Insurrection in the Air
Two "wakes" had gone by without ventilation. The land of Wu was
in a state of profound disorder--disorder compared with which the
disturbances of the previous strike were as nothing. Once more business
had come to a standstill; once more the thoroughfares, usually crowded,
were almost deserted by the "scootscoots"; once more the chalk-faces
stood about in little knots, anxiously talking, their drawn features
and worried eyes bearing testimony to the concern they felt. But now
the temper of the masses was much uglier than before. On the former
occasion, they had been fighting for a principle, and public opinion
had been with the strikers; but the present outbreak did not seem
to involve any principle at all. It meant merely suffering, loss,
and danger without any corresponding gain, and the people were both
frightened and indignant, and in their anger and fear they had no
hesitation about blaming the government for their trouble, on the
theory that governments should know how to rectify all unknown ills and
cataclysms.
Consequently the Second and Third Class citizens, though usually meek
as babes owing to their thoughtlessness, were becoming unruly and
rebellious. 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 Flâtum and demanded, "Air for our children!
Air for our children!" They grew so bold as to flaunt placards, "A
new deal in air!" "Give us a safe and sane air administration!" and
"We stand for public ownership of the air!" And as if such radical
declarations were not sufficient, some of the ardent air-lovers burst
out in riots, wherein, on several occasions, the stone columns of First
Class dwellings were scarred and damaged, and more than one First
Class citizen was made to flee for his life. The insurrectionists, to
be sure, were always suppressed by the police, who, with rare good
marksmanship, boasted a 98% record of hits against rebellious backs;
moreover, they made excellent use of the "sneeze-gas bomb" (a clever
little weapon which produced a thousand sneezes to the milligram). Yet
in the face of all such discouragements, the rebel tide was rising, and
the authorities were frankly worried.
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 a New York subway at rush hours;
the odors were such that one would have held one's nose had it been
possible to do so and breathe; 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 they had been drugged. Plainly,
matters were becoming serious--so serious that even I, when I stepped
out now and then into the public corridors in order to sample the air,
winced and shuddered and wondered if I had not carried things too far.
But grave though the situation was becoming, there was now no turning
back. Either I must carry the strike to a successful culmination--or
else I must fail beyond hope of recovery.
While the whole country was being reduced to a state of acute distress,
no one as yet suspected the source of the trouble. Yet, all the while,
I was secretly moving toward my objective. As soon as the strike began,
I dispatched a message to Dictator Thuno Flâtum 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. And, at the same time, I took care that
Thuno Flâtum's reply should reach me in a manner equally safe.
The following was my message:
"_To His Abysmal Excellency_
Thuno Flâtum
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. But 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 People's Better Air Association."
* * * * *
On the following "wake" I dispatched a similar message, and again on
the third "wake"; while Thuno Flâtum, with characteristic stubbornness,
still withheld his reply. He had had the poor discretion, however,
to give out my letters to the newspapers (or, rather, his secretary
had had such poor discretion, for Thuno Flâtum was known to be too
busy fishing ever to read his correspondence). Hence both the _Blare_
and the _Screamer_, on three successive "wakes," reproduced my
communications in full, commenting that they were manifestly the work
of a madman who should be hunted by the police and sentenced to the
violet ray. Subsequent developments showed that the editor of neither
paper suspected what an effect the public announcements were to have.
Meanwhile the officers of the Ventilation Company, driven almost insane
by the failure of the air-supply, had turned from their customary
task of counting dividends in order to try to trace the reason for
the lack of ventilation. All their inspectors and engineers were made
to work overtime; I myself, much to my amusement, was instructed to
exert myself diligently to locate the trouble; and, of course, I made
a great show of seeming to comply, 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. That the cause of the air-stoppage would not be discovered
seemed a foregone conclusion; for the chalk-faces, thanks to their
inability to see clearly close at hand, might search for years without
being able to notice the all-important little wheel.
By the third "wake," the Directors of the Ventilation Company were in
despair, Thuno Flâtum and the other high officers of the state were
said to be wearing a worried expression; the Dictator had cancelled an
engagement to play "poli-boli" (an athletic game, played with marbles,
especially popular with First Class citizens); and riots were breaking
out in scores of widely scattered places. Unless imminent relief were
forthcoming, as the _Screamer_ plainly hinted in an editorial, the
"sneeze-gas bombs" would not be able to control the mobs.
At the same time, the _Blare_, in a front-page article, reversed
its previous attitude, and advised the Dictator to see "the madman
who insolently terms himself President of the People's 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 75% in the past two "wakes." If the strike
continued another three or four "wakes," the cost might well rise as
high as 100,000,000 "silver fingers." The possible cost in life was not
considered.
The argument of the _Blare_, as might have been foreseen, proved
unanswerable. The people, loyal as always to the printed word, were
clamorous in demanding that their Dictator see the "President of the
People's Better Air Association"; and no one seemed to remember that
only a few hours before, they had been equally clamorous in begging
their Dictator to refuse the interview. But such little reversals of
opinion were so common in Wu that I was not even surprised.
Immediately I began making preparations for that meeting which I now
knew to be inevitable. It was not half an hour later when a new edition
of the _Blare_ declared that Thuno Flâtum was awaiting my visit, and,
in fact, had high hopes that our interview would end the strike. And it
was but a few minutes after reading this announcement when I set out on
my private "scootscoot" for the palace of the Dictator.
I did not, however, go alone. To appear before the sovereign unattended
did not seem either wise or safe, particularly since I had to present
a proposal which, to say the least, was very bold. But who was to
accompany me? This question was very simply answered. Had I not two
thousand ventilation employees who were at my beck and call in all
things? Why not pick an escort of, say, about three or four hundred?
To be sure, I did not wish to 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 as easy to keep the
truth from them as from a three-year-old. Besides, there was a clever
little device which I might employ to prevent them from manifesting
any spark of intelligence. This was in the nature of the drug already
mentioned, the drug known as the "muffler"--which employers had been
wont to feed to employees, and which, by paralyzing the cerebral
centers, suspended all mental processes except the purely automatic
ones, so that the victims could take orders with mechanical perfection,
but were incapable of knowing, thinking, or feeling.
As the Ventilation Company, in the course of its business, always
had a large supply of this drug on hand, I fed it to about 400 of my
followers; and then, its action being immediate, I ordered them all to
take their places at once in "scootscoots" and follow me.
With this magnificent array of supporters in my wake, I lost no time in
setting off on my visit to Thuno Flâtum.