The Devolutionist and the Emancipatrix by Homer Eon Flint (recommended reading txt) 📕

ignorant one. That's all there is to it, Reblong! Don't fool yourself into thinking that the commission has done all this for your benefit! Not much!"

"Maybe you're right," conceded Reblong. "As for myself, I don't care a rap what the commission's reasons were. I'm satisfied!"

The other man looked disgusted. "Satisfied! Just because you're guaranteed your dollar an hour, and your pension at sixty! Satisfied, when half the company's profits go to the owners, not one of whom ever did a bit of work in his life! A bunch of people who do nothing but blow in the money we earn, and spend more in a day than we do in a month!"

"They're welcome," commented Reblong with much indifference. "If I got all that you have told me is coming to me, I'd probably ruin myself with high living anyhow."

"You don't mean to say that you've swallowed that old piffle!" said the black-bearded chap incredulously.

"I don't see any piffle about it. As I look at the matter, the owners are doing us a genuine favor. Not only do they take the burden of our surplus earnings off our shoulders, but they run our government for us without charge."

"Well, I'll be utterly damned!" The other fellow looked as though the words were not half strong enough. "I never thought a full-grown man could continue to believe the stuff we were taught when we were kids! Don't you ever think for yourself, Reblong? Why, look here!"

He came closer and spoke with painstaking clearness, as though he were addressing a child.

"The commission, instead of assuring us that increased wages would be our ruin, could just as well be educating us to spend wisely! Just as well, Reblong! And as for child labor—man, children ought to be kept out of industry until they're twenty, instead of sixteen! Every last one of us ought to be given a college education, instead of merely the children of the rich! And all this could be done, too. There's no earthly reason why we should permit that bunch of parasites in Hafen to graft off us any longer! Put 'em to work, like you and me, and make life easier for us all!"

"But," objected Reblong, a little upset, "there's only a few of the owners. They couldn't help much."

"But their servants could. Do you know that there's ten servants, on an average, to every family of the rich? Servants who do nothing but make life still easier for people who already hog it all!"

"Well, suppose they did all go to work; who would run our government for us, my friend?"

"Who! Why—if we can do the work, I guess we can certainly do the governing, Reblong."

Reblong turned away, plainly bewildered. "It doesn't look right to me, old man. I'd rather let things stand as they are, so far as I'm concerned."

Somewhere a warning instrument was thrumming loudly. The man with the democratic ideas automatically turned to his locker, and proceeded to change his outer clothing. Reblong meanwhile took off his suit and slipped into some full-length overalls. As he buttoned them up around the neck he stepped in front of a glass.

Smith was nearly floored. The man was almost his exact double; an ordinary, everyday sort of a chap, with a very commonplace face. Perhaps, like Smith's, his face concealed a remarkable technical knowledge; but nobody would have given him a second glance. Was he, thought Smith, a typical Capellan workman?

The other man was ready to go. He hesitated, studying the floor; then said, regretfully:

"The worst part of it is, Reblong, everybody I talk to is as bad as you are. They all admit that things are not what they should be—but nobody cares!"

He went to the door, and Reblong heard him say, under his breath, as he turned the knob:

"Great Heavens! What's come over the world anyhow? Has it gone stagnant?"

X A RIPPLE IN THE POOL

It seemed as though he were right. The whole great pool of humanity which comprised Capellette was still, quiescent, stagnant. Was there nothing to arouse it, no ripple in the pool?

The doctor had this question uppermost in his mind when he located young Ernol. He found him getting ready to accompany his father, who seemed about to take advantage of the freedom Powart had conditionally given him. There was no doubt about it; the radical was going straight back to his revolutionary teaching.

He was saying, "Of course, my boy, I can't compel you to stay at home." The doctor delighted in the vigorous, frank manner and powerful voice of the man; they belonged perfectly with his black hair and bristling beard, his flashing eyes and aggressive nose. "I'd rather you stayed out of this; at the same time, I'd be a proud man if you didn't!"

The student calmly finished his dressing. "What time did you tell the men to come?" was all he said; and the father chuckled, then sighed.

The two took flight in a small two-seater. It was night, and the doctor took note of the planet's system of signal lights. Within five minutes, however, the flight ended with a landing in some sort of a deep depression; the doctor called it a ravine.

Climbing from the machine, the two apostles stepped a few paces in total darkness; then the elder man produced a small electric torch, which he wig-wagged above his head. There was a series of answering flashes at a distance; and next moment a door, let into the side of the ravine, opened right in front of the pair.

They stepped in and closed the door after them, then turned their light down a long corridor. Reaching the end of this the doctor noted a loophole in the wall, from which projected something suspiciously, like the muzzle of a machine gun. He had no difficulty in imagining the consequences should some one open that hidden door without first giving the signal.

Much as one might enter a lodge-room, the two radicals showed their faces at a port-hole in a door, after which they passed guards with masklike helmets. In a few seconds they found themselves in a brilliantly lighted hall, very large and commodious except for the heavy pillars which supported its low ceiling. It was half filled with men.

The elder Ernol had no use for formality. After brief greetings to some kind of a committee, he took his place on a platform; while his son unconsciously gratified the doctor by looking over the crowd. Presumably they were all workers; and in one way they were all alike; the habitual contentment in their faces had been momentarily replaced by excitement. However, they were quiet and well behaved enough.

"Comrades," began the radical without delay, "I appreciate your coming here at all, under the circumstances. The commission plainly warned me that any further teaching would be disastrous. I am not sure, but I imagine they would arrest both myself and those found with me. If there is any one who feels that he would rather not take the risk, now is the time for him to go."

There was a moment's pause; then, in the back of the hall, two men who had been sitting together got up and hurriedly went out. Ernol waited, but there was no further exodus.

"I will lose no time then, but proceed to give you the proofs regarding the commission." He produced a small parcel of photographs. "These pictures are the most dangerous things I have ever carried on my person. I took them in the dead of night, by flashlight, in the library of the University of Calastia.

"They are"—he paused portentously—"reproductions of pages from the secret census!"

To most of the men this meant something highly significant. They cranned their necks in their excitement.

"I am going to pass them around, negatives and all. You see where I have checked off the most important items. They prove to any one with reason that the commission has been lying to us; that the workers are being taxed more heavily than the owners; that the owners are being favored in every way. I don't care whether you agree with my ideas or not; these photographs"—his voice shook the hall—"prove that the commission is not even giving you what you thought you were getting!"

He took a single step down from the platform, his hand outstretched, about to pass the parcel to the man in the nearest seat. At that instant all the lights were extinguished.

There was a moment's stunned silence; then the place broke into an uproar. Yells of fright and anger, the crashing of chairs, screams of pain; all these young Ernol heard without himself giving voice. He was sprinting down one side of the hall.

Suddenly there came a flash of light straight ahead. Ernol had reached the outer corridor. And the doctor heard a great commotion going on outside the door in the ravine; a smashing and thudding, which filled the corridor with noise. Next second the door gave way, and simultaneously young Ernol leaped into the niche behind the thing which the doctor thought a machine gun. Another second, and he had the device in operation.

From its muzzle shot a thin stream of fire, which extended the whole length of the corridor. It lighted up everything with a bluish-white glare, revealing a mob of men at the door. They fell back, yelling with pain, some of them dropping in their tracks. And all the while the apparatus was dealing, not a shower of bullets, but a streak of liquid fire, which hissed and screamed like the blast from an oxygen blow-pipe.

But it was all over in a second or two. A noise from behind, and young Ernol started up suddenly, only to find himself in the grip of a veritable giant of a man. His struggles were simply useless. In a moment he was being carried bodily back into the hall, which the doctor saw was now lighted as before.

On one side, lined up amid a mass of wrecked chairs, stood most of the workers at bay. On the other were four men with small boxlike devices, such as Billie had already seen in the hands of Powart's guards, and which were kept trained threateningly upon the crowd. On the platform stood Ernol, now quite helpless in the grasp of two stalwart fellows.

The mob from the door poured in. Immediately they made captors of all the workers, who had precious little to say. Apparently they had been warned. The doctor also concluded that the capture was a piece of treachery, in which bribery had been employed.

Two minutes later young Ernol was placed in a large passenger flier, which the doctor labeled "Black Maria." Presumably the elder radical was taken in another; at any rate after another flight in the darkness, father and son shortly found themselves together again.

They were now in the drawing-room of some private residence, concluded the doctor. This puzzled him somewhat until, after a brief wait under the eyes of a half-dozen guards, the two radicals were taken into another room.

Here, lying on a couch, was a man whom the doctor soon identified. He was none other than Mona's patient, Eklan Norbith, the commission's deputy in Calastia. He was a burly, dark-featured fellow; and even though rigid in his plaster cast, he looked competent and formidable.

"Ernol," said he in a heavy, domineering voice, "there is no need to state the case to a man of your intelligence. You gave your word to stop your teachings; you have been caught in the act. Frankly, I rather thought you would do it; that is why I am here to-night. I want—to deal with you personally."

He paused for breath, and then went on, still ignoring the student, "Ernol, you know what I want. I want those photographs; and what is more, I am going to have them. You must have passed them to some one who escaped in the confusion; they have not been located on any one who has been captured, nor were they hid in the hall. Now I will give you exactly ten seconds [Footnote: For the sake of clearness, the Capellan second, whose actual length is of course unknown, is used here as though it were uniform with earth standards.] to tell me what you did with them."

He eyed a clock on the wall.

The radical, whose hands were tied behind him, nevertheless managed to strike a defiant pose. "I don't intend to tell you, Norbith. It is true that I handed them to one of my comrades; but I shall not tell you which one."

"Your time is up," said the man with the silver heart evenly. "Will you tell?"

Ernol contented