The Hidden World: A Golden Age SF Classic Read online

  "Such modesty I never saw before!” a second employee was relating. “Can you believe it, Go Gral, when we promised to report the affair to you, he tried to dissuade us! He seemed positively eager not to take the credit!"

  "Such self-effacement,” rumbled the manager, as I opened my eyes, “is the ideal that the company demands! We will not forget such devoted service!"

  And then, nodding to me with a smile while I vainly strove to get in a word, “Quiet there, my good man, quiet! You need all your energy to get well. But I want you to know that you will be rewarded, my dear man, you will be rewarded. And now, goodbye! Goodbye!"

  "Goodbye! Goodbye!” echoed the other ventilation employees; and all bowed low.

  As they filed off down the aisle, I could hear the manager's pleased voice: “We will report this exploit in our monthly booklet, as an example to all our workers!"

  While I was wondering if they were crazy or I, I heard heavy footsteps thumping toward me along the aisle, and glanced out of bed to receive a new shock. Waddling forward as fast as her obese form would permit, and with an ingratiating smile on her wrinkled face, was none other than Loa! And behind her, benignantly beaming, loomed Professor Tan Torm.

  "Well, well, well, my boy,” rattled the latter, as he made his way toward my berth. “Here you are at last! We've been waiting for you in the reception room a full hour—a full hour, by my watch! They're not very courteous in these Third Class hospitals. But Loa wanted to come, so here we are! It would hardly be proper to let a respectable girl come alone to such quarters."

  "Oh, my dear, my dear, I'm so glad we've found you!” exclaimed Loa. “We've heard all about it! The Wakely Screamer tells the story in headlines. It even has pictures showing how you climbed up the ventilation tube! How brave you were, my dear! Oh, how brave! It makes me feel honored to know—well, to know I can call such a man my very own!” And she held out her capacious arms as if to enfold me.

  "You can't imagine how nervous I was about you last night, my dear, when you didn't come home!” continued Loa. “I was afraid you were lost! But Father—Father wasn't worried. He was so absorbed in his researches into the antiquity of the hyphen, he only growled and said what if you did get lost? The streets are as safe as our own home! But I didn't get a wink of sleep—not one wink!—until I read the news in the Screamer!"

  No defeated general, suddenly realizing that his most carefully laid strategy has failed, could have had a more sinking sensation than I felt at that moment.

  "My dear boy,” the Professor continued, glancing disparagingly about the room, “what a miserable rathole they've given you to sleep in! You can't remain here! We'll arrange to take you home immediately!

  "Yes,” agreed Loa, beaming upon me. “You poor dear! I'll take care of you myself!"

  Overwhelmed at this idea, I opened my mouth to protest; but the words stuck in my throat. Instead, I uttered something halfway between a gasp and a sob.

  "No, no, dear, don't exert yourself!” Loa urged. “Don't thank us yet! You're still too weak to speak! But we'll see the authorities and have all arrangements made."

  The truth is that I was too weak to speak—much too weak. As Professor Tan Torm nodded goodbye and disappeared down the aisle, followed by his daughter, I relapsed into a coma.

  It is doubtful if I would have recuperated at all had it not been for a message that came to me an hour or two later, sealed in an envelope that shot to my bed through a pneumatic tube. This helped me more than all the hospital tonics, and enabled me, for a time, to drive out the dread vision of Loa.

  The letter, written on the embossed stationery of the Ventilation Company, ran as follows:

  #44,667,023 XZ, Third Class c/o Mechanical Hospital #807 QL, Third Class.

  Dear Sir:

  By virtue of your distinguished services on the line of duty, we are honored, on the recommendation of our Manager, Go Gral, to promote you from Ventilating Clerk to Ventilating Inspector, the appointment to take effect as soon as you are able to return to work. In your new capacity, your hours will be half what you formerly served, and by way of compensation, your salary will be doubled. We remain

  Appreciatively yours,

  THE VENTILATION COMPANY OF WU (Per Do Quel, Eleventh Vice-President)

  CHAPTER XIII

  THE EXAMINATION

  For seven wakes I remained in the hospital. Even though I disliked the place, still I lived in hourly dread of being sent back to Professor Tan Torm's home. I knew that he had applied to have me taken out; but what I did not know was that a thousand formalities had to be observed while the application was processed. In the course of time, indeed, Tan Torm's application was duly approved—but not until three wakes after my discharge.

  It is a testimony to a naturally strong constitution that I was able to escape in one week, the newspaper reporters alone were enough to give me a daily attack of chills and fever. The gentlemen of the press, thanks to the special privileges of their profession, would descend upon me at any time of the day or night, in order to secure my personal story for the Wakely Blare, or in order to learn my views on the topics of the day—such as the reasons for the peculiar charms of the women of Wu, or the desirability of improving men's styles by further enlarging the Slit on the back.

  Naturally, I refused to reply, for I did not see how my work for the Ventilation Company qualified me to express myself on native fashions, feminine beauty, or politics. The reporters, however, seemed to feel otherwise; I was later shown long articles in which I was described as “speaking volubly,” and read the views credited to me on subjects so diverse as the genius of Thuno Flatum, the natural superiority of Wu to Zu, the future of the scoot, and (I quote) “Why I Am in Love with Wrinkles."

  It was with intense misgivings that I awaited my release, for how could I avoid returning to Tan Torm's home? Luckily, this problem was solved for me by the Ventilation Company. Upon presenting myself for work, I was informed that they provided living quarters for their inspectors in a great dormitory, so that they might be subject to call at any hour. While it was not compulsory to reside there, I had no hesitation; hastily I dictated a letter to Tan Torm and his daughter, thanking them for past favors, regretting I could no longer accept their hospitality, and assuring them I would not forget to repay the sum I had borrowed.

  As was to be expected, in view of my doubled salary, my new labors were much less exacting than the old. It was my daily duty to travel from place to place, inspecting the ventilating tubes and outlets, and reporting obstructions; and in order to accomplish this task, wherein I was pretty much my own master, I had to ride one of the company-owned scoots; however, I found it easy enough to run the machine, whose driving mechanism-guaranteed as “moron-proof,” was as simple as that of an elevator. But I was never able to balance myself on it cross-legged with the native ease. And since there were no traffic rules, survival was a matter of sheer luck.

  By taking roundabout ways, and choosing the less-frequented thoroughfares, I succeeded in reducing the risk; in the first few months, I only suffered minor mishaps. Except for some bruises on the head and shoulders, an abraded knee and a sprained wrist, I might be said to have escaped unscathed.

  In the course of my new activities, I had an opportunity to inspect the ventilation in all its details, learning precisely what system of motors, pumps, valves, and pipes forced the fresh air down from the Overworld and distributed it throughout Wu, somewhat as the lungs distribute oxygen to the body. Being an engineer not only by profession but by inclination, I made a more careful study of the details than duty required, until I had mastered the facts as a watchmaker masters the mechanism of a clock.

  It did, indeed, occur to me that by exploring the ventilating connections with the outer world, I might find a way to escape. However, remembering my harrowing experiences on my first attempt at escape, and knowing that a second attempt might not end so fortunately, I decided to bide my time.

  Had it not been for one fact, I shoul
d have found life as Ventilating Inspector almost pleasant. The blot on the landscape was the menace of Loa. Not even by removing to the Ventilation Dormitory could I relieve myself of her attentions. Of course, I avoided her whenever possible, but before I had been working in my new position for ten wakes, disconcerting rumors began to reach my cars.

  "Well, friend,” another Inspector exclaimed one day, “we hear you're in luck! Great caverns! How did you ever find such a lovely girl? So fat and wrinkled, they say! And the daughter of a Second Class professor! Congratulations! May you have fourteen sons, to provide a glorious turnover for your country!"

  Naturally, I denied having matrimonial intentions. But my companions smiled knowingly, nudged one another, and protested, “By Thuno Flatum! You can't fool us! You've been engaged for wakes and wakes. Why, the Screamer announced it, issue before last."

  "The Screamer announced it?"

  "Of course! Can't keep it a secret any longer!"

  Soon after this, Loa herself visited me in the company of her father. As they had announced themselves unceremoniously in my rooms in the dormitory, they succeeded in cornering me.

  I noticed that she was eyeing me reproachfully; for a moment the wild hope came to me that she was angry and had come to release me from the entanglement.

  "Why haven't you come to see me, dear?” she began accusingly, but in a manner that showed her willingness to be magnanimous.

  "Now, Loa darling,” remonstrated the Professor, “haven't I told you a thousand times it isn't becoming for a Third Class man to call on a Second Class lady? No, not even when they're engaged! So, of course, Loa, you must come to him instead. He has a right to feel offended at your neglect."

  But I confessed to feeling no offense, and Loa advanced toward me with a smile. “See, dear, what I have for you,” she announced, taking a gleaming object from her handbag. “It's all yours! Your wedding bracelet!"

  "Wedding bracelet?” I gasped, wishing there were some convenient way to sink through the floor.

  "Of course. Don't you know it's the custom for the lady to give the gentleman a bracelet?"

  "Now, Loa, how could you expect him to know?” demanded Tan Torm reprovingly. “After all, he was born a barbarian, and still isn't familiar with civilized ways."

  "Yes, I had forgotten,” admitted Loa apologetically. “Here, dear, is the bracelet!” And while I sank down in consternation, she slipped a red-studded silver band on my left wrist.

  "There, dear!” she went on rapturously. “Isn't it a beauty? It's ruby, the color of your heart's blood!"

  As I snatched at the bracelet, with the idea of removing it, I was diverted from my purpose by feeling Loa's arms about my neck; and for a moment we were locked in an embrace more satisfying, I hope, to her than to me.

  It was Professor Tan Torm who, at this point, unwittingly saved the day. “Here, my dears,” he said, unfolding an enormous document with a brass seal, “here, my dears, is the license! There are only a few minor details to be filled out."

  I do not know why, but some strange, irrational hope flashed into my heart at sight of that document. I read that I guaranteed to take Loa, the daughter of Professor Tan Torm, as my one and only legal wife; that I agreed to obey the Population Laws and produce as many sons as was possible for the benefit of the Motherland; and that I promised to rear my children and conduct my married life according to the best accepted principles of Thoughtlessness. At the bottom of the page there was a space for a notary's signature, which had not yet been added. Under Loa's name I read, written elaborately in gilded letters, “Eugenically approved"; while beneath my own name no such inscription appeared.

  As delicately as I could, I called this fact to the attention of Professor Tan Torm.

  "Oh, my dear boy, don't let that worry you at all! A mere formality, I assure you! A fine, stalwart man like you—even if you were born a barbarian—won't have any trouble meeting eugenic requirements. I've brought the Eugenic Inspector here with us. He's waiting now in the gallery."

  While I gave a horrified gasp, the Professor went to the door, flung it open, and called to someone outside. And immediately a small chalk-face, whose tall pointed hat bore an engraved sign, “Eugenics,” entered and bowed low.

  "Is this the bridegroom?” he inquired, pointing at me.

  "Yes, yes,” acknowledged the Professor. “Come right this way! My daughter and I will withdraw, leaving you to perform the tests by yourself. We will be waiting outside."

  The Inspector, who declared himself to be a practicing physician, tested my heart, my lungs, and all my other organs by means of an instrument which, upon being placed on the skin, immediately registered any pathological condition by recording the exceedingly faint electrical reactions of the body.

  "My dear young man,” he congratulated me, at the conclusion of the test, “it is rarely that I have come across so perfect a case! I will rate you 99 and 44/100! From the eugenical point of view, you are Grade X!"

  Probably the Inspector did not understand why I looked so downcast. He glanced at a little document across the room from him, and added, “To be sure, there are a few questions I must ask, in accordance with the law. But they are mere matters of form."

  Thereupon he began to fling out scores of queries, in regard to my age, my occupation, my father's age, my mother's age, the age of my sisters, brothers, cousins, aunts, uncles, grandparents, great-grandparents, etc., when they were turned over. To all these questions, I replied as best I could; and always he would nod with a pleased “Very good!” and congratulate me on my record.

  At last he came to the final question. “Military experience? Military experience of your father, grandfathers, and great-grandfathers?"

  "Well,” said I, “I was too young to serve at the time of the First World War, and my country was trying to keep out of the Second World War when I came down here. My father never was in any war; neither were my grandfathers or great-grandfathers, so far as I know."

  The Inspector shot out of his seat. “What? Your family has never been to war? It has no military record at all?"

  "My family were all distinguished scholars and scientists."

  "Scholars and scientists?” he flung back scornfully. “Is that all? When did they ever fight for their country? How can you expect, young man, to bring forth a capable progeny to be turned over in the next war unless you have a good fighting ancestry?"

  Before this question I remained mute; hope was beginning to well up in my heart.

  "No, sir,” the Inspector said, “I cannot approve of you as eugenic. To permit your marriage would be to foster racial and national weakness; to encourage the growth of an unfit, noncombatant population! I regret it very much, sir, but I must stamp your application, ‘Disapproved!’”

  And, with that, he made a contemptuous bow and went stamping out of the room.

  A few minutes later, after Loa had left my apartment with heartbroken sobs, I blessed my father and my father's fathers for having had no fighting experience!

  CHAPTER XIV

  THE VENTILATION THROW-DOWN

  The wakes went by and gathered into months; the months lengthened into a year; and still I performed my duties as Ventilation Inspector, and could discover no way of escape to the Overworld. Then all at once, my life underwent an extraordinary change.

  The occasion was one of those periodic work stoppages which menace the economic security of Wu and enable the people to enjoy the perils of warfare even when war has not been officially declared. On this particular occasion, the “throw-down” was especially dangerous; for the ventilation employees were determined to leave work. The uprising had become so serious that Dictator Thuno Flatum was said to have interrupted a fishing expedition for nearly an hour while he debated the situation with high officials.

  Personally, I took the gravest view of developments, for the Ventilation Brotherhood, composed of fifty thousand workers, had issued the following ultimatum:

  To the Directors of the Ventil
ation Company of Wu, Unlimited, we pay our respects, and submit that:

  Within three wakes, they must grant all our demands, or we will turn off the country's air.

  Not a ventilation wheel will turn, not a breath of fresh air will blow until our terms are complied with.

  If thousands of citizens, including many First Class men and women, should be suffocated as a result, we shall profoundly regret their turnover, but this is a business matter, and sentimental considerations, naturally, cannot deter us.

  The demands of the strikers—mostly Third Class citizens—were as follows:

  1. That wages be high enough to permit the men to eat every other wake.

  2. That hours be short enough to permit them to sleep every other night.

  3. That the company supply free air to the homes of all its employees.

  These demands, which were variously branded by officials of the company as “inordinate,” “preposterous,” and “impossible,” were condemned in no uncertain terms by all First Class citizens, who pointed out that, should their terms be met, the Ventilation Company would have to raise the price of air in order to continue to pay its stockholders their present return of eleven per cent.

  "The arrogance of the people knows no limits!” stated one high dignitary. “If we were to grant these exactions, the next thing they would ask would be separate living quarters for each family, or Grade X air, or reduction of taxes on the food, clothing, and water of the Third Class! Doubtless they would expect the First Class, who are legally tax-exempt, to meet these bills! No! Obviously such insubordination must be checked before it poisons the entire life of society."

  This sentiment being echoed by First Class citizens everywhere, a battle to the finish was promised. “We will smother rather than submit!” rang out the defiance of the rulers ... “Then we will all smother together!” thundered the strikers. Already, two wakes before the expiration of the ultimatum, serious complications were reported; dozens of “throw-downers,” going quietly about their way bearing banners, “We demand a breathing wage!” had been shot by the Overhears, for what the Screamer denounced as “their treasonous and seditious interference with business."