CHAPTER XIII
An Official Visitor
Now that I had swallowed the Oath and become a full-fledged citizen, my life took a sharp turn—though whether for the better, I could hardly say. As a free man, I was permitted to wander unescorted through many of the streets and side-galleries; yet it seemed to me that I had really less freedom than when confined in the Professor's home. I was now officially on the Government books, being known as Citizen No. 44,667,023 XZ, Third Class; I had had my photograph taken and filed with the War Department, my physical measurements recorded and filed with the Police Department, and my toe-prints registered and filed with both the War and the Police Departments. Worst of all, I was now to receive a visit from a sub-agent of the Ministry of Public Unemployment.
This event occurred on the fifth day—or the fifth "wake"—after I had swallowed the Oath. I well remember the occasion; I had been practicing writing the native language, under the tutorage of Loa; and having noticed a light of warning fondness in her salmon eyes, I was desiring some tactful way of escape ... when I was startled by the entrance of Moa, who informed me that a visitor wished to see me.
A visitor to see me! Who knew me well enough to call upon me down in this Nether World? For one mad, hopeful instant, the thought came to me that perhaps it was Clay! Perhaps, after all, he had survived and discovered my hiding-place!
But no! In the next room, a weakened little chalk-face with the features of a fox arose to receive me. "Citizen Number 44,667,023 XZ, Third Class?" he inquired.
"I believe that is my name," said I, although not quite certain yet whether I were an "XZ" or an "XY."
"I have been detailed to investigate your case," he declared, in such a businesslike manner that I had a momentary tremor, imagining him to be a detective. "I do not know why the Government has overlooked you so long; I understand, sir, that you have been illegally living in a state of unemployment."
"Illegally—living in a state of unemployment?" I gasped.
"So I am told!" he continued, with unsmiling severity. "Do you not realize, sir, that unemployment is a crime? That is to say, in all except First Class citizens, who are paid a salary by the State for being unemployed."
Fearing that I was about to be punished, I remained silent and anxiously regarded my visitor.
"However, we do not wish to be severe with you," he conceded, still scowling. "This is, after all, your first dereliction, and I have been instructed to let you off with a reprimand. But we must immediately end your unemployment."
"Very well," I assented, vastly relieved.
"The question is, what valuable labor can you perform?" asked the chalk-face, taking a chart out of his pocket and withdrawing across the room so as to examine it through an instrument that looked like a pair of opera glasses. "Fortunately, owing to the unusual turnover of the present war, an exceptional number of positions are vacant just now."
"Good! What are they?"
My visitor drew up his lean, white face into a puzzled frown, and answered in a drawl.
"Well, let's see. There are so many, it's hard to know where to begin. Now here's one that might do. In the thought-inoculation department of the army."
"Thought-inoculation?"
"Yes, you see it's necessary to be sure that no private in the army should ever have a thought; otherwise, how could we maintain discipline? We have found it isn't safe to rely on laws only, so we have invented an anti-thought serum, which acts on the nervous system so as to paralyze the thought-centers of the brain. The results are excellent; the recruit has no power left except to obey orders—which makes him a perfect soldier."
"A very good idea," I acknowledged, wishing I might have the formula of this wonderful serum to bring home for use in our own armies.
"A derivative of the same drug, known as 'the Mu' is fed by big business firms to employees. It is taken internally, and the results are said to be excellent.... However, a job in this department is not for you!" concluded the agent, sadly. "You're a barbarian, and what do barbarians know of thought-prevention?"
"More than you think!" I snapped, defensively.
"Now here's another good job," he went on, still gazing at the chart by means of the opera glasses. "We're in need of spies. The recent turnover in that department—"
"No, thanks!" I decided. "I don't care to be a spy—"
"But think of the honor! No profession is more esteemed! If you survive, you'll be given a high position in the diplomatic corps; and if, on the other hand, you are turned—"
"That's just it! I'm satisfied not to be turned over!" I asserted, remembering the prison I had occupied just after my arrival, and the execution of my cell-mates beneath the violet ray.
"It's a glorious death—I mean to say, a glorious turnover!" argued my visitor. And then, with a disappointed expression, "However, if you're not out for honors, I suppose we can find you some humbler job. What about a position in the Mulflar Works?"
"But is that safe?"
"Safe?" The Unemployment Agent glared at me angrily. "Who cares if it is safe? Of course it isn't! You may be blown to shreds and splinters any wake! But what of that? Is anything safe in modern life? It's all a matter of the degree of risk! And, besides, the salary is high."
"I'm not greedy for a high salary," I remarked.
"Oh, well, if that's the way you feel, of course we can fix you up!" returned the chalk-face, contemptuously. "There's never much demand for low-paying jobs."
Again he stared at the chart, and, after a moment of indecision, suggested, "Let's see now—we might make you valet to a First Class Citizen. The wages are not very good, but the work is easy. All you would have to do would be to dust off your master's eye-tubes, or hold his megaphone to his mouth when he speaks, or adjust his breathing tubes when they get out of order, or merely stand in his reception hall and look stiff and official when he receives visitors. And whenever he kicks you or cuffs you or calls you names, you would have to bow respectfully, and say 'Thank you, sir!' What do you say?"
"Haven't you anything else?" I asked, in desperation.
The agent scowled again. "You're a hard man to suit!" he declared. "I really don't know what else to offer you. If you weren't a barbarian, we might place you in the Department of Public Unenlightenment—vulgarly known as the Censorship Bureau—whose business it is to keep the public from knowing too much. But no—that won't do at all! Third Class citizens are not eligible!"
Once more he paused, his long black-draped fingers tapping at his knees; and for a moment I feared that no further suggestions would be forthcoming.
But he was a resourceful man; at last, with a shout of triumph, he exclaimed, "Ah!—now I have it! Just the thing! The very thing!"
"The very what?" I asked, hoping he would have a better suggestion this time.
"The very job for you!" he ejaculated, slapping his knee in delight. "I congratulate you, young man! You're a lucky individual! A very lucky individual!"
"How so?" I asked doubtfully.
"Very lucky, I assure you!" he repeated. "We need more office help for the Ventilation Company. You see, too many of their employees have volunteered for the war—and have been turned over. So they have a job just waiting for you in the air-supply division. You may begin tomorrow."
"But what is the Ventilation Company? And what's the air-supply division?" I demanded, none too certain that I wished to accept.
"Take my word, it's just the thing for you! No ability required! No thought necessary! Merely do what you are told! And get paid regularly every five wakes!"
"But what's the job like?"
"You'll find out after you're on it! Time enough to worry then!"
Further discussion followed; but as the agent had no job which he recommended so highly as the ventilating one, I ended by reluctantly accepting.
Immediately upon securing my assent, the visitor let out a whoop of joy; then, drawing forth a printed sheet and a pencil, he flung them at me, and directed, "There! Sign on the dotted line!"
Hesitantly I did as directed, and the agent immediately snatched up the paper, folded it into an inner pocket, left me instructions where and when to report to work, bowed, and gingerly left.
Not until later did I learn that, as a commission for securing me the work, I had signed over to him all my wages for the first fifty-two "wakes!"
CHAPTER XIV
The Last Straw
The Ventilating Company, as I soon discovered, was the most powerful corporation in Wu. It was literally the breath of the country, for it controlled the fresh air-supply, and, with the aid of ninety-six subsidiaries, was said to be highly influential in finance, politics, and war. Owned by a group of First Class citizens, who supported themselves in luxury on a fraction of their dividends, the Company was declared to number Dictator Thuno Flâtum himself among its stockholders; hence its interests were carefully considered in the councils of State, and a recommendation of its Directorate was tantamount to the enactment of a law. It was common gossip that more than one war had been commenced on the decision of the Ventilating officials, and that the current conflict with Zu had been stimulated by them, owing to the fact that the workers had been threatening a strike, and that it was believed that they needed something to distract their attention.
Whatever one might think of the management, one could easily understand the influence of the Ventilating Company. Truly, it brought a marvelous service to the people! The more I observed the vast system of air-tubes and wheels, the more I admired the ingenuity of its creators. I was informed how ventilating pipes, opening in narrow ducts in the Overworld, received a constant supply of the fresh air that always blew in that uninhabitable domain; and I was told how this air, forced downward by mighty pumps operated by the power of Mulflar, was delivered in pipes and conduits to every gallery, chamber and private residence in Wu. This it was that kept the air always fresh and sweet, and that had averted those noisome odors usually found in underground passageways. Yet stop the ventilating wheels for a few short hours only, and the whole country would be faced with danger of suffocation. Little did I realize what a deadly advantage I was later to find in this fact!
My work for the Ventilating Company began humbly enough in view of the tremendous rôle I was to play. Perched on a stone chair behind a stone railing in a large, draughty gallery, where a perfect torrent of air was blowing in order to display "ventilating efficiency," I had to interview customers, hear their complaints, accept the service fees which they paid every twenty "wakes," and attempt to sell the various air-machines displayed about the room. "Do your cleaning by air." "Have you tried our automatic air-baths?" "Remove dust and germs; air-filters at reduced rates." "Air-rays for health—recommended by leading physicians." "Air-heating apparatus—guaranteed for hot air." These were but a few of the signs I saw scattered about me on a multitude of curious-looking instruments, some of them reminding me of electric toasters, others of vacuum cleaners, and a few looming large and imposing like great dynamos.
Although I still did not know the principles behind these inventions, I was able to sell them easily enough. All I had to do was to look knowing, point to the company's guarantee, and state that the objects were on sale for a limited period only; and the prospective customers, particularly if of the fair sex, were rarely able to resist the lure, even though they understood nothing of the point or purpose of the apparatus they purchased. The sale of articles under such conditions, I found, was known to the people of Wu as "good business." It was said that, as a result of such "good business," nine-tenths of the population was constantly in debt to the Ventilating Company.
The other phases of my work were less interesting. What I particularly disliked was listening to complaints—and what a stream of them there were! Sometimes the line of complainers reached all the way across the office and fifty yards down the adjoining gallery! Here, for example would come a testy-looking old chalk-face, with a squeaky wail, "My air-service has been very poor of late! Haven't been able to breathe properly for wakes!"
... And after I had promised to send an air-man around to his home to see if his brakes were not out of order, a querulous young woman, hideous with wrinkles, would exclaim, "See here, young man! Look at this bill! It's robbery, highway, robbery! The meter must be wrong! I'm positive we couldn't have breathed that much air!" ... Following her in line would be a miserable-looking old dame, who would gloomily display a printed notice, "If you do not pay your bill within five wakes, we will turn off your air-supply." ... "If you do that, we'll all smother!" she would moan. "You must give us more time to pay!"
But I would have to inform her that the rules of the Company made no exception; that she might smother, for all the Ventilating officials cared.
There were constantly other complaints, of an equally grievous nature—complaints from persons whose air-supply was too hot, and from persons whose air-supply was too cold, and from persons whose air-supply had been interrupted, and from persons with an oversupply of air, and from persons who had ordered Grade A air for the children, and received only Grade B—in other words, so numerous were the charges that one would have supposed the entire country to be suffering from air-complaints.
My hours in the Ventilating Office were ten each wake, with one wake out of every five off duty. I was expected to stay half an hour after the office formally closed, in order to clean a great ventilating duct, which opened in a corner of the room. This was a task I disliked even more than listening to complaints; I would be obliged to creep into the tube, which was wide enough to admit two men standing abreast, and would have to reach into its dark recesses with a mop, so as to remove all dust and foreign matter. The tube, I was told, connected with the Upper Ventilating Corridors, and had to be kept in condition if our product were to remain pure.
After I had been in the Ventilating Office for twenty or thirty wakes, I could see that, in the monotonous routine of my labors, I was beginning to fall into that thoughtlessness which was the ideal of the chalk-faces. I had, in fact, been commended for speaking in that automatic manner and acting with that vacuity of expression which betokens an empty mind and an efficient worker; hence I began to fear that I would suffer from softening of the brain if I did not find some way to escape. But how was escape possible? Ever since swallowing the Oath of Fidelity and being granted my freedom, I had been looking about me for means of returning to the Overworld; but so completely had I been hedged about that the attempt had seemed hopeless. However, the time was soon coming when, in sheer desperation, I was to make the dash for liberty.
There was something else besides discontent with my work, which was urging me to flee. Although now supposedly a wage-earning citizen, I was still living upon the bounty of Professor Tan Trum, since my pay was going to the Unemployment Agent. Even after he had received his share, I should have to pay an Employment Tax to the Government, and various fines and charges to the Ventilating Company, and a fee for joining the Ventilation Union; and, after that, I would have to buy War Bonds from the Government, and pay War Taxes, and Residence Taxes, and Food Taxes, and Clothing Taxes, and Water Taxes, and Air Taxes, and several other taxes—so that, at a moderate estimate, it would be three years before I would have a penny for myself. During the first two and a half years, the more I worked, the more deeply I would be in debt!
Now all this would have occasioned me no worry; for the natives of Wu consider it honorable to be in debt, the more so the better; and, besides, Professor Tan Trum, thanks to his profits from his Mulflar stocks, was well able to support me. But what I could not endure was the necessity of living in the Professor's home—of living there in daily contact with his daughter Loa.
Alas! I was hopelessly trapped! I do not blame the poor girl; for some mysterious reason, she had succumbed to my attractions, and the melting light in her salmon eyes had long ago warned me to be cautious. Unfortunately, it had never occurred to her that she was not equally attractive. It was positively pitiable, the way she devoted herself for hours a day to her wrinkling-machine, diligently putting new wrinkles into her face, since the old ones did not suffice to win my affection! And it was even more pitiable the way she turned, still hopeful, to a new method, and began "producing," as they say in the native vernacular—in other words, adding on flesh by "producing powders," "producing baths," a "producing diet," and other means recommended by the dictators of fashion.
Now whatever I might have said about Loa's face when I first met her, I had thought her form perfect. But, owing to her "producing" methods, she soon grew rotund; her features bulged and puffed, with a double chin; her stomach protruded; her legs became so fat that she waddled when she walked; her arms, once graceful, seemed little more than flabby masses of flesh. Oh, if she had only been content to remain as nature had made her! Had she but retained her natural form and unwrinkled countenance, who knows? I might have come to love her! But, as it was, she daily grew more hideous in my eyes. And no word or hint of mine could deter her from her purpose. Fatness, next to wrinkles, was considered the supreme sign of beauty in women; and she seemed never to suspect that I would not be dazzled by her corpulent loveliness.
Since I had no choice but to remain in the same house with her, I of course had to be civil; but I thought it the best policy to avoid her as much as possible. Unhappily, in my ignorance of native customs, I was pursuing the road straight to ruin!
This fact became painfully evident one day when Professor Tan Trum, pausing in his researches into some dead and buried language, summoned me to his study and indicated that he had something important to say.
I noticed that he hemmed and hawed to an unusual degree as he motioned me to a seat opposite him, and seemed actually embarrassed as he began.
"My dear young man," he at last said, rising, and coming over to place a fatherly hand on my shoulder, "I have been requested—er—requested to speak to you by my daughter Loa. For a long time I have been—er—observing how matters are between you two."
"Why, I—I have always treated her like a gentleman," it was on my lips to say, feeling that he was about to upbraid me for my coldness.
But the kindly smile on his long, lean face showed that I had mistaken his intention.
"I have been observing—yes, observing how matters are between you," he repeated, gradually warming to his subject. "With becoming modesty, you have not made any undue approach. You have kept your feelings to yourself, as was only proper, in view of your Third Class status; you would not insult a Second Class lady by openly declaring yourself. But I have been observing, my dear young man, I have been observing! How, after all, could any one resist the allurements of my Loa?"
So astonished was I at this speech that I sat gaping at the Professor, my jaw hanging loose, as though I had been accused of a crime.
"Yes, I have been observing!" he went on, with a paternal blandness of manner. "I have been consulting with Loa, as was only a father's place, and have been assured that she—she reciprocates your feelings."
"She reciprocates my feelings?" I echoed, with a sudden sense that the world was falling from under my feet.
"Yes, she reciprocates your feelings! It is only natural, young man, that you should be overwhelmed—it isn't often that a Second Class lady reciprocates the feelings of a Third Class suitor! But I have no prejudices in the matter at all, my boy, no prejudices at all! Though you're a barbarian by birth, you've recently grown civilized! So, since my daughter is willing, I can only give my blessings! May your union be crowned with—"
But I did not hear the end of the sentence. My head was reeling; I believe I sank to the floor in a swoon. When I came to myself again, Loa was bending over me tenderly, tears in her eyes, a bottle of some strong-smelling solution in her hand. And in the background I saw the Professor looming, still smiling the same benignant smile. "Poor young man!" I thought I heard him say. "The shock of this happiness was more than he could bear!"
It was then that I decided that safety lay in flight.
CHAPTER XV
Flight
It was what was known to the chalk-faces as the "mid-sleep." The lights of the public galleries had been dimmed to a slumberous dullness; the lamps of the houses had been extinguished, the ventilating currents were turned low; and only an occasional belated wayfarer or military guard, darting through the deserted thoroughfares an his little "scootscoot," gave proof that life still went on in the land of Wu.
At this silent hour, when the house doors stared in black, almost invisible lines along the empty passageways, a figure might have been seen stealthily emerging from one of the doorways and slinking off down a narrow side-corridor. Had one followed in his footsteps, one would have observed how he wound and twisted through a multitude of lanes, sometimes pausing as if uncertain of his course, sometimes huddling in fright in some dismal alley while a "scootscoot" glided past, but gradually making his way upward amid the intricacy of the Underworld.
That fleeing figure, as the reader will have guessed, was none other than myself. Only half a dozen hours had passed since Professor Tan Trum had made the shattering revelation about Loa; and I was now resigned to taking whatever risks lay in the outside world. My preparations, it is true, had been less complete than would have been desirable; but I had, at least, found time to ransack the Professor's pantry and to secrete a pound or two of concentrated food in my clothing, in addition to a flask of water; and thus equipped, I had determined to venture abroad. As for my direction—I must confess that I was none too certain of it, but I had found an old map in the kitchen closet, and had studied it as well as my haste permitted, in the hope that it would show me the way through the upper corridors to the Overworld and safety.
Let it not be supposed that I had not weighed the dangers. I knew that I might be seized by the police, that I might be punished as a vagrant or a spy, or that, even if recognized when caught, I would be charged with breaking my Oath of Fidelity, and would be subject to the death penalty. But what were such perils beside the certainty that, if I remained in Tan Trum's home, I should have to marry his daughter?
So I stole away hopefully, in the dead of the "mid-sleep," resolved to escape or perish in the attempt. How far I was from foreseeing the outcome! For several hours I advanced with the caution of a cat, and almost with the silence of a cat, since I had removed my heavy native sandals, in order to walk the more noiselessly. But I was not certain what to do after the "sleep" was over. Suddenly I was aware of an ear-ripping sound, like the blast of a siren; the lights in the galleries flashed into brilliance and I realized that a new "wake" had begun, and that it would henceforth be impossible to conceal myself.
I was now in a section of the Underworld I had never before visited. The narrowness and dinginess of the galleries; the dusty, dirt-encrusted walls and floors; the foulness of the air, which was not clear and filtered as in other regions; the nauseating odors, as of overcrowded humanity; the naked glare of the lights, unprotected by the yellow-green screens common everywhere else—these and a hundred other signs showed that I was in an inferior district.
This fact became even more evident when, after a time, swarms of people began to pour through little round holes in the ground into all the passageways. Never before had I seen such desolate-looking chalk-faces! The clothes of the great majority were in rags; the original fabric was overlaid with a thousand strips and patches, and, in many cases, bits of the naked skin showed through; some of the men were without shoes, and some without coats, and a few were without even the skirts that were the emblem of masculinity. As for the women—they were equally tattered, their skirts and trousers often resembling crazy-quilts; but they had the advantage of being less fat and wrinkled than their more fortunate sisters, and I thought many of them quite attractive. Most of them carried babes in their arms, or else a crowd of urchins tagged at their coat-tails; and the children, too, were clad in threadbare scraps, some of them being almost naked—which fact did not seem to bother them at all, for they rollicked and shouted quite as happily as children the world over. Their elders, however, were drawn and sad of appearance, and a majority had those pinched and ravaged faces which come of privation.
Was this a district of criminals and outcasts? But no! A prominent sign informed me otherwise. "Residential section—Third Class," I read. Now I understood why the Third Class was called the Hungry Class.
As a majority of the men I passed bore picks, spades, and shovels, I realized that they were laborers on their way to work. These, fortunately, took no note of me, but slouched onward with downcast eyes that seemed to see nothing besides the path on which they walked. Some of the women, however, did stare at me a little curiously, giving me the uneasy sense that I might be reported; while now and then some man or woman, of especially squalid and ragged appearance, would stop me with a piteous, "Stranger, haven't you a mite of silver to spare?... I haven't had a scrap to eat since wake before last." Or, again, "Stranger, haven't you something for the children? The taxes took all our money, and there's nothing left to feed the babies with." Or else some small boy or girl would accost me, opening his hand with a piteous expression, "Stranger, we're hungry!" And the drawn and hollowed faces would show that they spoke truly!
With these poor wretches I shared the concentrated food I had taken from the Professor's house—and it was pathetic to see with what eagerness they snatched at the food capsules, and how ravenously they devoured them.
"What is the matter?" I asked one of the beggars, as I doled out my last capsule. "Do none of you needy folk work?"
"Do none of us work?" The man stared at me with manifest surprise. "Say, you must be one of those Second Class swells, to ask such a question!"
I assured him that, on the contrary, I was Third Class, but from another part of the country; and at this he looked a little mollified, and went on to explain.
"Well, I don't know how it is where you come from, but here we all work. We have to, on account of the unemployment law. Even the children—those not in the army—are compelled to work from seven years of age. But, of course, we don't get any wages till the First Class Citizens take out their dividends, which are guaranteed by law at fifty per cent a year; and what is left is usually just about enough to pay the First Class landlords. If we have anything over for food or clothing, we consider ourselves lucky."
Feeling indignant against the whole First Class, I proceeded on my way; and, hastening up a long, dark corridor, I sought to escape from this miserable Third Class district. Finally, after several hours, I found myself in a more pleasant and airier realm, but not wholly to my liking. The caverns were much roomier, but the atmosphere was vaguely disagreeable with the odor of smoke. "Where am I?" I wondered, as I approached an open space, where acres of huge cardboard boxes were piled to a height of fifty feet, surrounded by tall barbed wire fences. But, on consulting my map, I was unable to solve the enigma; it was impossible to say whether I was in the "Storage Grottoes," "The Surplus Food Chambers," or the "Military Warehouses," all of which looked alike on the chart. The one thing certain was that I was lost.
Nevertheless, I felt it best not to worry; and, pressing on my way around the mountains of boxes, I soon discovered the source of the smoke. A few hundred yards ahead of me, the door of an enormous furnace opened, revealing gigantic flickering flames, whose heat disturbed me, even at this distance.
Undoubtedly, had I been a cautious man, I would now have retreated. But I was possessed by the demon of curiosity, particularly as I saw two men working in front of the furnace, stripped to the waist and grimy with soot and perspiration, while with rapid movements they reached for the cardboard boxes, throwing them one after another through the furnace mouth.
At first I thought they were madmen; but soon decided that the boxes contained waste matter or fuel, with which to keep the fires burning; and with this belief in mind, I hastened eagerly forward. Never have I forgotten the surprise I received!
As I drew near, the men paused to rest from their exertions, while mopping their steamy brows, and panting heavily.
"Well, partner," I heard one of them declare after closing the furnace door, "that makes eleven gross so far this wake!"
"Nearer twelve, if you're asking me!" stated the other. "Say, have we got to those food capsules yet?"
"Not yet! We're still working on the clothes! There's a couple of hundred tons more to burn. After that, I don't know how many thousand tons of food!"
Bewildered, I returned to my original supposition that the men were mad. Yet it seemed to me that they looked normal enough.
"Beg pardon, friends," I asked, stepping to within a few feet of them, "I don't like to intrude, but I'm a stranger around these parts. Wonder if you'd mind telling what's in those boxes?"
I was now so close to the men that they could not see me clearly.
"You must be a stranger, if you don't know what's in them!" ejaculated one of the laborers. "I thought everyone knew!"
"Just what we've been saying!" added the other. "Food and clothing, of course!"
"Not good food and clothing?"
The two workers stared at me oddly. "Why not?" demanded the first of the pair. "The very best! We're getting rid of the country's overproduction!"
"Say, haven't you ever been to school?" challenged the second. "Don't you know that overproduction is bad for business? It causes depressions, low dividends, and low wages! So when we've made more of a product than anyone can buy, the only thing to do is to burn it! 'Burn your way to prosperity'—that's an old motto! The more we burn, the more prosperity!"
"Why, that's elementary!" added the first worker. "It's taught to every child in kindergarten! By destroying things, you will raise prices, which is the chief object of civilization; since the more we have to pay for things, the more prosperous we will be. Everybody knows that! It's the First Law of Thoughtlessness, taught by all leading economists."
Personally, I have never claimed to know anything of economics, which has always struck me as a subject too deep for my comprehension; still, I could not see why so much good food and clothing need be destroyed when so many Third Class citizens hadn't enough to eat or wear. And so I humbly asked why the surplus, instead of being burned, could not be distributed among the poor.
But I had little expected the effect of my inquiry. Even before the words were out of my mouth, I could see the faces of my hearers growing wry with horror.
"Say, brother," exclaimed the more pugnacious-looking of the pair, "you must be one of those anarchists we've been hearing about! How can we give the food and clothing to the poor? They haven't anything to pay for it, have they?"
"Raise their wages!" I suggested.
But my words went unheeded. "By my father's pink eyes!—we haven't time to waste on any red revolutionist!" snarled the man. "Radicals like you want to ruin the country! Now get out of here, with your crazy new-fashioned ideas, or I'll report you to the militia! Get out quick!"
This final argument being a clinching one, particularly since backed up with two heavy pairs of fists, I conceded the point, and started away hastily. As I turned down a side-gallery and caught my last glimpse of the men, the furnace door stood open again, and they were pitching great boxes into the flames with furious energy, as if eager to make up for lost time!
CHAPTER XVI
The Green and Vermilion
Not half an hour after my encounter with the furnace workers, I had an even more surprising experience. I was still gradually working my way upward through the interminable labyrinths, when unexpectedly I came out on a broad thoroughfare, where great multitudes of chalk-faces were convening. From the manner in which they lined themselves along the sides of the avenue, leaving the center clear, I knew that some sort of a spectacle was expected; and this excited my curiosity, so much so that I again forgot caution, mingled with the crowds, and pushed forward so as to secure a position in the front row. Once more, fortunately, I was protected by the inability of the natives to see things near at hand; I was now so hemmed in by them that they did not view me as I really was, and accordingly I felt safer than if observed at a distance.
No sooner had I edged my way to the front than the crowd broke into cheers, which were dinned and repeated in ever-growing volume, while the spectators seemed to grow mad with excitement, and jumped and stamped in glee, and flung their arms high in air, and shouted till their lungs were hoarse. What they were shouting about was not quite clear to me, although I made an effort to join in the chorus; I thought, however, that I could make out something like, "Long live the green and vermilion! Long live the green and vermilion!" and at first the impression came to me that I was about to witness a football game. Only on this ground could I explain the mad agitation of the people.
But as the tumult subsided, a great banner hanging from the ceiling reminded me that green and vermilion were the national colors of Wu. I would now have guessed the nature of the celebration, even had it not been for my conversation with the jovial-looking, portly chalk-face just to my right. This gentleman, whose cheers had roared into my ears until I was almost deafened, turned to me genially as soon as the shouting had died down, and made a remark to me, with an expectant smile.
"Well, guess they'll be coming any minute now!"
"Guess they will!" I agreed, although I still had only the vaguest notion who "they" might be.
"This is General Bing's greatest triumph!" went on my garrulous neighbor. "Just imagine, he's retaken three-fifths of the lower left-hand corner of Nullnull—at a cost of only a million and a quarter lives! Marvelous, I call it!"
"Marvelous!" I concurred.
"True, he couldn't hold it very long," went on my companion, ruefully. "He was outnumbered too strongly. But he did keep it a good three-quarters of a wake! And they say that, when retreating, he didn't have to vacate more than four-fifths of the lower left-hand corner of Nullnull, at a cost of another million and a quarter lives. An extraordinary strategic victory, I call it!"
"Extraordinary!" I acknowledged.
"So it's only proper, isn't it, that Thuno Flâtum, our good Dictator, should grant a triumphal procession, in order that we may pay public tribute to the greatness of General Bing? Look! here they come!"
Suddenly the mob let out such a howl of acclaim that I had to clap my palms to my ears for protection. To the accompaniment of blaring horns, and of a clanging instrument known as a "bange," which made a noise resembling a cannonade, an elegant-looking procession of dignitaries rode into view on slow-moving little "scootscoots." On one of the foremost cars, surrounded by a bodyguard of a hundred warriors and several scores of obsequious valets, rode a man in a gorgeous crimson uniform—none other than General Bing himself! The exalted rank of this personage would, of course, have been apparent from many facts: the long ear-tubes, the projecting eye-tubes, the nose-tubes and mouth-tubes, and his dwarfish stature and weazened legs, all of which proved him to be a kinsman of Dictator Thuno Flâtum—in short, a First Class Citizen!
Just why the General should have been so popular with the Second and Third Classes was more than I could understand; but so great was public admiration that many heads bowed themselves into the gutter as he passed, while countless eyes shed tears of happy emotion.
"You see, he bears a charmed life," stated the portly neighbor to my right. "All generals bear charmed lives; that's why we honor them as heroes. In order to keep their lives charmed, they direct the battles from a distance of fifty miles, sometimes more; for what a loss to the country if they should be—er—turned over!"
"Yes, what a loss!" I coincided.
The main body of the procession was now passing—and a gallant sight it was! There were several other generals who, like Commander-in-Chief Bing, were dressed either in crimson, or in crimson striped with black; there were hundreds of banners of green and vermilion, and several yellow-and-purple banners said to have been captured during the strategic retreat from Nullnull; there were scores of large-sized "scootscoots" laden with blackened uniforms taken from the enemy; there were several dozen war-heroes, who had received the "Dictatorial Badge of Honor," and were so covered with decorations that it was impossible to see their faces; there were innumerable placards proclaiming the vastness of the recent victories, which, it seemed, were without precedent "in the history of civilized massacre"; and there were, finally, thousands of common soldiers, who walked twenty abreast with the peculiar high-swinging foot motion of the native infantry, reminding me once more of prancing horses, except for the slowness and automatic precision with which they advanced.
All these men wore helmets, of the peculiar hatchet shape I had already observed; and in their hands, instead of swords or rifles, they carried long poles. On the top of each of these I observed curious round glittering objects which, at the first glimpse, looked most attractive, for the wiry sheaths caught the light and flashed it back resplendently. But, on a closer view, I shuddered and turned pale. Under each of the gleaming metallic coverings, there leered a naked skull!
While I reeled backward, horrified at this sight, I heard the cheers of the throng. "Look at the proofs of our victory! The proofs of our victory! Proofs of our victory! Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah!" they howled, pointing to the shining protuberances on the poles. Evidently their vision was so poor that they could not see beneath the sparkling surface!
Following the foot soldiers, dozens of huge vans came rumbling down the avenue, electrically propelled, and bearing great machines that I can only describe as dragons of a hundred necks, since their steel bodies bristled with scores of long tapering tubes, twenty feet high, and pointing in all directions, like the throats of siege guns.
Their steel bodies bristled with scores of long tapering tubes, twenty feet high, and pointing in all directions, like the throats of siege guns.
"Just look at them! Just look!" excitedly sputtered the neighbor to my right, while I was wondering what these engines might be. "If there's not the lightning-spitters!"
"The lightning what!" I demanded.
"Lightning-spitters!" he cried, his voice barely audible above the rumbling of the machines. "Of course, you've heard of them! One of the most remarkable inventions of modern times!"
Even as he spoke, a blade of orange electricity shot from one of the machines, darting to the ceiling in a swift zigzag, and was succeeded instantly by blades of green and crimson light, while miniature thunders rolled.
Now all at once I understood the nature of the machines! They were the source of those lightnings which had wiped out whole armies in the battle cavern, before the dazzled eyes of Clay and myself! They were the same lightnings that had threatened us both, and that might, for all I knew, have taken Clay's life!
"Of course, those are only toy lightnings, for demonstration purposes," my portly neighbor rambled on, while other shafts of colored light shot harmlessly upward. "But these same machines have wiped out whole armies!"
"What's the principle behind them?" I asked.
My neighbor shrugged his shoulders. "How do I know? It's a carefully guarded secret of the authorities. However, they say that the power of Mulflar is used to generate electricity in the machine—to generate it in such excessive quantities that the engine becomes supercharged and releases its energy through the tubes in tremendous lightning blades."
"I see," said I. "The machine becomes somewhat like a thunder-cloud, supercharged with positive electricity—"
"Thunder-cloud?" demanded my companion. "What's that?"
I perceived that I had used the wrong illustration, for, of course, thunder-clouds were not known underground.
"The only trouble," proceeded my neighbor, after I had vainly tried to convey an idea of the nature of a thunder-cloud—"the only trouble is in aiming the lightnings. Of course, we try to direct them accurately through the different tubes, but they don't always go where we want them to. You can never tell where the lightning will strike."
"I should call that a fatal difficulty," said I.
"Not at all! Wherever it hits, it's certain to kill—that is to say—" here he paused, greatly embarrassed—"that is to say, to turn over some of the enemy. And that, after all, is the only thing that counts!"
I was about to reply, remarking that I perhaps owed my life to the inexpertness of the foe in aiming the lightnings, when all at once the crowd broke into song, chanting the National Anthem in a tumultuous chorus as the last of the lightning-spitters rolled past.
Unfortunately, I have forgotten all the stanzas except the first two; but these, which I give in a translation that does scant justice to the magnificence of the original, will illustrate the theme and idea of the whole:
The crowd had just completed the twenty-first stanza, and was singing the chorus with resounding gusto, when I suddenly observed something that made me lose all interest in the celebration. Among the throngs across the gallery, I caught sight of an ugly-looking chalk-face, with thin slits of eyes and a twisted nose, who was staring at me with such an intent scrutiny that I felt a chill traveling down my spine. Did he suspect me of being a spy?—or was he an agent of the government, sent to arrest me for breaking my Oath of Fidelity and running away from the Ventilation Office?
Now all at once I remembered that I was a fugitive from justice; and, with a tremor of terror, I pushed my way back into the crowd, resolved on instant flight; while the neighbor to my right, having finished singing the National Anthem, stepped forward with an excited cry, and exclaimed, "Oh, just look! The Subterrains are coming; the Subterrains are coming!"
But I did not wait to see the Subterrains, whatever they might be. The vision of that man with the thin slits of eyes and twisted nose drove all other thoughts from my mind as I wormed my way deeper into the mob; and the dread of being taken back to face the violet-ray or marry Loa lent haste to my footsteps.
Yet it was not to be long before I would learn the nature of the Subterrain.
CHAPTER XVII
Through the Phonoscope
I can scarcely recall where I wandered in my haste; I only know that I followed long twining aisles in a half-darkness, beset by the vision of a man with slit eyes and twisted nose. I must have traveled half a mile before at length I turned to glance behind me, confident of having thrown off my pursuer. But how cruelly I was surprised! About a hundred yards down the gallery, advancing toward me at no uncertain pace, strode a chalk-face whom I thought I recognized by his slit eyes. Owing to the distance, I may have been mistaken; but, in any case, I thought it wiser to flee than to investigate, and put on my best sprinting gait as I slipped around a bend in the corridor and off along a narrow, down-curving passageway.
Less than a minute later, I passed another turn in the gallery, and came out, to my surprise, among a crowd of natives in a wide grotto dominated by a sign in glowing crystalline letters: "Phonoscope Theatre: Admission, One Silver Finger."
Now I had no notion what a "phonoscope theatre" might be, but I knew that a "silver finger" was a fair-sized sum of money—equivalent to the returns from an average day's labor. Needless to say, I had never yet had such a sum; hence it might have seemed sheer madness to follow the idea that leaped into my mind—to seek refuge in the theatre. Yet I had not a moment's hesitation. Mingling with the crowd, I pressed forward in a long line filing past a ticket-taker; and since, of course, I was without the requisite slip of paper, I determined upon strategy to admit me. Taking advantage of the chalk-faces' inability to see things near at hand, I seized a little strip of cardboard which chanced to be in my pocket (it had been used for jotting down some notes during my lessons from Loa) confidently thrust this into the ticket-taker's hand, and cried, "Free pass!" knowing that he would have to hold it off at a distance and examine it with binoculars before discovering the fraud. Then, while the puzzled official was inspecting the ticket, I allowed the impatient mob behind to press me forward and lost no time about passing the theatre door.
It seemed to me that, as I entered, I heard a confused shouting outside, and some imprecations calling down the Seven Furies on someone's head. However, I paid little attention, but remained nicely hidden in the midst of the crowd as I shuffled down a long aisle in the most peculiar amusement place I had ever seen.
It had, indeed, some resemblance to theatres as I had known them, but was nearer in appearance to the amphitheatres of the Greeks. Beneath a ceiling that arched to a hundred feet or more, long rows of benches sloped down toward an open central space or stage, on which a tall chalk-face with a long three-pointed beard was holding forth sonorously; while all the spectators, curiously enough, were looking and listening through queer instruments projecting from the benches, and rarely seemed to heed the speaker.
As quickly and inconspicuously as possible, I slipped into one of the seats, feeling that I had at last eluded my pursuer, and began to examine the instruments in front of me, of whose purpose I remained in doubt. There were tubes like earphones, attached by wires to a little electric socket; and there were other tubes resembling small telescopes, also attached by wires to a socket. What use could there be for telescopes in this auditorium?
So I asked myself, as, following my neighbors' example, I tried to adjust the instruments. But so cumbrous were they that it was minutes before I had discovered their purpose.
While I was struggling with the tubes, I heard the voice of the speaker.
"Fellow citizens of the Second and Third Classes, you are about to witness an extraordinary exhibition. Until three years ago, when that marvelous invention, the Phonoscope, was perfected, it would not have been possible safely to witness what you are now about to see. For the benefit of those still unacquainted with this masterly machine, I would say that if you will arrange the eye- and ear-pieces, and step on the little lever to your left, you will be just in time for the beginning of the performance."
In a few seconds more, I had managed to adjust the earphones and the telescope-like tubes; and, following the speaker's advice, I stepped on a little steel rod reminding me of the brake of an automobile. And instantly there occurred the most remarkable transformation I have ever witnessed.
So sudden was the change that I would have rubbed my eyes like one in a daze, had they not been pressed close to the lenses. At first I imagined I was dreaming; the theatre, the long rows of benches, the tall form of the speaker, had vanished from view; the shuffling, grating noises of people passing down the aisles, the sonorous voice of the long-bearded one in front, had all been obliterated. But new sounds, new sights crowded upon my bewildered senses.
Looking out upon an enormous cavern like the one where Clay and I had witnessed the battle, I saw swarms of warriors, tens of thousands strong, moving in serried ranks across a smooth stone floor, while a crashing as of many spears was in my ears and a booming like distant thunder.
"You now behold a battlefield a hundred miles away," I heard the speaker proclaim, when, in order to relieve my aching ears, I had removed the earphones. "The Phonoscope, you see, is connected by wires with scores of points on the battlefield. Motion picture cameras, at the other end of the line, are constantly photographing the sights, which are conveyed to you by an apparatus like television, except that you may see directly instead of gazing at a screen. At the same time, radio transmitters catch the sounds and bring them to your ears, so that you may see and hear the battle from a safe distance. It is hardly necessary to remind you that before the invention of the Phonoscope, no one except generals and field-marshals could enjoy such a privilege."
I was still observing how the army, with yellow-and-purple banners afloat, was advancing across the field; but I was so interested in the speaker's words that I was reluctant to clap on the earphones again.
"Thanks to the Phonoscope," he went on, "war has become much more interesting than ever before. Previously we had to observe it through the newspapers, which was altogether too tame. Or else we had to go to war ourselves—in which case we were all too likely to be—er—turned over. But now, for the payment of a fee, we can enjoy the spectacle without enduring any of its hardships. You do not know how much more popular this has made the fighting. Besides—" here the speaker paused, and a smile of glowing pleasure overspread his countenance—"Besides, it has at last put war on a business basis. The fees from the Phonoscope Theatre have been most satisfactory—most satisfactory. Last year alone the Government reaped dividends of eleven per cent!"
It was at this point that my attention was distracted from the speaker to the battlefield. Out of little round orifices on the cavern walls, showers of pale phosphorescent silvery orbs suddenly flashed, falling like shooting stars upon the floor where the purple-and-yellow army was maneuvering. And all at once those regular, serried ranks became like a column of ants on whom one has poured hot water. The wildest disorder prevailed; squadrons of men seemed literally to wither away; I saw a myriad forms convulsed on the ground, writhing and gesticulating in mortal anguish, while other myriads fled pell-mell in all directions.
At the same time, slipping on the earphones, I heard a confused wailing and groaning, like the agonized cries of a multitude; and so desolate, so heart-rending was this sound that I had to snatch the earphones off instantly.
"You have just beheld the attack of the radium bombs," the speaker was stating, in matter-of-fact tones. "Radium bombs, as you are aware, represent the most advanced method of scientific slaughter. They are more effective than dynamite or even than Mulflar, for they not only kill all who happen to be near when they fall, but, after falling, they continue indefinitely to be radioactive, so that all who approach are afflicted with terrible and incurable sores. That is why you see the surviving soldiers fleeing so madly. For the same reason, whole vast regions, far beyond the present battle lines, have been transformed into a permanent public menace."
I wondered how the chalk-faces obtained radium enough to use so widely; but the speaker was not long in informing me.
"At one time, you know, we could secure the element only in insignificant quantities. But science is great, and surmounts many obstacles. About twenty years ago, the renowned chemist Blo Bla discovered that, by means of a new solution composed of a chromium-phosphorus compound (the exact formula of which is strictly guarded) we might extract it efficiently from the pitchblend that abounds throughout our caverns.
"It was then that we first conceived the idea of using it for military purposes. Our main difficulty was not so much in securing the radium as in manufacturing it into bombs; and this problem we solved by devising a missile with a body of some less deadly metal, such as iron or lead, and with a radioactive surface. Unfortunately, there is one minor disadvantage; the bombs can be made only at a considerable cost to the workers, who—well, whose turnover, I am sorry to say, is one hundred per cent every ninety wakes. But such, my friends, is war! Is it not all for the honor of the country? To end one's days in a radium factory is considered a glorious turnover!"
For several minutes the speaker rambled on in this vein, telling how the enemy, Zu, had been so dastardly as to duplicate the radium bombs, at a great cost to the army of Wu.... Then, suddenly stopping in midsentence, he broke into an exclamation I could hardly catch: "Look carefully, my friends! Look carefully! The Subterrain is coming! The Subterrain! The Subterrain!"
Anxious not to miss anything of interest, I clapped the earphones on again and glanced once more at the battlefield. And, as I did so, a scene of shattering fury burst upon my view.
For one instant, I was aware of the wide cavern floor, with the stricken multitudes still writhing piteously, while other multitudes still fled toward the safety of the walls. But, the next instant, all this had vanished. There was a terrific upheaval of earth and rock, which for a fraction of a second covered all things in a great blur; the walls of the cavern sagged, and in places collapsed in avalanches; the floor became jagged as a lunar landscape, with sharp craters and deep ravines, and hillocks, bluffs, and gulches where all had been flat and smooth a moment before. And in my ears was such a thundering that I reeled and was all but knocked over.
Hastily snatching off the earphones, I remained gazing with absorbed interest upon that hideous scene. To my horror, I could no longer see any trace of the purple-and-yellow army. The fugitives, no less than the victims of the radium bombs, had all disappeared! And, as the visible sign of their destruction, a long, thin, dark metallic tube was projecting from the broken center of the floor, like the neck of some great carnivorous dinosaur.
"Ah, that is fine, isn't it, my friends? A very satisfactory enemy turnover! Very satisfactory, indeed!" the voice of the speaker rang out, with gloating pleasure. "You see that long tube jutting above the floor. That is the tip of the Subterrain! You all know, of course, about this marvelous engine. It is generally conceded to be the greatest invention of modern times. No other contrivance has ever produced half so great a turnover. It was the creation of the renowned engineer Hizz Crazz, who, about fifty years ago, decided that war was getting too tame, since it was fought all on the surface of the galleries. Why not make a machine, he asked, which would travel underground as our submersible vessels travel beneath rivers and lakes?
"The result was the Subterrain. The principles behind it are admirably simple; the weapon, which is a relatively slender steel cylinder accommodating five or six men, gradually works its way through a narrow excavation already prepared for it by a machine like a powerful well-borer—the 'cave-blaster,' which operates by the power of Mulflar, and has made it possible to dig our gigantic war-galleries.
"But let me go on to tell about the Subterrain itself. Affixed to its prow is an electric dredge which tears up the earth before it and deposits it behind; by this means, the Subterrain digs its way forward at the rate of a quarter of a mile an hour. Meanwhile, its crew, confined in their narrow compartment, are kept alive by air supplied through long connecting tubes, in the manner of divers. A delicate instrument, with a radio attachment, informs the men when they are in the neighborhood of an enemy cavern—for, of course, the machine is never used except in wartime. Being within a few feet of a hostile gallery, the Subterrain halts, retreats a short distance into the tunnel it has bored, and launches a Mulflar torpedo—whose effects, as you have observed, are terrible beyond description."
It seemed to me that I had now seen enough of the Phonoscope exhibition for one day, and I began to glance about me for the most inconspicuous way of retreating. But since a crowd of new arrivals were coming toward me down the aisle, the moment did not seem opportune.
"Great as are the merits of the Subterrain," the speaker continued, "it cannot be denied that it has some minor drawbacks. One of these is that there is no longer any security for the civilian population during wartime. One never knows when a Subterrain, boring unnoticed beneath one's feet, may launch a Mulflar bomb directly at one. It is impossible to say how many thousands of noncombatants have been turned over in this manner since the war began. Even First Class Citizens have not been spared—an intolerable form of barbarity, which will now—thank the Lord!—be ended by a humanitarian treaty which has just been negotiated, confining attacks of the Subterrains to regions occupied by Second and Third Class Citizens."
It was at this point that I lost interest in the speech. The newcomers having by this time reached their seats, I had risen to leave ... when my eyes were riveted on a chalk-face just appearing at the door. Whether he had come by accident or by design I was never to learn; but there at the entrance, staring at me with a fascinated gaze, was my friend of the slit eyes and twisted nose!
Not waiting to make his closer acquaintance, I darted toward a dark passageway marked "Exit." And instantly he set up such a howl that the whole theatre was aroused, and the speaker, startled, halted midway in his address. "Thief! Robber! Bandit!" was dinned from behind me. "Catch him! Catch him! Catch him! He's a deserter from the war! Catch him! Catch him!"
As I darted into the passageway at a speed that did justice to my college track training, it was only too evident that the slit-eyed one, who was apparently a detective, had mistaken me for someone else. But I did not wait to inform him of his error. Well knowing that the penalty for a war deserter was death by the violet-ray, well knowing that the chalk-faces would execute me first and exonerate me afterwards, I did not check my pace for so much as a fraction of a second as I dashed away with half the theatre audience at my heels.
The violet-ray would not have been needed after all, had that bloodthirsty mob laid hands upon me. "Lynch him! Lynch him! Lynch him!" screeched the leaders of the multitude, as they raced after me along the curving galleries. "Lynch him! Burn him! Tear him to bits! The rat! Cur! Viper!"
There were also other epithets, some of them quite untranslatable; while, as I rushed around the bends of those branching corridors, I could feel the blood-lust of the rabble behind me, could hear their cries growing more excited, could hear the rattling of pebbles and great rocks flung after me by the ardent onsweeping patriots.
Then, suddenly, above the din and screaming of the throng, my ears caught the screech of a whistle, and I knew that the police were being summoned, and that, in another minute, I would be trapped beyond possibility of escape.
In that critical moment, while my breath came hard and fast and my heart hammered like a great weight, I slipped around a turn that hid me temporarily from my pursuers. And, at the same instant, the saving suggestion came to me. There, on the pavement in front of me, was an iron lid as large as the manhole of a sewer; its top bore the prominent letters, "Property of the Ventilation Company! Keep off!"
Clearly, this was no time for hesitation. With a swift downward lunge, I thrust the iron lid out of place; with a leap and a plunge, I dropped into the gaping black hole; and with a desperate wrench of my arms, as I came to a halt on a slippery steel surface, I pulled the lid into place above me.
The next instant, secure in that cranny amid the darkness, I could hear the mob surging and stamping above my head.