The Hidden World: A Golden Age SF Classic

by Stanton A. Coblentz

  They all stepped forward, their movements so stiff and regular that I had a fleeting suspicion they were animated machines. Their arms swayed up and down, up and down, in perfect time with those of their companions; their feet always left the ground with a peculiar high-swinging motion, like that of prancing horses, although their pace was by no means a prancing one; while the sound of their footsteps reminded me of cavalry trotting.

  Having seen Nazi films, it was evident to me that they were soldiers. At a steady pace, they approached my cell-mates, who were shaking and whimpering with dread. Abruptly they halted; their leader pointed to one of the wretches and snapped out an order.

  Instantly, the victim was seized by one of the warriors and dragged away, while the whole party left the room at their odd, prancing march.

  As the door rattled to a close behind them, my remaining cell-mates all dashed toward the one small window, scuffling and wrestling with one another for a favorable position. Not wishing to be left behind if there was anything to see, I darted toward the window. The effect was as though I were a plague-bearer; the chalk-faces all made way, whining with fear, and retreated to the further end of the room.

  Gazing into the broad, high corridor just outside our prison, I saw my late cell-mate being borne to the opposite wall, where he was tied against a stone column shaped like a gallows. Then, while a group of about fifty chalk-faces gathered around, gibbering and gesticulating, one of the soldiers uttered a warning cry; at which the spectators all fell silent; they withdrew to a respectable distance as a curious-looking machine was wheeled onto the scene.

  It rested, like a camera, on an iron tripod; it consisted, in the main, of a series of prisms and lenses, of various shapes and colors. Some of these were transparent and but a few inches across, but the foremost was rounded in form, stained a deep opaque blue, and fully a yard in diameter. Behind the lenses were numbers of bulbs, wires, and battery-like tubes; the whole instrument, when in operation, made a constant whirring sound, somewhat like a motion-picture projector.

  What interested me most of all, however, was that the light issuing from the foremost lens was not scattered or diffused like most rays; it drew sharply to a focus twenty or twenty-five yards ahead of the machine, making a long cone of violet illumination.

  One of the soldiers on the operator's scat turned the violet rays on and off two or three times as if for practice, then gradually moved the instrument so that it pointed directly toward the victim.

  The operator looked through a little glass tube, as if to make sure of his position and distance. He raised his black-gloved hand in an imperious gesture, then took out something that looked like a watch, and gazed at it as if keeping careful count of time...

  The next instant, I heard the low, regular whirring of the machine. The cone of violet light shot out, its focus directly at the prisoner's heart. The man drooped, and would have fallen except for the ropes that held him; his face, for an instant, became purplish-red, then turned gray and colorless...

  Three or four seconds, and all was over. The violet light no longer played, the whirring sound had ceased. One of the soldiers, whistling a tune, cut the lifeless form free; and the people surged back and forth across the gallery as if nothing had occurred.

  The explanation was partly clear: the machine generated energy of some nature, powerful enough to reach the heart and check its action by tearing down the tissues.

  Having seen enough for one day, I sank down upon a stone bench, clasping my aching forehead with both hands, and wondering what I had done to fall among the most barbarous race ever known. True, they were advanced scientifically, but would any civilized people execute a man with a death ray? Would they not, rather, resort to humane devices, such as hanging or the electric chair?

  While absorbed in these ruminations, I was startled to see the prison door burst open once more, admitting the squad of ten soldiers, who advanced with the same machine-like movements and prancing steps as before, singled out another of my cell-mates, bore the cringing victim away, and promptly executed him by means of the violet ray. Four times in the course of the next hour they returned, and each time withdrew one of my fellow prisoners, who shortly afterwards said farewell to this world.

  I wondered what the condemned had done. It was by no means consoling to find myself at length alone in the prison, while the last of my cell-mates was being crumpled by the violet rays.

  Would I now be left to myself? No, immediately after disposing of the last chalk-face, the soldiers returned; I saw their leader lift a black-clad hand and point in my direction.

  CHAPTER IV

  HIS ABYSMAL EXCELLENCY,

  THUNO FLATUM

  Had I been a criminal, justly sentenced to the electric chair, my fate would have been less hard to bear. Coolly, with the most matter-of-fact manner, my executioners dragged me out of prison, pulled me at the end of a wire to the stone column that had witnessed the six executions, and, still not approaching me, twisted some heavy iron strands against the column in such a way as to hold me tightly against it.

  I saw the black-and-white figures of the spectators crowded at a safe distance, their salmon eyes glittering; I saw the ten soldiers with their hatchet helmets looking on like the creatures of some delirious vision; I saw the death-machine being moved into place, and watched the operator as he peered through the little glass tube as if to make sure of his aim. Then, while I grew limp with fright, the executioner lifted his hand to signify that all was ready...

  But at this point my recollections blur. My ears caught a telltale whirring; my eyes beheld the cone of violet light ... Several seconds—long protracted seconds—went by. I was aware of a faint warmth, a slight tickling sensation above the heart—and that was all. Then, in a wild rush, hope came flooding back. Was I immune to the effects of the rays?

  Suddenly the whirring ceased, the violet ray snapped off, and the spectators’ excited cries showed that they shared in my own astonishment.

  But was I actually saved? Again I heard the fearful buzzing of the machine; again the cone of violet light pointed toward me; again I felt the tickling sensation in my breast. But I still defied the rays of death.

  After the third attempt, I saw the soldiers gathered in a little knot as though in agitated conference. I heard the spectators talking noisily; this hubbub went on for several minutes before, to my unspeakable relief, one of the guards reached out a long forked pole and loosened the wires that bound me.

  I felt impulsively at my chest, wondering if I had not been wounded, even though I felt no pain. Then sudden light dawned over me. Beneath my coat, which had been punctured with a little round incision like a bullet hole, I felt a small familiar bulge. From an inner pocket, I drew forth a little leather-covered notebook. A deep, charred perforation, reaching almost through the heavy back cover, showed what had checked the deadly rays.

  Had my enemies taken the trouble to search me, I might not have escaped. Only their irrational dread of approaching me could account for this omission! But now, what was to prevent my captors from subjecting me once more to the violet rays?

  Evidently the same idea occurred to them. They bound me again with wires shot from one of the machines, forcing me to drop the book, which one of the chalk-faces instantly drew toward him with a pronged pole.

  As he could not see clearly at close range, he placed it twenty or thirty feet away, and examined it through binoculars, while one of his companions turned the pages. I do not know what he found to edify him, for all that it contained was some mining notes, along with some printed statistical information, such as the names and population of leading cities, the capitals of states, etc.

  At this point, I became aware of the approach of a chalk-face of unusual appearance. He was much taller and thinner than any of his countrymen, being well over six feet in height, and lean in proportion; he bent far forward as he walked. His gray hair fell in long braids and curls from his massive brow; his embroidered robe rippled almost to hi
s ankles; and his face, instead of being clean-shaven like that of his fellows, showed a long grizzled beard, neatly parted in the center.

  At his approach, the others withdrew, like children before some authoritative adult; while he, not heeding them in the least, pushed his way to the front of the crowd, took out his binoculars and peered at my notebook from a convenient distance.

  As he did so, I could see his little reddish eyes beaming enthusiastically. He let out a whoop of joy, and rushed toward my notebook. Approaching it, he had even more trouble than his kinsmen in seeing near at hand. However, he finally managed to locate it, and, hugging it to his side as if it were some rare art treasurer uttered another cry of delight.

  The next moment, I noticed his eyes fastened upon me, and I felt friendliness in his glance; for the first time since arriving in these nether depths, I had found a defender. I realized that I, personally, interested him less than did my notebook; but I could have kissed his hand when he motioned to my captors, speaking sharply and angrily, and they set me free once more.

  No sooner was I released from the wires than my rescuer shrilled an order, and several of the little coaster-like cars were wheeled up. I was motioned to take my place on one of them, and upon refusing, was pitched on with a two-pronged pole. It was clear that any attempt to escape would be severely treated, so I lay on the car at full-length, clinging to a little board projecting in front, instead of squatting with crossed legs, in the manner of the natives. How they laughed to see me take this position, amazed that I appeared ignorant of the steering mechanism! But they solved the difficulty by hitching my machine with a wire to another, which forthwith dragged it away.

  The ride that followed did not last more than ten minutes. We roared through tunnels, lurched around curves, shot across causeways and bridges, and raced along avenues where other cars shot past in a gray whirl of speed. Finally, we halted—so abruptly that I was pitched forward off my perch, and was only saved from serious injury by falling on my friend, who drove the car ahead of mine.

  Not being versed in the native language, I did not know what epithets of abuse he used; infuriated though he was, I could see that his first thought was for my notebook, which he still clutched. Finding this unharmed, he seemed to be consoled.

  We were now joined by half a dozen more chalk-faces, including several soldiers who had followed us on other cars; and the whole party, without delay, started down a brilliantly lighted gallery toward a great shining hall. As always, most of the chalk-faces kept at a distance from me, some of them trotting half a dozen yards behind, and others as many yards ahead; but my rescuer, surprisingly, seemed willing to walk at my side.

  As we drew near the hall, my companions slackened their pace; and when we had come within a stone's throw of the entrance, I was startled to see a row of soldiers, their faces hidden in triangular helmets, their right hands clutching pikes twenty feet high. They all stood stiff as stone, and made no response to our salutes; in fact, at first I supposed them to be statues.

  However, after one of our attendants had spoken, slipping a little something into their hands, two of the soldiers moved aside a few feet, making room for us to pass; and we entered the hall beyond.

  I was now surprised to see my companions drop to their knees, and move forward on all fours, in a groveling attitude which I could not be persuaded to imitate until convinced by a sharp cuff on the small of the back. Even my protector had fallen into a most ungainly and unbecoming posture. Watching his lanky form, as he crept forward foot by foot on hands and knees, I could not restrain a burst of laughter, which cost me a second and even more severe cuff on the back.

  What was it that filled the chalk-faces with such humility? Had they entered the shrine of a god, or the throne room of their king? After a moment, I accepted the latter explanation. The walls of the hall, which was at least a hundred yards across, were emblazoned with multitudes of brilliant white, red, and yellow lights. Enormous, dragon-shaped banners of green and vermilion hung from the high fretted ceilings, interspersed with long strings of swords, pikes, and helmets. In the center, on a raised platform of polished red sandstone, sat the most remarkable individual I had ever seen.

  He may have been four feet high, but I doubt it; his lean and wizened frame may have been as stout as that of an eight-year-old, but I doubt it. The legs were little more than two dangling sticks; his arms were scarcely better developed. His head was bald, his mouth toothless, and his fingers without nails. His eyes were covered with instruments like binoculars, through which, apparently, he could see only with difficulty; his ears were hidden by a mass of wires, and by black projections like telephone receivers. His nostrils were encased in rubber-like tubes, connecting with steel tanks, which, as I later learned, contained oxygen. His mouth, likewise, was fitted with breathing tubes, which I saw him remove only in order to talk (a feat he accomplished by means of a Megaphone).

  In fact, the poor creature seemed to have scarcely one of his natural faculties intact!

  Unlike his fellows, he was robed not in black, but in resplendent green and saffron, with a purple crest upon his hairless pate, and a string of huge rubies dangling about his neck. All about him, in a gleaming circle, a row of large mirrors was displayed; and through these he was feasted with a constant view of himself, and could catch every turn and nod and twist of his imperial countenance. Furthermore, other mirrors, spaced at intervals about the room, caught and magnified the reflections of the ones nearest him; so that, in no matter what direction you looked, you were sure to see his image.

  Doubtless it was appropriate that the greater part of the room should contain nothing at all except the reflection of the central dignitary. But just around him, twenty attendants stood in waiting on the sandstone platform; and whenever he made a move or a gesture—were it only to smooth out his dress or scratch the back of his neck—at least half of them would rush up to serve him. I well remember their consternation when their master bent forward and sneezed. For a moment, I thought I was witnessing a riot as the twenty attendants, as one man, leapt forward to readjust the nose-tubes, which had been blown out of place.

  All this I observed while my companions and I crept up to the throne. Why should the chalk-faces, absurd as they were, do reverence to such a monarch? But realizing that there is no accounting for political tastes, I remained crouching in a deferential attitude after we had finally halted twenty yards from the throne.

  For at least half an hour we remained on all fours, miserably waiting—at least, I was miserable. During all this time, the sovereign remained seated in a sort of dreamy trance. It seemed to be the rule among the chalk-faces that subjects should not speak until spoken to; hence we might have remained stooping there all day, and still not have gained an audience, had the dignitary not caught sight of me and become interested.

  So interested was he, in fact, that he rose from his seat and tottered to the edge of the platform—a distance of fully six feet, which he traversed with the utmost difficulty, while three attendants supported him on each side. Then, for at least a minute, he stared at me intently through his binoculars, until, exhausted from the effort, he had to be carried to his chair and fanned back to life.

  This process consumed at least ten minutes; at length the sovereign, restored by the fanning of his servants, and strengthened by hypodermic injections, was revived sufficiently to be able to speak through the megaphone which a vassal lifted to his mouth. Of course, I did not know what he said. The words were high-pitched and squeaky, and rasped upon me like a file; but the effect was most welcome. All of us were able to rise to our feet.

  Now my protector, after a flourish and a low bow, waved my notebook high in air for all to see, and launched into speech. The words came out in a rattling torrent; many minutes went by with scarcely a pause for breath, while all the other chalk-faces made hardly an effort to conceal their yawns. At last even the monarch, apparently, could endure it no longer. He lifted his arm in a gesture of command, mot
ioned for the megaphone, and snapped out two short words which instantly put an end to my friend's discourse.

  Not until much later did I learn that the ruler had granted everything asked, but the speech, as I afterwards read it in the court records, ran as follows:

  "Lord High Dictator Thuno Flatum, sovereign of the great empire of Wu and illustrious ruler of the Underworld and the Overworld, I, Professor Tan Torm, prostrate myself before you! Long may your distinguished might endure! Long may your power cause the nations to shake! I come to you today on a momentous mission, and I trust you will let no thought of my personal unworthiness deter you from that just decision for which you are so rightly renowned. Know, O Thuno Flatum, that this day a stranger of queer and unprepossessing appearance has been found in our midst. His dark skin and gray eyes proclaim him to be a member of one of those colored races of which ancient traditions tell. But he was at first mistaken for a spy, sent out against us by our enemy Zu in the current war. This view was reinforced by the fact that he was found in the Scouting Galleries, just above Black Ravine, where the forces of Your Abysmal Excellency have this day won such a glorious victory. Hence he was sentenced to be liquidated, in accordance with that famous maxim, ‘In wartime, kill first, and investigate afterwards.'

  "But, as fortune would have it, I arrived in time to save him. Your Abysmal Excellency will observe the curious little book which I carry in my hand; this proves him to be not a spy, but a creature of some outside race, who arrived in some manner beyond our imagining. It is preposterous, of course, to suppose that he came from the Overworld—which, as our scientists have conclusively proved, is incapable of supporting intelligent life—since all but the lowest of living things would be instantly killed by the sunlight and fresh air. But may he not have come from caverns deep down in the earth's center, where we have never penetrated?