergeant, take eighteen men and get up that ladder. Synchronize your watch with mine. In two hours we go in. Just get through that door and start shooting — watch out for the equipment through — and keep shooting until every one of those slimy, dirty Betelgeuseans is dead. Do you understand?"

The Sergeant nodded with grim determination and drew himself up and saluted. "We'll do our duty, sir."

"All right, the rest of you, move out."

They had walked for no more than ten minutes down a lateral tunnel lined with frosted pipes before Jerry Cruncher stopped and sat down.

"What's wrong?" the Lieutenant asked.

"Tea break," he said, putting his still-warm pipe into his side pocket and opening his lunch box.

"You can't — I mean, listen, the enemy, the schedule…"

"I always have tea at this time." He poured a great mugful of the potent brew and sniffed it appreciatively. "Tea break allowed for in the schedule."

Most of tinmen brought out rations and sipped from their canteens while the Lieutenant paced back and forth slapping his fist into his hand. Jerry Cruncher sipped his tea placidly and chewed on a large chocolate biscuit.

A shrill scream sliced through the silence and echoed from the pipes. Something black and awful launched itself from a crevice in the wall and was attached to Trooper Barnes' throat. The soldiers were paralyzed. Not so Jerry Cruncher. There was a whistle and a thud as he instantly lashed out with his spanner and the vicious assailant rolled, dead, onto the tunnel floor before their bulging eyes.

"It's. . it's. . hideous!" a soldier gasped. "What is it?"

"Mutant hamster.” Jerry Cruncher said as he picked up the monster of teeth and claws and stuffed it into his lunch box. "Descendants of house pets that escaped centuries ago, mutated here in the darkness until they turned into this. I've seen bigger ones. Boffins at the university give me three credits for every one I bring them. Not bad if I say so myself, and tax-free too, which I hope you won't be repeating." He was almost jovial now at this fiscally remunerative encounter. As soon as the trooper had been sewn up, they pressed on.

A second squad was left at the next communication substation and they hurried on towards ComCent itself.

"Ten minutes to go," Lieutenant gasped, jogging heavily under the weight of all his equipment.

"Not to worry, just two tunnels more."

It was three minutes to deadline when they reached the wide opening in the ceiling above them, sprouting cables from its mouth like an electronic hydra's head.

"Big door at the top," Jerry Cruncher said, shining his torch up the shaft. "Has a dual-interlock compound wheel exchange lever. As you turn the wheel counterclockwise the lever in position ready must be…"

"Come up with us, please," the Lieutenant begged, peering at his watch and chewing his lip nervously. "We'll never get in in time and they'll be warned by the attacks on the other stations."

"Not my job, you know, getting shot at. I let them as has been paid for it do it."

"Please, I beg of you, as a patriotic citizen." Jerry Cruncher's face was as of carved stone as he bit down heavily on the stem of his pipe. "You owe it to yourself, your family, your conscience, your country. And I can guarantee a one-hundred-credit bonus for opening it."

"Done."

They climbed against time and when they reached the platform at the top, the second hand on the Lieutenant's watch was just coming up on the 12.

"Open it!" The wheel spun and gears engaged, the great lever went down and the massive portal swung open.

"For Mother Earth!" the Lieutenant shouted and led the charge. When they had all gone inside and the tunnel was silent again Jerry Cruncher lit his pipe and then, more out of curiosity than anything else, strolled in after them. It was a vista of endless steel corridors lined with banks of instruments, whirring and humming under electronic control.

He stopped to tamp down his pipe just as a door opened and a short hairy creature, no taller than his waist, shaped like a bowling pin and possessing a number of arms, scuttled out and raced towards a large red switch mounted on the opposite wall. Five of its arms were reaching for the switch, spatulate fingers almost touching it, when the spanner whistled once again and sank deep into the creature's head, flooring it instantly. Jerry Cruncher had just retrieved the spanner when the white-faced Lieutenant raced through the same door.