THE MEN OF BORU
BY JACK A. NELSON
There is always a breed immune to mass
hypnosis, and to them falls the duty of
rebellion.... The story, by a Brigham Young
University senior, that won the second award
of $500 in IF's College Science Fiction Contest
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Worlds of If Science Fiction, January 1955.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
A swirl of dust licked at the grass sandals of the men standing onthe hill. There were eight men, and they stood looking west over theburned, gutted land that lay barren before them—barren except for aseries of huge mounds that lay in a depression far out from the hillson the rocky plains.
"Do you still think we can make it?" asked a stocky man with a lividscar that ran from his upper lip to his forehead. "I for one wouldrather live alone and meagerly than not live at all."
The speaker received a stern glance from a tall hawk-nosed man wearinga finely-worked leather belt, apparently a symbol of leadership.
"We have already agreed, remember, Franz? We have to succeed ordisappear off the face of the Earth. You may turn back if you wish. Weare going on."
Franz scowled, rubbed his scar and contemplated the mounds in thedistance. "You forget I have lived there. You have not. Well, maybe tobe a slave is not so bad after all. Or to die."
"If we die we will not go alone," said Sten, the leader. He turned tothe others. "Let's go. It will be dark soon."
The men moved single-file down through the hills without speaking.
As it grew dark they could feel the heat radiate from the sand. Theyfelt the heat press against them and silently praised Sten's wisdom inwaiting for the cold time of year before making the attempt. They worea tunic of coarse-woven cloth that hung loose from their shoulders, andeven that single garment was too warm here. They moved in silence, Stenin the lead, followed by his brother, Johnathon, a smaller man withwide shoulders and a quick smile.
A gibbous moon was showing over the mountains when they stopped.Solemnly they gathered in a circle.
"We will separate now," Sten spoke softly. "Franz and Johnathon andKarl and I will enter from the south. Bradley, you and the others willfind the way in from the north. You can find the place. If we're notback at our last camp by morning of the third day, go on without us.You have the map where the valley lies?"
The leader of the other group nodded.
"Then hurry. Until three days, then. Remember, the only hope lies inus. Some of us have to make it!" The men separated with only a wave offarewell and the two groups moved in opposite directions across the hotsands.
Clouds covered the moon and it grew darker as the four men approachedthe edge of the mounds. An ominous sense of foreboding fell over them.It seemed they could feel the vibration of the city that lay beneaththem. Beneath them lay life—stilted, twisted, enslaved life, but lifenevertheless.
"Are you sure they don't post a guard?" Johnathon asked.
"Against what, the Root-Diggers?" Franz spat contemptuously. "No, theyare secure. They need fear nothing."
It was another hour before they found the tunnel and entered in singlefile. Groping their way through the darkness, they finally felt a solidwall rise in front of them. Franz made his way to the left, feeling hisway along the wall until he found a large box in a niche in the rock.
"It's here