"Thank you, thank you exceedingly!” I acknowledged, bowing to the floor for about the twentieth time.
Then, while my visitors uttered sharp orders to their lackeys and wheeled ceremoniously away, I sank down upon my chair in astonishment.
* * * *
The duties and obligations of my new position were formidable—if you looked at them merely on paper. I was the official possessor of seven titles and subtitles, from Supervising Engineer to Sub-Director of the Airways; I was the occupant of a capacious suite of rooms, with a huge private office marked HOURS BY APPOINTMENT ONLY; I had the promised two thousand employees, from office girls to Ventilating Linemen, all of them strictly at my bid and call; and I was provided with whole libraries of literature, and a list Of 55 Everyday Rules, which I was told I must follow scrupulously.
However, I hardly glanced at these rules, and never so much as turned the pages of the instruction books; for I found that my assistants, at less than a tenth of my salary, did all the work, while my only task of any consequence was to sign my paycheck every five wakes. This, naturally, left me with much time on my hands. But I did not waste my hours; I devoted them to enlarging my knowledge of the ventilation system, until there was no man in all Wu who understood the apparatus so thoroughly as I.
Despite my good fortune—good fortune that made me the envy not only of the Third Class, but of thousands in the Second Class—I was still not contented. There was the dread of encountering Loa, whom I had not seen since being declared eugenically unfit. From time to time I ran across Professor Tan Torm. He would look at me with a reproachful air and inquire, “Why don't you come round to the house sometime, my boy? Loa has been asking about you. Now that you are Second Class, like us, it can no longer be class delicacy that keeps you away.” I would apologize, make some excuse—the pressure of work, etc.—and promise to pay him a visit as soon as I was able.
Day by day, I was growing wearier of the Underworld, and its network of galleries and chasms illuminated with the weird greenish-yellow light. My thoughts were constantly upon means and opportunities of escape, but I still was hopelessly imprisoned. The only connection between the Underworld and the Overworld was by means of the ventilating tubes, some of which admitted the fresh air from above, and others of which were the outlet for used and vitiated air, and all these vents had been placed under a military guard.
Before I had been Ventilating Engineer for many wakes, I began to turn my attention to a vast project. The idea had first been put into my mind by the Ventilation Throw-downers; and while in the beginning it had seemed too fantastic for consideration, the thought kept recurring. At length I weighed its advantages dispassionately, and decided that it was not so impracticable as it had seemed.
During my investigation of the air system, I had come across a certain little wheel, rusty with age, which I had turned with surprising results. Upon being jerked slightly to the right, this wheel set in operation an electric current, which released a steel partition in the central ventilating tube, blocking the channel somewhat as the human breathing apparatus would be blocked by a pebble in the windpipe. It was quite by accident that I had made the discovery, and at first I had merely amused myself by choking the ventilation for periods of a few seconds each—not long enough for the effects to be noticed.
But gradually, as I toyed with the wheel, a startling realization came to me. Its rusted condition showed that it had not been used recently; indeed, it may have been neglected for decades or even centuries. Was it not likely that the chalk-faces, because of their inability to see clearly close at hand, had overlooked its existence?
The wheel, located in an unfrequented side-gallery a few hundred yards from my office, now became the crux of my scheme. Suppose that I were to stage a private throw-down! Did I not have all the resources at my disposal? And would I not be helped by the reputation which those anti-throw-down organs, the Blare and the Screamer, had unwittingly built up for me?
"The gains justify the pains!” I told myself, quoting an old precept of the chalk-faces; and, fortified by this high moral axiom, I decided to take the plunge.
A day or two later, all Wu was cast into a furor. Another ventilation throw-down had been declared, stated the Blare and the Screamer in a series of “Super-extra-extras.” The air supply had been cut off entirely! And no one knew who the throw-downers were or what they demanded.
CHAPTER XVI
THE ULTIMATUM
Two wakes had gone by without ventilation. The land of Wu was in a state of disorder compared with which the disturbances of the previous throw-down were as nothing. The present outbreak did not seem to involve any principle at all; it merely meant suffering. The people were both frightened and indignant, and had no hesitation about blaming the government.
Consequently, the Second and Third Class citizens, though usually meek as babes owing to their thoughtlessness, were becoming unruly. They gathered in wild bands and processions, parading through the First Class districts and shouting, “We want air! We want air!” They stormed at the doors of the Ventilation Company, and even at the palace of Thuno Flatum. “Air for our children! Air for our children!"
And as if such radical declarations were not sufficient, some of the ardent air-lovers burst out in riots, wherein, on several occasions, more than one First Class citizen had to flee for his life. The insurrectionists, to be sure, were always suppressed by the police, who made excellent use of the sneeze-gas bomb (a clever little weapon which produced the equivalent of a severe attack of hay fever).
Now I must confess that, after two wakes, the state of the public galleries was deplorable. The atmosphere, stagnant, hot, and heavy, reminded me of nothing so much as of a New York subway at rush hour; the depletion of the oxygen had advanced so far that many persons were complaining of headaches, while many others felt as languid and dull as if drugged. Plainly, matters were becoming serious.
While the whole country was being reduced to a state of acute distress, no one as yet suspected the source of the trouble. But I was moving toward my objective. As soon as the throw-down began, I dispatched a message to Dictator Thuno Flatum through one of those pneumatic tubes which provide automatic mail service throughout Wu; and since there was no way of tracing any letter back to its point of origin amid the ramifications of the postal system, I knew that I was perfectly safe in this course. At the same time, I took care that Thuno Flatum's reply should reach me in a manner equally safe.
The following was my message:
To His Abysmal Excellency
Thuno Flatum
First of the First Class
Prime Dictator and High Chief Potentate of Wu:
Greetings, along with a humble word from one of your subjects. The air has been turned off, and will remain off until such time as I decide to turn it on again. If, in the meanwhile, you wish the ventilation restored, kindly announce in the Blare or the Screamer when and where you will grant me an audience. Before our meeting can take place, you must guarantee, on your word of honor and that of your ancestors, not to permit me to be molested in any way. Should this condition be violated, the country will remain airless forever.
Yours militantly,
President, Better Air Association
On the following wake, I dispatched a similar message, and again on the third wake; while Thuno Flatum, with characteristic stubbornness, again withheld a reply. He had had the poor discretion, however, to give out my letters to the newspapers. Hence both the Blare and the Screamer, on three successive wakes, reproduced my communications in full, commenting that they were obviously the work of a madman.
* * * *
Meanwhile the officers of the Ventilation Company had turned from their customary task of counting dividends in order to try to trace the reason for the lack of ventilation. All the inspectors and engineers were made to work overtime; I myself, much to my amusement, was instructed to exert myself diligently to locate the trouble. Of course, I made a great show of seeming to c
omply, and bustled about my headquarters officiously, flinging out orders by the dozen and sending off my subordinates to search in places where I knew they would find nothing.
By the third wake, the directors of the Ventilation Company were in despair. Thuno Flatum and other high officers of state were said to be wearing a worried expression; the Dictator, returned from his minnow-fishing, had canceled an engagement to play poli-boli, an athletic game, performed with marbles, especially popular with First Class citizens; and riots were breaking out in scores of widely scattered places.
The Blare now reversed its attitude and advised the Dictator to see “the madman who insolently terms himself President of the Better Air Association.” Conditions were becoming so critical, the paper pointed out, that it would be wise to clutch at any straw; indeed, the scarcity of air was ruining business, as was evident from the fact that bank clearings had gone down seventy-five per cent in the past two wakes. If the throw-down continued another three or four wakes, the cost might well rise as high as 100,000,000 brass fingers. The possible cost in life was not mentioned.
The argument of the Blare, as might have been foreseen, proved unanswerable.
Immediately I began making preparations for the inevitable meeting. It was not half an hour later, when a new edition of the Blare declared that Thuno Flatum was awaiting my visit, and, in fact, had high hopes that our interview would end the throw-down. And it was but a few minutes after reading this announcement that I prepared to set out for the Dictator's palace.
I did not, however, go alone. To appear before the sovereign unattended would be neither wise nor safe, particularly since I had to present a proposal which, to say the least, was audacious. I decided to pick an escort of, say, about three or four hundred of the most muscular-looking employees at my call.
To be sure, I must not take any of my attendants into my confidence, or let them suspect what I was attempting. But such was their stage of trained thoughtlessness that it was simple to keep the truth from them. Besides, there was the concoction known as the “muffler,” which employers had been wont to feed to employees, so that the victims could take orders with mechanical perfection, but were incapable of knowing, thinking, or feeling.
As the Ventilation Company always had a large supply of this drug on hand, I fed it to about four hundred of my followers; then I ordered them all to take their places at once in scoots and follow me.
With this magnificent array of supporters, I looked forward eagerly to my visit to Thuno Flatum.
* * * *
Realizing that I was attempting an experiment which might lead to disaster, I took one or two simple precautions. The first was to disguise myself, for I did not want it known that it was a “colored barbarian” who was challenging the throne of the Dictator. The disguise was accomplished easily enough, largely by means of a chalky powder with which I made my face milky pale; in addition, I used a pair of heavy amber glasses, so as to conceal the gray of my eyes; and I steeped my hair in an ashen dye. Thus equipped, I was hardly to be distinguished from the average man of Wu.
But as I drew near the Dictator's headquarters, I took another precaution. I dropped back toward the rear of the procession, after giving instructions as to where my associates were to proceed. And well that I did so! When we had come within half a mile of the brilliant cavern where Thuno Flatum held court, we were impeded by a rabble who flung stones and epithets, and distributed some sneeze-gas bombs, by which half a score of my followers were disabled.
Fortunately, I myself was unharmed; and a few minutes later I arrived, with the majority of my followers, in that great hall which I so well remembered from my previous visit to the Dictator.
But how different was this arrival from my previous visit! Then I had been forced to approach the sovereign on all fours, waiting impatiently until his Lordship should condescend to notice my existence. But today I marched boldly forward, with no hint of deference; and my attendants, reduced to such a state of thoughtlessness that they did not know themselves to be in the presence of Thuno Flatum, unquestioningly followed my example. Not until I was at the very pedestal of the throne did I pause; and then it was without any sign of submission.
"Thuno Flatum,” I announced, “I come at your summons, as the President of the Better Air Association!"
It was easy to see that my words had produced consternation. The helmeted guards unbent from their stony rigidity sufficiently to allow the pikes to tremble in their hands; the body servants of Thuno Flatum forgot their attentions to their regal master in order to stare at me in petrified unbelief. And a group of spectators, doing obeisance upon their hands and knees, collapsed with surprise.
The monarch himself seemed dumbfounded, and leaned forward in his chair until I feared he would fall out. It was a moment before any of his attendants could recover themselves sufficiently to lift the megaphone to his mouth.
"What is that you say?” he squealed. “Do you not know that you are addressing the Prime Dictator and High Chief Potentate of Wu?"
"To be sure, Your Abysmal Excellency, that is why I am here,” I returned suavely. “It would hardly suit my purpose to waste time on any lesser official."
His puny little form shook with such wrath that not until his attendants had fanned him for five minutes and applied doses of cold water was he able to find words again.
"Who are you, to speak to me in this manner? Your tones are the uncultivated ones of some Third Class rubbish! Do you not realize that you have been guilty of an offense worse than treason—a felony for which better men than you have been executed—the crime of Contempt of the First Class?"
Exhausted with the effort of this long speech, Thuno Flatum had to be fanned again by his lackeys and allowed several minutes in which to recuperate.
"What's to prevent me from punishing your insolence?” he finally resumed.
Through the mirrors, I could see how the guards behind me began to creep forward, with their pikes pointed menacingly in my direction. I knew that I had no course except to be bold. “Punish me, if you wish, Your Abysmal Excellency,” I challenged, “but my followers cannot be disposed of so easily. Those you see here are as nothing to the hosts waiting to avenge me."
"What do I care for your followers?” snapped Thuno Flatum. “You cannot cow me with threats! Men of my class have ruled for a hundred generations, and there has never been a revolt!"
"All the more reason for having one now!” I insisted. “Think, Your Abysmal Excellency, what power I hold! I am more precious to you and your people than a thousand times my weight in brass!"
I could see the guards still creeping forward. Also, I could detect a gleam of mirth in the salmon eyes of some of the spectators, and realized that my words had not been taken so seriously as I could have wished.
But my trump card was still up my sleeve. “Remember, Your Abysmal Excellency,” I warned, “only one man in all Wu is able to restore your ventilation. If I perish, the secret perishes with me, and you will all be turned over by lack of air."
Half-suppressed groans from the spectators, and from Thuno's attendants, showed that this bolt had struck home.
"How do I know you speak truth?” demanded the Dictator.
"Test me, Your Abysmal Excellency. If you will agree to my terms, I will restore the ventilation at any moment you stipulate."
"You talk like a madman!” barked my opponent through his megaphone. And then, after a moment's hesitation, “Still—still, I am broadminded. There can be no harm in hearing your offer. If you do not keep your promise, there will always be time for punishment. What are your terms?"
"Your Abysmal Excellency,” I began, “according to all reports, you have ruled long and notably. You have performed great services for the First Class and for your country. But it is not fair that any man, however willing, be harnessed too long with the yoke of state. After a time, his shoulders should be relieved of the burden, so that he may enjoy the pleasures of private life. It is for this reason, You
r Abysmal Excellency—"
At this point, my speech was rudely halted. A blast of the Dictator's megaphone rang through the audience chamber, and Thuno Flatum, straining forward with quivering form, and face that had turned all colors from white to purple, staggered out of his seat in his rage, shook his midget fist at me, and collapsed.
It was several minutes before his attendants could fan him back to life.
"Great caverns!” he squeaked through the megaphone, after being restored to himself. “What is that you suggest? Do you have the daring, the effrontery, to ask that I ... that I step down?” Choked by the fury of his own words, he was unable to continue.
An uneasy glance at the mirrors showed me the guards still creeping up from behind, while my followers still made way before them. “Your Abysmal Excellency,” I said hastily, “you have caught my idea. For the good of your country and the restoration of ventilation, it is time that you step down, and that I step up—"
By now, the Dictator had regained his breath sufficiently to interrupt me by bellowing through the megaphone: “So, now we have your terms, have we? You would displace me on the throne? Me—Thuno Flatum, the High Chief Potentate of Wu! Seize him, guards! Seize him!"
Before I had time to leap aside, I felt heavy arms about my shoulders, and was pinned in the iron grip of three guardsmen.
Though ready to collapse once more with the effort of so much speaking, Thuno Flatum was able to scream:
"Take him away! Away! At once! Waste no time! I'll sign the death warrant!"
Vainly I strove to command my followers; to order them to my rescue. But something had gone wrong with the operation of the drug; and, automatons that they were, they seemed powerless to obey.
As the guards started to drag me off, I saw how excitedly the Dictator's twenty attendants were laboring to restore him to life.
"One minute!” I shouted to the guards, doing my best to give my voice that authoritative loudness which the people of Wu respect. “I must have another word with his Abysmal Excellency!"
The Hidden World: A Golden Age SF Classic Page 11