The Hidden World: A Golden Age SF Classic Read online

  "This is my theory, Your Abysmal Excellency; and it is supported by the queer writing in his book, which I take to be the hieroglyphics of the crude and undeveloped race of which he is a member. As a philologist, I cannot but be interested; and as a student of primitive calligraphy, I consider that here is an unparalleled opportunity for scholarly research. So I request, Abysmal Excellency, that you permit me to take him to my own home, where I will care for him and will attempt—in the event that his mind be capable of absorbing a few simple facts—to educate him in the rudiments of our language, so as better to study his habits in the interest of science. I will deliver a full report, in not less than three octavo volumes, before the Royal Institute of Anthropological Abnormalities, and meanwhile will put up a bond to take every reasonable care of the prisoner, and not let him bite anyone, or escape...

  Such was but the opening of Tan Torm's speech, which continued in this vein for thirty pages.

  CHAPTER V

  THE PEOPLE OF THE CAVERNS

  The home of Professor Tan Torm was typical of the so-called “Second Class” citizen of the country of Wu. It was composed of five or six small rooms, excavated out of solid rock, and opening on one of the numerous side-galleries. There were no windows; light was provided by the yellowish-green electric bulbs, while a constant supply of air was forced in through whirling, fanlike devices located in little orifices near the front door. All in all, the professor's abode was comfortable enough, although I could never accustom myself to the stone chairs and tables, the stone beds without pillows, or the grotesque hangings and adornments—small likenesses of swords, helmets, and land-battleships, which constituted the native idea of art.

  The family of the professor included his wife, Tan Tal, and his three daughters, Loa, Moa, and Noa. On first entering the house, I assumed that Tan Tal, the mother, was the most youthful of the girls; while Loa, the last-born daughter, struck me as undoubtedly the parent. This mistake was only natural, due to the ideas of beauty entertained by the ladies of Wu.

  For it was their opinion—in which the men seemed to share—that the supreme mark of a woman's loveliness was her wrinkles, and that the more wrinkles she boasted—particularly around the eyes and on the neck—the more alluring was her appearance. Hence all the damsels used to spend hours a day with wrinkle-producing creams, permanent “wrinkle-wavers,” and other devices to create creases in their naturally smooth countenances. Only the old and matronly women, who were past the stage of trying to shine before their husbands, could afford to let their features unwrinkle themselves.

  It was for this reason that Loa—who, as I was later told, had barely reached seventeen—impressed me as being of advanced years. She was rendered all the more hideous by the cream-colored paint with which she daubed her lips, and by the fact that her eyelashes, in accordance with the native custom, had been shaved away. Yet in the estimation of the chalk-faces, Loa was a beauty!

  While the men wore skirts, the women all went around in trousers. All females, above the age of four or five, wore loose, pajama-like pantaloons of various colors; and it was considered indecent for a lady to appear in any other costume.

  I was regarded with contempt, because my trousers were considered unbecoming for a gentleman. Only after Professor Tan Torm had come to the rescue with one of his old black skirts was I able to appear in respectable society.

  I am sure that any of the local youths would have envied me the privilege of being instructed in the native language and institutions by the beautiful Loa. Professor Tan Torm, of course, supervised my education; but he was so absorbed in his researches into the roots of extinct verbs that he could not give me more than a few minutes each day.

  I must acknowledge that Loa took her task conscientiously enough, even though her first efforts were not to teach me the language, but to teach me how to pencil my eyebrows, whiten my cheeks and lips, and bleach my hair, so as to conform to the native idea of male decorum. Failing in these efforts, she resigned herself with a sigh to the inevitable; yet from the way in which she glanced at me from time to time, I could see that my charms, such as they were, had had too much of an effect on her.

  But let me pass from this subject for the present. First, there was the necessity of studying the native language; fortunately, I made rapid steps in this direction, for Loa was a capable teacher. Within two or three weeks, I could exchange elementary ideas; within a month, I could conduct a brief conversation. In less than three months, I was able to carry on an extended colloquy with any member of Tan Torm's household, and would not miss more than an occasional word, due to the limits of my vocabulary.

  The Underworld, I learned, was composed of the twin countries of Wu and Zu, and reached for hundreds of miles in all directions. It underlay not only most of Nevada, but much of Utah, Arizona, and adjoining states. This whole vast universe, comprising a multiplicity of great caverns and smaller connecting galleries, was inhabited by a population variously estimated as between eight and ten million—all of them chalk-faced, light-haired and salmon-eyed, like the ones I had already seen. Neither Loa nor her father could tell me how long they had dwelt underground; their written records dated back thousands of years. While there were traditions that once they had lived in a land of blue skies and open air, from which they had been driven to escape annihilation in warfare, such tales had never been verified by historical research. It was generally held that human life had originated in caverns below, and that, as population multiplied, men had excavated new caverns to take care of the surplus millions.

  In fact, it would have been impossible for the chalk-faces to appear above ground unless they wore heavy metal suits, like those of undersea divers. Unprotected, their white skins having lost all pigment in the course of the ages, exposure to the sun will be fatal. Hence their belief—which scientists had confirmed by means of elaborate mathematical proofs—that no intelligent life could endure above ground; and hence the fact that none of them had ever been observed by our race.

  But how did the millions of Wu and Zu manage to preserve their sub-surface life? How contrive to eat, breathe, and clothe themselves?

  The secret, as I had early surmised, was to be found in the prodigious scientific development of the Underworld. I do not exaggerate when I say that the people were far in advance of our race; they had evolved mechanical formulae and devices of which we have not the remotest conception. As an engineer by profession, I was naturally much interested in this phase of their growth; and while I was unable to study or understand all their numerous contrivances, yet I could understand enough to stir me with admiration.

  I shall not take time, at this point, to dwell upon all their elaborate appliances, which, indeed, would require a separate volume even for their enumeration. I shall begin, therefore, by telling of the manufacture of food and clothing, which was conducted on principles I had never before considered possible.

  Let me say, by way of explanation, that my food in the professor's house was comprised in part of purple capsules and in part of a stringy, fibrous substance reminding me of seaweed. I was told, however, that the wealthier classes occasionally enjoyed delicacies such as fish from subterranean rivers, and mushrooms grown in specially prepared cellars; though if Professor Tan Torm could afford these luxuries, he did not waste them on a barbarian such as myself.

  My clothes, likewise, were of a substance I could not recognize, woven material a little like hemp and yet clearly not hemp, for it was not quite so coarse. But the fibers did not resemble those of linen, cotton, silk, or wool. The answer, as I learned from Loa, was that the native clothing, and also the food, was manufactured synthetically. From the most ordinary chemicals—oxygen and hydrogen as contained in water, carbon as contained in carbon dioxide or coal, nitrogen as found in the air, the sulphur and phosphorus of the mines—they would create compounds resembling natural organic products.

  The simplest of all to manufacture were starch and sugar, and a fiber like the cellulose of plants. For the
se, all that was required was a brilliant lamp, imitating the qualities of sunlight; a chemical cell which utilized the lamp rays as the chlorophyll of the vegetable kingdom utilizes the solar beams; and an adequate supply of water and carbon. Thus the people might obtain all the carbohydrates they required for the table, and all the fibers needed for weaving into paper and clothes; for, since cellulose constitutes the main ingredient of cotton and other vegetable fabrics, it was possible to produce a synthetic equivalent of the garments worn in the world above.

  More difficult was the problem of the nitrogenous foodstuffs; but here again the ingenuity of the chalk-faces had proved equal to the task. I was never able to understand by what process they had succeeded in combining nitrogen with oxygen, hydrogen, carbon and other substances to form albumin; but it is certain that this is precisely what they did, fusing the elements by means of an electric current and several catalytic agents, whose nature I was unable to learn.

  Let me say, at this point, that I did make every effort to find out; but the formula was the carefully guarded secret of National Food Producers, Unlimited. It was forbidden by law to tell the people too much about the food they ate.

  In the field of the power system by which the chalk-faces kept their factories running, excavated and illuminated their galleries, and conducted their warfare, I was better able to satisfy my curiosity. I was told that they generated electrical energy in part from the flow of underground rivers, and in part by means of a chemical discovery made so long ago that no one remembered the inventor. This was the compound known as Mulflar, an explosive.

  Once again, I could not discover the formula, for this was the private property of National Power Producers, Exclusive, who had long ago succeeded in passing legislation prohibiting themselves from making the facts public. The general principles, however, were well known: Mulflar was made by the union of nitrogen, phosphorus, magnesium, and sulphur with carbon, hydrogen, and one or two other elements in a compound both simply and easily produced. Its distinctive feature was the unstability of its atoms, which would disintegrate and explode upon the slightest shock or upon the application of a spark, releasing a prodigious amount of energy through the conversion of that active element, hydrogen, unto the chemically inert helium.

  So great was the explosive power of Mulflar that a single gram, properly directed, was capable of blowing a hundred pounds of iron to the height of half a mile. Naturally, so dangerous a substance had to be carefully controlled; and lamp, imitating the qualities of sunlight; a chemical cell which utilized the lamp rays as the chlorophyll of the vegetable kingdom utilizes the solar beams; and an adequate supply of water and carbon. Thus the people might obtain all the carbohydrates they required for the table, and all the fibers needed for weaving into paper and clothes; for, since cellulose constitutes the main ingredient of cotton and other vegetable fabrics, it was possible to produce a synthetic equivalent of the garments worn in the world above.

  More difficult was the problem of the nitrogenous foodstuffs; but here again the ingenuity of the chalk-faces had proved equal to the task. I was never able to understand by what process they had succeeded in combining nitrogen with oxygen, hydrogen, carbon and other substances to form albumin; but it is certain that this is precisely what they did, fusing the elements by means of an electric current and several catalytic agents, whose nature I was unable to learn.

  Let me say, at this point, that I did make every effort to find out; but the formula was the carefully guarded secret of National Food Producers, Unlimited. It was forbidden by law to tell the people too much about the food they ate.

  In the field of the power system by which the chalk-faces kept their factories running, excavated and illuminated their galleries, and conducted their warfare, I was better able to satisfy my curiosity. I was told that they generated electrical energy in part from the flow of underground rivers, and in part by means of a chemical discovery made so long ago that no one remembered the inventor. This was the compound known as Mulflar, an explosive.

  Once again, I could not discover the formula, for this was the private property of National Power Producers, Exclusive, who had long ago succeeded in passing legislation prohibiting themselves from making the facts public. The general principles, however, were well known: Mulflar was made by the union of nitrogen, phosphorus, magnesium, and sulphur with carbon, hydrogen, and one or two other elements in a compound both simply and easily produced. Its distinctive feature was the unstability of its atoms, which would disintegrate and explode upon the slightest shock or upon the application of a spark, releasing a prodigious amount of energy through the conversion of that active element, hydrogen, unto the chemically inert helium.

  So great was the explosive power of Mulflar that a single gram, properly directed, was capable of blowing a hundred pounds of iron to the height of half a mile. Naturally, so dangerous a substance had to be carefully controlled; and though accidents sometimes did occur-resulting in the occasional loss of a hundred lives-in general, it was highly adaptable to industrial uses. Shot off in small quantities in cannon-like tubes of specially prepared steel, it was used to set great dynamos into action, and consequently to furnish the larger part of the electricity indispensable to life. It was the energy of Mulflar, passed into storage batteries, that made it possible to run those coaster-like little cars with which I had had such a frightening experience; it was the energy of Mulflar that kept the lights and the ventilation in operation, ran the food and clothing factories, and pumped fresh water into pipes throughout the length and depth of the land.

  But, at the same time, Mulflar accounted for the deadliness of the native warfare; Mulflar had produced the lightnings that Clay and I had watched in such fascinated horror; Mulflar had supplied the motive power for the land-battleships, and had blown those gigantic machines to tatters.

  * * * *

  Hardly an hour went by but that I thought of Philip Clay; consequently, as soon as I could speak the native language, I asked about my friend.

  Both Professor Tan Torm and his daughter looked astonished when they understood my question. “Great caverns! You say there were two like you? I only wish there were. That would double the opportunities for verification of my theories."

  "Another like you?” queried Loa, in milder tones; and then burst into laughter. “Why, that's just too silly for words! I'm sure there couldn't be two like you in the whole deep world!"

  Not knowing whether or not to take this as a compliment, I said nothing, while the Professor continued:

  "My dear friend, if another man like you had been found anywhere in Wu, we would know of it instantly. The news would be flashed from end to end of the country—just as your own arrival has been."

  "My friend wasn't exactly like me,” I explained. “He was taller, and his hair was red—"

  For the first time in my experience, the professor bent nearly double with laughter, his long ungainly frame rocking back and forth in mirth. It seemed minutes before he and Loa could suppress their merriment.

  "His hair—red?” echoed Tan Torm. “Red? Red, you say? My dear man, who ever heard of red hair?"

  "You don't mean green, do you?” interjected Loa. “Or maybe purple, orange, or lavender?"

  And she and her father, after assuring me that no red-haired man had ever been seen before in all the land of Wu, went off again into spasms of laughter.

  CHAPTER VI

  THE WAY OF WU

  While I was questioning Professor Tan Torm and his family as to the Underworld, they were equally eager in asking about my own land.

  Naturally, they were anxious to know where I had come from, and how I had arrived; but since they had decided that I had escaped from some cavern far below them, my story met with incredulous smiles. Their attitude was about what ours would be if some stranger should assert that he came from the depths of the sea. “No use trying to deceive us!” they cried reprovingly. “The Overworld is not capable of supporting human life!

  A
nd then curiously they asked, “Are the people where you come from all colored like you?"

  "Colored?” I flung back, a little irritated. “I'm white!"

  "What an idea!” they jeered, pointing to my rosy-complexioned face. “Great caverns! You call that white? Why, you're pink!"

  Loud was the laughter that convulsed the family group.

  "If you're white, then what are we?” demanded Loa.

  I had nothing to say in reply.

  "My dear young man,” consoled Professor Tan Torm, “do not let the matter of your origin grieve you. We know that birth is not a matter of choice, and if nature has made you a member of an inferior race, at least it speaks well for you that you could rise to join us."

  "But I didn't rise to join you!” I insisted. “I descended! I fell into your world by accident, through a fissure caused by the shocks of your warfare."

  This explanation, however, was ignored, while the members of the family exchanged significant glances. It was Tan Tal, the charming wife of Tan Torm, who put the next question:

  "Where you come from, is there only one country? Or is there more than one, so as to give you someone to fight with?"

  "Oh, we're not at all limited in that way,” I declared. “We've simply no end of lands to fight with."

  At this announcement, the three young daughters of the family tittered uncontrollably.

  "Why, how funny!” laughed Loa.

  "How confusing!” giggled Moa.

  "How absurd!” roared Noa. “Then how do you know which one to fight first?"

  Professor Tan Torm, unlike his daughters, had been listening with an unsmiling solemnity. “That is an excellent idea, young man—to divide yourselves into many countries. It is plain that even the barbarians have ideas. Down here, you see, we have only two nations: Wu and Zu. Hence we are much handicapped, from the military point of view. They say that only this year our Secretary of National Offense—poor fellow!—was driven out of his mind to find a plausible reason for declaring war on Zu. However, if we had had some other country to oppose, there would have been no problem at all."