An Official Visitor
Now that I had swallowed the Oath and become a full-fledged citizen, my
life took a sharp turn--though whether for the better, I could hardly
say. As a free man, I was permitted to wander unescorted through many
of the streets and side-galleries; yet it seemed to me that I had
really less freedom than when confined in the Professor's home. I was
now officially on the Government books, being known as Citizen No.
44,667,023 XZ, Third Class; I had had my photograph taken and filed
with the War Department, my physical measurements recorded and filed
with the Police Department, and my toe-prints registered and filed with
both the War and the Police Departments. Worst of all, I was now to
receive a visit from a sub-agent of the Ministry of Public Unemployment.
This event occurred on the fifth day--or the fifth "wake"--after I had
swallowed the Oath. I well remember the occasion; I had been practicing
writing the native language, under the tutorage of Loa; and having
noticed a light of warning fondness in her salmon eyes, I was desiring
some tactful way of escape ... when I was startled by the entrance of
Moa, who informed me that a visitor wished to see me.
A visitor to see me! Who knew me well enough to call upon me down in
this Nether World? For one mad, hopeful instant, the thought came to
me that perhaps it was Clay! Perhaps, after all, he had survived and
discovered my hiding-place!
But no! In the next room, a weakened little chalk-face with the
features of a fox arose to receive me. "Citizen Number 44,667,023 XZ,
Third Class?" he inquired.
"I believe that is my name," said I, although not quite certain yet
whether I were an "XZ" or an "XY."
"I have been detailed to investigate your case," he declared, in such a
businesslike manner that I had a momentary tremor, imagining him to be
a detective. "I do not know why the Government has overlooked you so
long; I understand, sir, that you have been illegally living in a state
of unemployment."
"Illegally--living in a state of unemployment?" I gasped.
"So I am told!" he continued, with unsmiling severity. "Do you not
realize, sir, that unemployment is a crime? That is to say, in all
except First Class citizens, who are paid a salary by the State for
being unemployed."
Fearing that I was about to be punished, I remained silent and
anxiously regarded my visitor.
"However, we do not wish to be severe with you," he conceded, still
scowling. "This is, after all, your first dereliction, and I have been
instructed to let you off with a reprimand. But we must immediately end
your unemployment."
"Very well," I assented, vastly relieved.
"The question is, what valuable labor can you perform?" asked the
chalk-face, taking a chart out of his pocket and withdrawing across the
room so as to examine it through an instrument that looked like a pair
of opera glasses. "Fortunately, owing to the unusual turnover of the
present war, an exceptional number of positions are vacant just now."
"Good! What are they?"
My visitor drew up his lean, white face into a puzzled frown, and
answered in a drawl.
"Well, let's see. There are so many, it's hard to know where to begin.
Now here's one that might do. In the thought-inoculation department of
the army."
"Thought-inoculation?"
"Yes, you see it's necessary to be sure that no private in the
army should ever have a thought; otherwise, how could we maintain
discipline? We have found it isn't safe to rely on laws only, so we
have invented an anti-thought serum, which acts on the nervous system
so as to paralyze the thought-centers of the brain. The results are
excellent; the recruit has no power left except to obey orders--which
makes him a perfect soldier."
"A very good idea," I acknowledged, wishing I might have the formula
of this wonderful serum to bring home for use in our own armies.
"A derivative of the same drug, known as 'the Mu' is fed by big
business firms to employees. It is taken internally, and the results
are said to be excellent.... However, a job in this department is not
for you!" concluded the agent, sadly. "You're a barbarian, and what do
barbarians know of thought-prevention?"
"More than you think!" I snapped, defensively.
"Now here's another good job," he went on, still gazing at the chart
by means of the opera glasses. "We're in need of spies. The recent
turnover in that department--"
"No, thanks!" I decided. "I don't care to be a spy--"
"But think of the honor! No profession is more esteemed! If you
survive, you'll be given a high position in the diplomatic corps; and
if, on the other hand, you are turned--"
"That's just it! I'm satisfied not to be turned over!" I asserted,
remembering the prison I had occupied just after my arrival, and the
execution of my cell-mates beneath the violet ray.
"It's a glorious death--I mean to say, a glorious turnover!" argued my
visitor. And then, with a disappointed expression, "However, if you're
not out for honors, I suppose we can find you some humbler job. What
about a position in the Mulflar Works?"
"But is that safe?"
"Safe?" The Unemployment Agent glared at me angrily. "Who cares if it
is safe? Of course it isn't! You may be blown to shreds and splinters
any wake! But what of that? Is anything safe in modern life? It's all a
matter of the degree of risk! And, besides, the salary is high."
"I'm not greedy for a high salary," I remarked.
"Oh, well, if that's the way you feel, of course we can fix you up!"
returned the chalk-face, contemptuously. "There's never much demand for
low-paying jobs."
* * * * *
Again he stared at the chart, and, after a moment of indecision,
suggested, "Let's see now--we might make you valet to a First Class
Citizen. The wages are not very good, but the work is easy. All you
would have to do would be to dust off your master's eye-tubes, or hold
his megaphone to his mouth when he speaks, or adjust his breathing
tubes when they get out of order, or merely stand in his reception hall
and look stiff and official when he receives visitors. And whenever
he kicks you or cuffs you or calls you names, you would have to bow
respectfully, and say 'Thank you, sir!' What do you say?"
"Haven't you anything else?" I asked, in desperation.
The agent scowled again. "You're a hard man to suit!" he declared.
"I really don't know what else to offer you. If you weren't
a barbarian, we might place you in the Department of Public
Unenlightenment--vulgarly known as the Censorship Bureau--whose
business it is to keep the public from knowing too much. But no--that
won't do at all! Third Class citizens are not eligible!"
Once more he paused, his long black-draped fingers tapping at his
knees; and for a moment I feared that no further suggestions would be
forthcoming.
But he was a resourceful man; at last, with a shout of triumph, he
exclaimed, "Ah!--now I have it! Just the thing! The very thing!"
"The very what?" I asked, hoping he would have a better suggestion this
time.
"The very job for you!" he ejaculated, slapping his knee in delight. "I
congratulate you, young man! You're a lucky individual! A very lucky
individual!"
"How so?" I asked doubtfully.
"Very lucky, I assure you!" he repeated. "We need more office help
for the Ventilation Company. You see, too many of their employees
have volunteered for the war--and have been turned over. So they have
a job just waiting for you in the air-supply division. You may begin
tomorrow."
"But what is the Ventilation Company? And what's the air-supply
division?" I demanded, none too certain that I wished to accept.
"Take my word, it's just the thing for you! No ability required! No
thought necessary! Merely do what you are told! And get paid regularly
every five wakes!"
"But what's the job like?"
"You'll find out after you're on it! Time enough to worry then!"
Further discussion followed; but as the agent had no job which he
recommended so highly as the ventilating one, I ended by reluctantly
accepting.
Immediately upon securing my assent, the visitor let out a whoop of
joy; then, drawing forth a printed sheet and a pencil, he flung them at
me, and directed, "There! Sign on the dotted line!"
Hesitantly I did as directed, and the agent immediately snatched up the
paper, folded it into an inner pocket, left me instructions where and
when to report to work, bowed, and gingerly left.
Not until later did I learn that, as a commission for securing me the
work, I had signed over to him all my wages for the first fifty-two
"wakes!"