Nightmare journey

known to them.
    The rat with six legs came back from the opposite tunnel, looked at them, twitched its trunklike proboscis, disappeared again.
    Merka Shanly was displeased at having drawn this duty, not chiefly because it was dangerous or frightening (though it was surely both), but because it must be performed in the company of Kane Grayson. She knew the man intimately, all there was to know about him, for she had been ordered by the Committee on Fruitfulness to share a conjugal bed with him some eighteen months ago. They had made love, regularly, nightly, for a year with no offspring to show for it and had, at the Committee's order, discontinued their relationship. Actually, she thought now, watching all the black tunnels, they had never really made love but simply screwed, mechanically, like a couple of prewar machines that worked mindlessly on programmed schedules. Kane had been rather uninteresting as a lover, as inept at that as he was at almost everything, a man frightened of his own shadow and too enamored of luxury to risk anything in hopes of advancement within the enclave's social structure. He was one of those who could not see that someday, in the not-too-distant future, the stores of prewar goods, once vast, would be so badly depleted that sweeping changes in Pure life-style must be instigated. When that time came, he would not be able to cope. His mind would go; and since insanity was classified as a mutation, he would be swiftly exterminated. Merka was a realist, prepared for the changes in Pure ways that were certain to come, and she intended, in the days of unrest, to climb the ladder of position within the Pure social structure and make it, if possible, to the very top.
    The rat returned.
    It's snakelike nose raised, sniffed them, lowered.
    Ignoring them, it began rooting in the fungus and moss along the wall, foraging for food.
    Aside from her adaptability to new conditions-which was not unlike that of the rat, which had quickly learned to accept their presence- Merka felt she had several useful qualities that would ensure success in the enclave structure. She was intelligent, fearless of the outside world in comparison to other enclave-raised Pures, and she was sexually attractive by the standards of her kind. Like almost all Pures, she was slim, with a softness to her flesh rather than a tautness of musculature. But where other women might have appeared slack and toneless, her softness was like that of a cloud, receiving, sheltering, warm. Her breasts were slightly larger than normal, well shaped and full; her flat stomach, flat hips and slim legs were equally alluring. She wished that the Committee on Fruitfulness would mate her to some man of position and power; then she could use her abilities and her beauty to cut herself a niche from which to make further social advancement. If she were always mated to Grayson's sort, she would remain a soldier in the ranks, her ability to please unappreciated by a man who would become excited over anything that was breasted and female.
    Something moved in the mouth of the opposite tunnel, a lighter darkness against the black shadows there.
    “Kane!” she said.
    But even as she called and brought up her flashlight, a huge mutant, resembling a wild bear like the pure strain kept in the enclave, rushed onto the promenade, scooped up the squealing, six- legged rat and hurled it across the pit.
    It struck Kane Grayson in the chest, dug claws into his cloak and held on, jabbering wildly.
    Grayson dropped his flashlight and rifle and screamed so loudly that the echoes, compounding his own shrill voice, were deafening, rebounding from the cold walls like the cries of ghosts, demons.
    When Merka looked back at the mutant, she saw that it had shuffled around the well in the center of the room and was almost upon her: heavy, fur-covered arms raised, claws unsheathed, teeth bared in a black and hideous face. She swung her rifle up to shoot, caught sight of a Pure man running along to the side and slightly behind the bruin, momentarily checked her shot for fear of hurting one of her own kind. Then, in the same instant, she realized the Pure was no Pure at all but was, instead, Jask Zinn, the esper, the tainted man. By then, the mutant had struck her, hard.
    She slammed back against the stone wall, her head smacking it audibly. She staggered away, almost fell into the pit, then toppled sideways, still holding the prewar rifle in both hands, her flashlight lying on the