The Hidden World: A Golden Age SF Classic

by Stanton A. Coblentz

  "Take him away! Away! At once!” The ruler had recovered. “I'll sign the death warrant! We'll kill him by inches with sulphur fumes!"

  While the guards started to drag me away once more, and my mind conjured up visions of suffocation by sulphur, I cried out:

  "One minute, Your Excellency! Remember, if I die, you all die! Without me, the air will remain off forever!"

  "Without you, the air will remain off forever?” echoed Thuno Flatum. “Then let it stay off! What do I care? Have I not my oxygen tanks?” Derisively, he pointed to the steel tanks connecting with his breathing tubes.

  "So you would breathe while your people smother?” I demanded. And then, turning to the guards, “Do your duty, men! Take me away! Thuno Flatum, your master, will still breathe oxygen while you all smother!"

  The effect of these words was electrifying. One of the guards, releasing me with a hurried gesture, reached for his three-pointed helmet and flung it off, to reveal a gasping, perspiring individual close to the last stages of exhaustion.

  "I'm through!” he groaned. “By the white hairs of my ancestors, I'm through! Let someone else be turned over! I'm going on a throw-down!"

  "So am I!” announced a second guard, snatching off his helmet.

  "So am I!” snapped a third, a fourth, and a fifth, until, in a moment, all the pike bearers stood unhelmeted and rebellious. “We're going on a throw-down! A throw-down!"

  "We want air!” one of them started the cry . “We want air, we want air!” began to echo and reverberate through the whole great hall. And the guards, surging forward in an angry mass, lost all semblance of military order, pushing, scuffling, shouting.

  For a moment, Thuno Flatum was too thunder stricken for words. Then, as his attendants crowded about him protectively, I thought I heard his voice lifted during a brief lull in the storm: “This is sedition! Sedition! I'll have you all violet-rayed! I'll have you—"

  But I did not hear the conclusion of the speech. Taking advantage of the hubbub, I started hastily toward the door, ordering my attendants to follow. The Revolution had begun!

  Chapter XVII

  LUMA THE ILLUSTRIOUS

  Hardly had I escaped from Thuno Flatum's audience hall when I noticed an athletic-looking man darting from the direction of the throne room. Breaking through the ranks of my followers in a frenzy of arm-waving agitation, he headed straight toward me. “Wait a minute there! just a minute!” he shouted, when he had come within a few dozen yards. “I've something to tell you!"

  He finally caught up with me, puffing prodigiously, just as I had reached my scoot. Only then, as I turned in alarm to confront him, did I recognize the official yellow badge of the press!"

  "I represent the Screamer!” he gasped, when he had halfway regained his breath. “Let me have your story! Quick! The Blare man will be here any minute!"

  Sure enough, another individual, racing toward us from far down the gallery, proved to be a reporter from the Blare!

  Naturally, though still in a hurry to get away, I could find time to present my story to both newspapers, with an abundance of detail.

  In less than an hour, the new editions were on sale.

  "Air special! Air special!” I heard the newsgirls crying from the court outside my apartment window as I paced back and forth, trying to decide upon my next action. Without delay, I rushed out to buy a paper; but was able to do so only with difficulty, for people were flocking from all sides to get copies. However, I did manage to procure a Screamer, and this is what I read:

  INSOLENT STRANGER CHALLENGES THUNO FLATUM!

  MAN IN AMBER SPECTACLES WARNS, “MAKE ME DICTATOR AND I RESTORE AIR!"

  Guards in a commotion! Back claims of audacious intruder!

  There followed a highly colored account of the day's events, in which I was described as a “madman seeking to foment revolution,” while Thuno Flatum was represented as “defending his position with the indomitable might and valor for which the First Class is so justly noted.” It was admitted, however, that I was formidable, being backed by an army variously estimated as containing between ten thousand and a hundred thousand fanatics, of whom several thousand had accompanied me to the Dictator's throne room. In the face of such a menace, Thuno Flatum was more than courageous—so the paper said—to resist my demands, even though the country should have to remain unaired for a few wakes more.

  As I glanced up from the sheet, I could see that the people around me were profoundly affected by the news. For once, it seemed, an action of Thuno Flatum's had not met with unquestioning approval.

  "What's that?” I heard a chalk-face to my left growling. “So we're to stay without air, while the First Class breathe from oxygen tanks! Let's have air, I say! Air, air, air! What do I care who's on the throne, so long as we can breathe? ... Tell me, what do you think, brother?” he demanded, turning in my direction.

  "My principle,” said I, “is air over all."

  "Mine, too!” concurred an indignant voice from our right. “The children haven't had a good clean breath for three wakes. Let Thuno Flatum's children be turned over, if he likes! I want mine to have air!"

  "So do I!” “So do I!” other voices joined in.

  Accordingly, I was not unprepared for the events of the next few hours. Toward the close of the wake, I went out for a stroll along one of the main galleries; and seeing a crowd assembled in a great central chamber or public square, I hastened forward with the feeling that extraordinary news was abroad. I was unable to discover what had happened. Yet by mixing with the crowd and listening, I did manage to hear some interesting remarks: “Why, I thought Thuno would rule forever! ... Where did he run to?” ... “I don't know. They say he's hiding in the Third Class basements.” ... “But I've heard he's gone fishing.” ... “Who's at the head of things now? ... No one, they say, till we get the air back."

  Gradually, details became evident. Led by the revolting guards, a mob had stormed Thuno Flatum's palace and forced him to flee.

  It was but a short while later that the Blare and the Screamer came out with new editions. Their version differed considerably from what I had just heard. For the benefit of his health, which had been affected by the strain of duties of state, the Dictator had been advised by his physicians to take a brief vacation, his whereabouts being concealed so that he might enjoy the greater quiet. Both papers ended with the pious hope that their good sovereign might speedily recover.

  But both, at the same time, suggested that if the self-termed “President of the Better Air Association” would restore the ventilation without further delay, he would find the people ready to grant any reasonable demand.

  Acting upon this hint, I dispatched immediate letters to both newspapers. At precisely four hours and a quarter after the beginning of the following wake, I would turn on the air. And, exactly one hour and a quarter later, I would appear in the Dictator's throne room, where Thuno Flatum's guards might identify me as “the mysterious stranger” of the amber spectacles. I would, of course, claim my reward immediately, and would make no guaranty for the continuance of ventilation unless all my demands were granted.

  Having dispatched these messages, I yawned and settled down for a good night's sleep.

  * * * *

  The following wake, I arose early, and carefully prepared a speech and wrote a letter, which I secreted in my pocket. Next I resumed my disguise; and then, taking care not to be seen, I made my way to the side-gallery containing the rusty old wheel that controlled the ventilation. There I waited, watch in hand, and at precisely the promised minute, I gave a turn to the wheel, and was instantly rewarded by an invigorating breeze.

  Now I made my way toward Thuno Flatum's palace, where I was expected an hour and a quarter later, Gathering a hundred ventilating employees about me, and ordering them to keep close to my side.

  As we sped through the various corridors, I noticed that the air was again in motion; that the heavy atmosphere of the past few days was already being dissipated. And th
e people, observing the change, waved banners, blew horns, and beat drums.

  It was with difficulty that I made my way through the long gallery, since the crowds everywhere recognized me by the amber glasses. At length, however, I did reach the throne room, where the guards acknowledged my presence by bowing till their palms scraped the floor. As befitted a superior, I seemed not to notice their salutations, but strode at a slow pace toward the center of the hall. Then, while thousands watched me in wide-mouthed amazement, I mounted the raised platform of red sandstone and stood on the throne of the Dictator.

  As I reached this regal eminence, someone raised his hands and broke into cheers; and the multitude, accepting this as their signal, echoed the cries. It was long before I was able to bring order to the gathering and launch forth upon the speech I had prepared.

  "Fellow citizens of the First, Second and Third Classes,” I began, “this is indeed an auspicious occasion. For the first time in more than three wakes we can all breathe freely again. At great cost of personal sacrifice and labor, I have found a way to turn on the ventilation—"

  At this point another salvo of cheers broke forth.

  "At great cost of personal sacrifice and labor,” I resumed, “I have saved you all, my fellow citizens. For this service I claim no personal reward, since the satisfaction of rescuing my countrymen will always be a sufficient compensation. However, I have a message to deliver. It is from your Dictator, his Abysmal Excellency, Thuno Flatum."

  The throng became silent; several thousand pairs of eyes and cars strained forward eagerly while, with a flourish, I removed a brass-sealed document from an inner pocket.

  "Here is a letter from Thuno Flatum,” I declared, knowing that the people, unable to see clearly close at hand, could not detect the falsehood. “Before I read it, let me introduce myself by the name which our beloved Dictator has always applied to me. I am called Luma the Illustrious."

  "Luma the Illustrious! Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah for Luma the Illustrious!” thundered the mob, while hundreds bowed in token of obeisance.

  "Now listen carefully to the words of Thuno Flatum!” I shouted, unfolding the letter I myself had written a few hours before.

  When the crowd had once more grown silent, I read in sonorous tones:

  "To His Highness, Luma the Illustrious, Greetings, and heartiest regards.

  "Since my poor health makes it necessary for me to renounce the duties of state for a time, I wish that you, Your Highness, would rule in my place during my absence. I am confident it would be impossible to find anyone more competent than your eminent self. During my absence, the people must grant you the same unquestioning respect and obedience they would accord to me.

  "Faithfully your servant,

  "Thuno Flatum,

  "Prime Dictator and High Chief Potentate of Wu"

  As I folded the document, a thunder-stricken silence possessed the people. Then all at once they broke into an uproar such as I had never heard before. “Long live Luma! Long live Luma! Long live Luma the Illustrious!"

  Now, as never before, I realized the advantages of thoughtlessness; it never occurred to my hearers to question my assertions. Already I had resolved that, as Dictator, I would make thoughtlessness compulsory.

  But just as I was congratulating myself on my success, a commotion arose at the corner nearest the entrance, and I could see the guards swaying back and forth vigorously, as if to throw out some troublesome intruder.

  "What is it, men? What is it?” I shouted.

  Momentarily the commotion ceased; while the husky voice of one of the guards shouted back:

  "Your Abysmal Excellency, what shall I do? There is a man here who claims to be Thuno Flatum!"

  At these words, I was as near to heart failure as I ever hope to be. I could see how the crowd, awed by the magic words “Thuno Flatum,” had made way near the source of the commotion, leaving a familiar figure to wheel toward me on a scoot, accompanied by half a dozen attendants.

  His royal garments were frayed and damaged; the purple crest upon his head was torn and bedraggled; the green and saffron of his uniform was soiled with muddy blotches, and the string of huge rubies no longer dangled about his neck. Nevertheless, I had seen enough of the Dictator to identify him even in his present shabby plight!

  "Your Abysmal Excellency, this man claims to be Thuno Flatum!” repeated one of the guards.

  "Thuno Flatum! He claims to be Thuno Flatum!” I could hear the mob echoing in surprise.

  "I am Thuno Flatum!” avowed the intruder, with an angry squeak through the megaphone. “I am—I am Thuno Flatum!"

  I do not know what it was, in that desperate emergency, that put the saving thought into my mind. “Seize that man! Seize him!” I cried, pointing to the newcomer with a fierce simulation of anger. “It's a capital offense, to impersonate the Dictator!"

  "A capital offense, a capital offense to impersonate the Dictator!” echoed the multitude.

  "I am not impersonating the Dictator! I am Thuno Flatum, the Prime Dictator and Chief Potentate of Wu!” insisted the puny figure on the scoot, while his thin right arm shook in my direction in impotent rage.

  "Look at him! just look at him! He claims to be the Prime Dictator!” I howled, and rocked back and forth in feigned mirth. “When did Thuno Flatum ever wear soiled saffron? When did he show himself without the royal rubies? Guards, seize the impostor!"

  "Look at him! Look at him! just look at him! When did Thuno Flatum ever wear soiled saffron?” yelled the mob, roaring in amusement more genuine than my own.

  At the same time, the heavy arms of a guard closed about the feeble, resisting figure. “I am, I am Thuno Flatum!” he wailed, for the last time. “It is you, you who are the impostor, the traitor! Only listen, listen—"

  He was interrupted by louder laughter than ever; the thunders of public merriment drowned out his words.

  "Guards, place him in a cell!” I shouted, when the peals of mirth had begun to subside. “He is a madman! We will keep him locked up until—until Thuno Flatum returns!"

  As a corps of guards disappeared down a side-passage with the manacled Dictator and his attendants, the crowd burst once more into cheers: “Long live Luma the Illustrious!"

  CHAPTER XVIII

  THE LAST REFRUGE

  In order to press on to more crucial events, I shall not linger over my first few months as dictator. Clad in the magnificence of my new office, I dwelt in a spacious suite of rooms, with palatial adornments and scores of attendants; I enjoyed the applause and veneration of millions; I held court daily on the throne of Thuno Flatum, decided matters of public policy and law and issued orders which, theoretically, could be disobeyed only under pain of death.

  Nevertheless, not all flowed smoothly. The Second Class and the Third never so much as inquired why Thuno Flatum was taking so long a vacation; but the First Class had not been trained to an equal degree of thoughtlessness. It was pointed out that Luma was too healthy to be First Class; his limbs were not shriveled enough, and he could actually walk long distances. His natural eyesight was good, his ears useful without hearing tubes, and his lungs capable of functioning without artificial aid; while he was neither bald nor toothless, as every “green-blooded” aristocrat should be. In other words, he was a mere nobody.

  So persistent did such complaints become that I finally resolved on desperate measures. One by one, the worst offenders disappeared; after the Overhears had thus disposed of five hundred troublemakers, other First Class citizens recognized the wisdom of holding their tongues.

  Meanwhile I was having other difficulties, due to my zeal to be a good dictator, as I set about to better the people's condition.

  For example, there was the matter of the scoots. Shocked at the innumerable accidents which cost hundreds of lives each day, I ruled that all scoots keep to the right of the road, that green and red lights be installed to guide traffic at intersections, and that no scoot be permitted to travel faster than two miles a minute. Nothing t
hat had occurred in centuries had created such an uproar as these innovations—even though it was found that, wherever the new rules were applied, the death rate fell more than ninety per cent.

  "Luma interferes with the rights of private property!” cried the people. “If a man owns a scoot, why can't he drive it any way he wants? Traffic laws are confiscation!"

  The new rules were flouted almost as a matter of principle; men would openly boast of having offended. Violations became so frequent that, in disgust, I abandoned the law; and the people, with shouts of joy, returned to their old round of injuries and turnovers.

  Remembering how vast quantities of good food and clothing had been consigned to the furnaces, I decreed that henceforth excess commodities should be distributed to the poor.

  "What? Give the excess to the poor?” howled the First and Second Class. “Encourage shiftlessness and indolence? Reward improvidence and laziness? Overturn that sacred economic rule, ‘He who has most shall give least'?"

  Most vigorous of all were the protests of the National Food Distributors and the United Clothing Manufacturers, Unlimited.

  "Your Excellency should realize,” they wrote me in an open letter, published in both the Blare and the Screamer, “that the profits of business and the prosperity of the nation depend upon the scarcity of vital commodities. So long as there is scarcity—whether natural or artificial—people will pay high prices and stockholders will clip dividends; but as soon as an abundance occurs, prices will sink and dividends will correspondingly wane. Accordingly, we recommend that you rescind the law forbidding us to burn surplus products."

  Naturally, I paid no heed to this appeal; but I knew that I was treading on dangerous ground. From the First and Second classes I heard renewed groans and rumblings of discontent, which, despite all the efforts of the Overhears, I could not suppress. Worst of all, the Third Class—to which I distributed vast amounts of commodities—were dissatisfied with what I gave them and clamored for more in such a chorus that I had almost more to fear from them than from the other classes.