I Become Second Class
In spite of strikes and minor catastrophes, the war between Wu and Zu was still being waged. Of late, however, it had grown a bit dull and unexciting; both factions had been entrenching themselves for a dogged fight over Nullnull; and, except for the periodic capture and recapture of a few square yards and the daily "turnover" of several thousand men on each side, nothing of much consequence was happening. It is this fact that explains the interest in the Ventilation Strike; for the people of Wu, thanks to their scrupulous practice of thoughtlessness, require something to keep them constantly entertained.
Nevertheless, the inhabitants of Zu had not forgotten that they were still fighting; and when they heard of the ventilation troubles in Wu, they hailed the news with vast secret jubilation, and their statesmen and generals chuckled and vowed to take advantage of the opportunity. This meant, of course, that they were determined to produce a great enemy "turnover"; while, in order to accomplish this end, they had to resort to the Subterrains, those formidable machines which bored underground and attacked by means of Mulflar torpedoes.
The result was that, on the day the strike was officially declared, half a dozen Subterrain assaults were launched in widely scattered districts throughout Wu. Always the destruction was enormous, although the "turnover," according to treaty, was limited to Second and Third Class citizens. But the facts were not known until long afterwards, and then but imperfectly, since the papers, in their pre-occupation with weightier matters, rarely had space to give to enemy triumphs. Hence the explosion that wrecked the headquarters of the Central Striking Committee was not generally ascribed to its actual source.
There is no question, in view of subsequent investigations, that this represented but one of the series of Subterrain attacks; however, it occurred at such a time and in such a way that another interpretation seemed possible. The Head of the Committee was known to have received my letter of defiance, and had just called his secretary to dictate an ultimatum, which would end my revolt once and for all ... when suddenly the earth rose beneath his feet, and he and a corps of his assistants were "turned over" in a disaster that left their offices a charred heap of ruins.
Naturally, both the Blare and the Screamer were delighted to report the tragedy; and having already learned of my letter to the Committee, the editors of both journals concluded that the occasion called for another "Extra-extra," which they proceeded to issue without allowing time for second thought. Since great minds, even in Wu, tend to run in the same channel, the position taken by both editors was identical: that the blow had been struck by the "Citizen's Anti-Strike Committee," whose "High Chief Commander" was fulfilling his promise to give a "manifestation of his wrath."
Now I have always been convinced that the attack upon the headquarters of the Central Committee would have ended the strike, whether or not I had had any connection with the affair. The workers, deprived of their leaders, would have been disorganized; and disorganization would have led to the collapse of the whole movement. But, as it happened, no one seemed to realize this; no one ever thought of disagreeing with the Blare and the Screamer, which, in order to make sensational news stories, gave me the entire credit for the accomplishment. Not half a dozen hours had passed after the Subterrain attack before the strike was officially over; the laborers, intimidated by dread of a foe who could take deadly and mysterious vengeance, were afraid to remain defiant; and such was their general level of thoughtlessness that reason had no power against their superstitious terror.
Even while the strike was being settled, I received a visit from a distinguished delegation. I was still seated in the Ventilation Office, gnawing at a lunch of concentrated food capsules and amusing myself by reading of my alleged exploits in the Screamer, when the blast of a whistle at the door made me leap up with a start. Would I have another Striking Sub-Committee to fight? No!—nothing so alarming! Riding toward me on "scootscoots" decorated with green and vermilion, and surrounded by dozens of obsequious lackeys, were three chalk-faces whose shriveled forms, profuse adornments, and artificial eyes, ears, and breathing apparatus proclaimed them to be First Class citizens.
In accordance with the requirements of good form, I bowed low, sweeping the floor with the palm of my hand as a sign of deference; but at the same time I was sorely troubled, for what could such dignitaries desire of me?
Without acknowledging my bow, one of the First Class men lifted a megaphone to his mouth and addressed me abruptly, as was deemed only proper in the presence of a menial.
"Tell me, sir, are you the High Chief Commander of the Citizens' Anti-Strike Committee?"
With a gasp, I acknowledged being the person referred to.
The entire procession had now come to a halt at a distance of about twenty feet, and I could see how the three First Class citizens were turning their telescope-like eye-pieces in my direction.
"You have done a noble service in the cause of your country and of the First Class," continued my interlocutor. "I shall not question you too much on your methods, lest they prove, well—shall we say in violation of the letter of the Criminal Code? Allow me to introduce myself, sir, as the thirteenth Vice-Executive Director of the Ventilation Company."
Once more I bowed low, taking care to sweep the floor with the palm of my hand.
"And I," testified the second First Class man, also through a megaphone, "am one of the seventeen Political Settlers of the Ventilation Company."
"Political Settlers?" I questioned, again performing a perfunctory bow.
"Yes, indeed!" stated the man, looking a little offended at my ignorance. "Very important work we do, too! It is our business to settle things with politicians and political job-sellers."
"And I, sir," the third of my First Class visitors informed me with a blare of his megaphone, "am the Senatorial Representative of the Ventilation Company."
"Senatorial Representative?"—after another bow.
"Of course! I am the delegate elected by the Ventilation Company, in accordance with law, to represent its interests in the Senate. Don't you know, sir, that every concern doing a business of more than eleven millions annually is expected to have a representative in the Senate?"
Knowing nothing of this matter, I thought it best to change the subject. "And to what, gentlemen," I inquired, "do I owe the honor of this visit?"
It was the thirteenth Vice-Executive Director that undertook to reply.
"You may well ask that question, sir. Not once in ten thousand wakes is a Third Class citizen, such as you appear to be, flattered with a visit from the First Class. But your case, sir, is exceptional. Owing to your unusual services on behalf of the anti-strikers, we have been appointed by the Directors of the Ventilation Company as a committee of three to express our personal approval and appreciation."
"I thank you, gentlemen," said I, once more bowing low, but wondering if my visitors had gone through all this hocus-pocus merely in order to express an empty approval.
"You are the sort of man, sir, that the Company likes to have in its employ," announced the Political Settler. "Your talents are being wasted—thrown away—here in this Third Class office. We have decided to elevate you to a more worthy post."
"Yes, sir," the Senatorial Representative took up the report, "we will appoint you to the Engineering Department. As Ventilating Engineer, you will have two thousand men under your employ, who will be subject to your orders in all things. This is how we will show our appreciation!"
This time, when I bowed to the floor, it was as an expression of sincere gratitude. I could scarcely believe that such a magnificent promotion awaited me!
"There is only one difficulty," the thirteenth Vice-Executive Director bewailed, shaking his head ruefully. "The law forbids an appointment to the Engineering Department to any one except a First or Second Class citizen."
At these words, my heart sank within me. From the beginning, I had felt that the promised appointment was too good to be true. "Well, I don't insist on remaining Third Class!" I groaned.
The Political Settler beamed upon me, and drew his eye-pieces a little closer against his weazened face.
"That's just what I was thinking!" he declared. "I knew you wouldn't insist on remaining Third Class! Well, where there's a politician, there's a way—as the ancient saying goes. The law, to be sure, distinctly says that no Third Class citizen may ever become Second Class; but we'll get around that by proving to the courts that you really were Second Class all along. Leave that to me, sir—as a Political Settler, that's my specialty!"
I bowed gratefully once more, and assured the man that I had always felt misplaced in the Third Class.
But even as I spoke, doubt overcame me. What if there were some hidden flaw in the offer? What if I should have to pay a heavy fee for being made Second Class, or should be taxed beyond my capacity? And so I promptly made inquiries on these points.
If it had been possible for First Class citizens to laugh, my hearers would surely have done so. As it was, their slender forms shook slightly in testimony to the merriment they felt, and a sound like a dry rattle issued from between their thin lips.
"Pay a tax for being made Second Class?" growled the Senatorial Representative, with the manner of one who has been insulted. "I should say not! Quite the contrary! My colleagues and I have taken care of that! Why, sir, you will get a tax refund for the taxes you paid in the Third Class!"
"Tax refund?" I demanded, thinking I had not heard rightly.
"Yes! You see, the principle is quite fair and simple," explained the Political Settler. "Taxation, as all authorities agree, should be placed where it bears least heavily. Now there are ten times as many Third Class citizens as First and Second class combined, so naturally they are much more able to bear the weight of taxation. Therefore all taxes are placed on the Third Class."
Now I had not always admired the logic of the chalk-faces; but on this occasion, seeing that I was about to be favored so richly, it seemed to me that their reasoning was perfect.
"Only one thing more!" continued the Political Settler. "There's the matter of your salary. Considering that you won't have any more taxes to pay, I trust you will find it sufficient to have your present remuneration quadrupled."
For a moment I stood gaping at my benefactor, wondering if he were trying to make sport of me. But my hesitation was strangely misconstrued.
"Well, sir, I don't blame you for being in doubt," sympathized the thirteenth Vice-Executive Director. "You really should get more than that, in order to keep up your position in the Second Class. I'll speak to the other Directors, and see if they can't do something better for you. Perhaps they'll consent to giving you an annual bonus. Meanwhile you may report for work the wake after next."
"Thank you, thank you exceedingly!" I acknowledged, bowing to the floor for about the twentieth time.
Then, while my visitors uttered sharp orders to their lackeys and wheeled ceremoniously away, I sank down upon my chair in a daze of astonishment. Certainly, if all that I had been promised should come to pass, I was the luckiest man in Wu!