CHAPTER XXV
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