 CHAPTER I. THE RED AND BLACK AND GOLD. CHAPTER I. When but a child of seven, my uncle placed me in a private school, in which one of the so cold redeemed sub-sailors was a teacher of the German language. As I look back now, in the light of my present knowledge, I better comprehend the docile humility, and carefully nurtured ignorance of this man. In his classrooms he used as a text, a description of German life, taken from the captured submarine. From this book he had secured his own conception of a civilisation of which he really knew practically nothing. I recall how we used to ask Hermioneke, if he had actually seen those strange things of which he taught us. To this he always made answer. The book is official man's observation heirs. Part 2. He can talk it, said my playmates, who attended the public schools where all teaching of the language of the outcast nation was prohibited. They invariably elected me to be the Germans, and locked me up in the old garage, while they rained a stock of sun-dried clay bombs upon the roof, and then came with a rush to batter down the walls of Berlin, by breaking in the door, while I, muttering strange guttural oaths, would be led forth to be exterminated. On rainy days I would sometimes take my favourite playmates into my uncle's library, where five great maps hung, in ordered sequence on the panelled wall. The first map was labelled the Age of Nations 1914, and showed the black spot of Germany, like in size to many of the surrounding countries, the names of which one recited in the history class. The second map, Germany's maximum expansion of the First World War, 1918, showed the black area troubled in size, crowding into the pale gold of France, thrusting a hungry arm across the helispont, towards Baghdad, and from the Balkans to the Baltic, blotting out all else save the flaming red of Bolshevist Russia, which spread over the eastern half of Europe like a pool of fresh spilled blood. Third came the Age of the League of Nations, 1919 to 1983, with the gold of democracy battling with the spreading red of socialism for the black of autocracy had erstwhile vanished. The fourth map was the most fascinating and terrible. Again the black of autocracy appeared, obliterating the red of the brotherhood of man, spreading across half of Eurasia, and thrusting a broad black shadow to the Yellow Sea and a lesser one to the Persian Gulf. This map was labeled Maximum German Expansion of the Second World War, 1988, and lines of dotted white retreated in concentric waves to the line of 2041. This same year was the first date of the fifth map, which was labeled A Century of the World State, and here as all the sea was blue, so all the land was gold, save one black blot that might have been made by a single spattered drop of ink, for it was no bigger than the Irish island. The persistence of this remaining black on the map of the world troubled my boyish mind, as it has troubled three generations of the United World, and strive as I might I could not comprehend why the great blackness of the fourth map had been erased, and this small blot alone remained. When I returned from school for my vacation, after I had my first year of physical science, I sought out my uncle in his laboratory and asked him to explain the mystery of the little black island, standing adamant in the golden sea of all the world. That spot, said my uncle, would have been erased in two more years if a Leipzig Professor had not discovered the ray, yet we do not know his name, nor how he made his discovery. But just what is the ray? I asked. We do not know that, either, nor how it is made. We only know that it destroys the oxygen-carrying power of living blood. If it were an emanation from a substance like radium, they could have fired it in projectiles and so conquered the earth. If it were ether waves like electricity, we should have been able to have insulated against it. Or they should have been able to project it farther and destroy our aircraft. But the ray is not destructive beyond two thousand metres in the air, and hardly that far in the earth. Then why do we not fly over and land in army and great guns and batter down the walls of Berlin and be done with it? That, as you know, if you studied your history, has been tried many times and always with disaster. The bomb-torn soil of that black land is speckled white with the bones of world armies who were sent on landing invasions before you or I was born. But it was only heroic folly, one gun popping out of a tunnel mouth can slay a thousand men. To pursue the gunners into their catacombs meant to be gassed, and sometimes our forces were left to land in peace and set up their batteries to fire against Berlin, but the Germans would place ray-generators in the ground beneath them and slay our forces in an hour as the angel of Jehovah withered the hosts of the Assyrians. But why, I persisted, do we not tunnel under the ray-generators and dig our way to Berlin and blow it up? My uncle smiled indulgently, and that has been tried too, but they can hear our borings with microphones and cut us off, just as we cut them off when they try to tunnel out and place new generators. It is too slow, too difficult to either way. The line has wavered a little with the years, but to no practical avail. The war in our day has become merely a watching game. We, to keep the Germans from coming out, they, to keep us from penetrating within gunshot of Berlin. But to gain a mile of worthless territory either way means too great a human waste to be worth the price. Things must go on as they are to the Germans' tire of their sunless imprisonment, or till they exhaust some essential element in their soil, but wars, such as you read of, in your history, will never happen again. The Germans cannot fight the world in the air, nor in the sea, nor on the surface of the earth, and we cannot fight the Germans in the ground, so the war has become a fixed state of standing guard, the hope of victory, the fear of defeat have vanished, the romance of war is dead. But why, then, I asked, does the world patrol continue to bomb the roof of Berlin? Politics, replied my uncle, military politics, just feudal displays of pyrotechnics to amuse the populace and give heroically inclined young men a chance to strut in uniforms, but after the election this fall such folly will cease. Part 4 My uncle had predicted correctly, for by the time I again came home on my vacation, the newly elected pacifist council had reduced the aerial activities to mere watchful patrolling over the land of the enemy. Then came the report of an attempt to launch an airplane from the roof of Berlin. The people in dire panic, lest ray generators were being carried out by German aircraft, had clamoured for the recall of the pacifist council, and the bombardment of Berlin was resumed. During the lull of the bombing activities, my uncle, who stood high with the pacifist administration, had obtained permission to fly over Europe, and I, most fortunate of boys, accompanied him, the plane in which we travelled bore the emblem of the world patrol. On a cloudless day we sailed over the pockmarked desert that had once been Germany, and came within field-glass range of Berlin itself. On the wasted bomb-torn land lay the great-grade disc, the city of mystery, three hundred metres high they said it stood, but so vast was at extent that it seemed as flat and thin as a pancake on a griddle. "'More people live in that mass of concrete,' said my uncle, then in the whole of America west of the Rocky Mountains. His statement I have since learned fell short of half the truth, but then it seemed appalling. I fancied the city a giant anthill, and searched with my glass as if I expected to see the ants swarming out. But no sign of life was visible upon the monotonous surface of the sand-blanketed roof, and high above the range of naked vision hung the hawk-like watchers of the world patrol. The lure of unravelled secrets, the ambition for discovery and exploration stirred my boyish veins. Yes, I would know more of the strange race, the unknown life that surged beneath that grey blanket of mystery, but how, for over a century millions of men had felt that same longing to know, aviators landing by accident or intent within the lines had either returned with nothing to report, or they had not returned. Daring journalists with baskets of carrier pigeons had on foggy nights dropped by parachute to the roof of the city, but neither they nor the birds had brought back a single word of what lay beneath the armed and armoured roof. My own resolution was but a boy's dream, and I returned to Chicago to take up my chemical studies. End of Section 1 Section 2 of City of Endless Night by Milo Hastings This lipovox recording is in the public domain, recording by Kate Follis. Chapter 2 I Explore the Potash Mines of Stosford and Find a Diary in a Deadman's Pocket When I was twenty-four years old my uncle was killed in a laboratory explosion. He had been a scientist of renown, and a chemical inventor, who had devoted his life to the unraveling of the secrets of the synthetic foods of Germany. For some years I had been his trusted assistant. In our Chicago laboratory were carefully preserved food samples that had been taken from the captured submarines in years gone by, and what to me was even more fascinating, a collection of German books of like origin, which I had read with avidity. With the exception of those relating to submarine navigation I found them stupidly childish, and decided that they had been prepared to hide the truth, and not reveal it. My uncle had bequeathed me both his work and his fortune, but despairing of my ability worthily to continue his own brilliant research on synthetic food, I turned my attention to the potash problem, in which I had long been interested. My reading of early chemical works had given me a particular interest in the reclamation of the abandoned potash mines of Stosford. These mines, as any student of chemical history will know, were one of the richest properties of the old German state in the days before the endless war began, and Germany became isolated from the rest of the world. The mines were captured by the world in the year 2020, and were profitably operated for a couple of decades. Meanwhile the German lines were forced many miles to the rear, before the impregnable barrier of the ray had halted the progress of the world armies. A few years after the coming of the ray defences occurred what history records, as the tragedy of the mines. Six thousand workmen went down into the potash mines of Stosford one morning, and never came up again. The miners' families and the neighbouring villages died like weevils in fumigated grain. The region became a valley of pestilence and death, and all life withered for miles round. Numerous governmental projects were launched for the recovery of the potash mines, but all failed, and for one hundred and eleven years no man had penetrated those accursed shafts. Knowing these facts I wasted no time in soliciting government aid for my project, but was content to secure a permit to attempt the recovery with private funds with which my uncle's fortune supplied me in abundance. In April 2151 I set up my laboratory on the edge of the area of death. I had never accepted the orthodox view as to the composition of the gas that issued from the Stosford mines. In a few months I was gratified to find my doubts confirmed. A short time after this I made a more unexpected and astonishing discovery. I found that this complex and hitherto misunderstood gas could, under the influence of certain high-frequency electrical discharges, be made to combine with explosive violence, with the nitrogen of the atmosphere leaving only a harmless residue. We wired the surrounding region for the electrical discharge, and with a vast explosion of weird purple flame, cleared the whole area of the century old curse. Our laboratory was destroyed by the explosion. It was rebuilt nearer the mine shafts from which the gas still slowly issued. Again we set up our electrical machinery, and dropped our cables into the shafts, this time clearing the air of the mines. A hasty exploration revealed the fact that but a single shaft had remained intact. A third time we prepared our electrical machinery. We let down a cable and succeeded in getting but a faint reaction at the bottom of the shaft. After several repeated clearings we risked descent. Upon arrival at the bottom we were surprised to find it free from water, save for a trickling stream. The second thing we discovered was a pile of huddled skeletons of the workmen who had perished over a century previous. But our third and most important discovery was a boring from which the poisonous gas was slowly issuing. It took but a few hours to provide an apparatus to fire this gas as fast as it issued, and the potash mines of Stosford were regained for the world. My associates were for beginning mining operations at once, but I had been granted a twenty years franchise on the output of these mines, and I was in no such haste. The boring from which this poisonous vapor issued was clearly man-made. Moreover I alone knew the formula of that gas and had convinced myself once for all as to its man-made origin. I sent for microphones, and with their aid speedily detected the sound of machinery in other workings beneath. It is easy now to see that I aired and risking my own life as I did, without the precaution of confiding the secret of my discovery to others. But those were days of feverish excitement. Imposively I decided to make the first attack on the Germans as a private enterprise, and then call for military aid. I had my own equipment of poisonous bombs, and my sapping and mining experts determined that the German workings were but eighty metres beneath us. Hastily among the crumbling skeletons we set up our electrical boring machinery, and began sinking a one metre shaft towards the nearest sound. After twenty hours of boring the drill-head suddenly came off, and rattled down into a cavern. We saw a light, and heard guttural shouting below, and the cracking of a gun, as a few bullets spattered against the roof of our chamber. We heaved down our gas bombs, and covered over our shaft. Within a few hours the light below went out, and our microphones failed to detect any sound from the rocks beneath us. It was then perhaps that I should have called for military aid, but the uncanny silence of the lower workings proved too much for my eager curiosity. We waited two days, and still there was no evidence of life below. I knew there had been ample time for the gas from our bombs to have been dissipated, as it was decomposed by contact with moisture. A light was lowered, but this brought forth no response. I now called for a volunteer to descend the shaft. None was forthcoming from among my men, and against their protest I insisted on being lowered into the shaft. When I was a few metres from the bottom the cable parted, and I fell and lay stunned on the floor below. Part two. When I recovered consciousness the light had gone out. There was no sound about me. I shouted up the shaft above and could get no answer. The chamber in which I lay was many times my height, and I could make nothing out in the dark hole above. For some hours I scarcely stirred and feared to burn my pocket-flash, both because it might reveal my presence to lurking enemies, and because I wished to conserve my battery against grave or need. But no rescue came from my men above. Only recently, after the lapse of years, did I learn the cause of their deserting me, as I lay stunned from my fall my men, unable to get answer to their shoutings, had given me up for dead. Meanwhile the apparatus which caused the destruction of the German gas had gone wrong, my associates, unable to fix it, had fled from the mine and abandoned the enterprise. After some hours of waiting I stirred about, and found means to erect a rough scaffold, and reached the mouth of the shaft above me. I attempted to climb, but unable to get a hold of the smooth wet rock I gave up exhausted and despairing. Entombed in the depths of the earth I was either a prisoner of the German potash miners, if any remained alive, or a prisoner of the earth itself, with dead men for company. Collecting my courage I set about to explore my surroundings. I found some mining machinery evidently damaged by the explosion of our gas bombs. There was no evidence of men about living or dead. Stealthily I set out along the little railway track that ran through a passage down a steep incline. As I progressed I felt the air rapidly becoming colder. Presently I stumbled upon the first victim of our gas bombs, fallen headlong as he was fleeing. I hurried on. The air seemed to be blowing in my face and the cold was becoming intense. This puzzled me, for at this depth the temperature should have been above that on the surface of the earth. After a hundred metres or so of going I came into a larger chamber. It was intensely cold. From out another branching passageway I could hear a sizzling sound, as of steam escaping. I started to turn into this passage, but was met with such a blast of cold air that I dared not face it for fear of being frozen. Stamping my feet which were fast becoming numb I made the rounds of the chamber and examined the dead miners that were tumbled about. The bodies were frozen. One side of this chamber was partitioned off with some sort of metal wall. The doors stood blown open. It felt a little warmer in here and I entered and closed the door. Exploring the room with my dim light I found one side of it filled with a row of bunks, in each bunk a corpse. Along the other side of the room was a table with eating utensils and back of this were shelves with food packages. I was in danger of freezing to death and tumbling several bodies out of the bunks. I took the mattresses and built of them a clumsy enclosure and installed in their midst a battery heater which I found. In this fashion I managed to get fairly warm again. After some hours of huddling I observed that the temperature had moderated. My fear of freezing abated. I made another survey of my surroundings and discovered something that had escaped my first attention. In the far end of the room was a desk and seated before it with his head fallen forward on his arms was the form of a man. The miners had all been dressed in coarse artificial leather but this man was dressed in a woven fabric of cellulose silk. The body was frozen. As I tumbled it stiffly back it fell from the chair, exposing a ghastly face. I drew away in a creepy horror for as I looked at the face of the corpse I suffered a sort of waking nightmare in which I imagined that I was gazing at my own dead countenance. I concluded that my normal mind was slipping out of gear and proceeded to back off and avail myself of a tube of stimulant which I carried in my pocket. This revived me somewhat but again when I tried to look upon the frozen face the conviction returned that I was looking at my own dead self. I glanced at my watch and figured out that I had been in the German mine for thirty hours and had not tasted food or drink for nearly forty hours. Clearly I had to get myself in shape to escape hallucinations. I went back to the shelves and proceeded to look for food and drink. Happily, due to my work in my uncle's laboratory, these synthetic foods were not wholly strange to me. I drank copiously of a non-alcoholic chemical liquor and warmed on the heater and partook of some nitrogenous and some starchy porridges. It was an uncanny dining place but hunger soon conquer's mere emotion and I made out a meal. Then once more I faced the task of confronting this dead likeness of myself. This time I was clearheaded enough. I even went to the miner's lavatory and jerking down the metal mirror, scrutinized my own reflection and reassured myself of the closeness of the resemblance. My purpose framed in my mind as I did this. Clearly I was in German quarters and was likely to remain there. Sooner or later there must be a rescuing party. Without further ado I set about changing my clothing for that of the German. The fit of the dead man's clothes further emphasized the closeness of the physical likeness. I recalled my excellent command of the German language and began to wonder what manner of man I was supposed to be in this assumed personality. But my most urgent task was speedily to make way with the incriminating courts. With the aid of the brighter flashlight which I found in my new pockets I set out to find a place to hide the body. The cold that had so frightened me had now given way to almost normal temperature. There was no longer the sound of sizzling steam from the unexplored passageway. I followed this and presently came upon another chamber, filled with machinery. In one corner a huge engine, covered with frost, gave off a chill greeting. On the floor was a steaming puddle of liquid, but the breath of this steam cut like a blizzard. At once I guessed this was a liquid air engine. The dead engineer in the corner helped reveal the story. With his death from the penetrating gas, something had gone wrong with the engine. The turban had it blown off and the conveying pipe of liquid air had poured forth the icy blast that had so nearly frozen me along with the corpses of the Germans. But now the flow of liquid had ceased and the last remnants were evaporating from the floor. Evidently the supply pipe had been shut off further back on the line and I had little time to lose for rescuers were probably on the way. Along one of the corridors running from the engine room I found an open water drain, half choked with melting ice. Following this I came upon a grading where the water disappeared. I jerked up the grading and dropped a piece of ice down the well like shaft. I hastily returned and dragged forth the corpse of my double and with it everything I had myself brought into the mine. Straightening out the stiffened body I plunged it head foremost into the opening. The sound of a splash echoed within the dismal depths. I now hastened back to the chamber into which I had first fallen and destroyed the scaffolding I had erected there. Returning to the desk where I had found the man whose clothing I wore I sat down and proceeded to search my abundantly filled pockets. From one of them I pulled out a bulky notebook and a number of loose papers. The freshest of these was an official order from the Imperial Office of Chemical Engineers. The order ran as follows. Captain Carl Armstott, Laboratory 186 E-58. Reporters received at this office of the sound of sapping operations in Polish mine D-5. Go at once and verify the same in report of condition of gas generators and make analyses of output of the same. Evidently I was Carl Armstott and very happily a chemical engineer by profession. My task of impersonation so far looked feasible I could talk chemical engineering. The next paper I proceeded to examine was an identification folder done up in oiled fabric. Thanks to German thoroughness it was amusingly complete. On the first page appeared what I soon discovered to be my pedigree for four generations back. The printed form on which all this was minutely filled out made very clear statements from which I determined that my father and mother were both dead. I, Carl Armstott, 27 years of age, was the fourteenth child of my mother and was born when she was forty-two years of age. According to the record I was the ninety-seventh child of my father and born when he was fifty-four. As I read this I thought there was something here that I misunderstood, although subsequent discoveries made it plausible enough. There was no further record of my plentiful fraternity, but I took heart that the mere fact of the numerical abundance would make unlikely any great show of brotherly interest, a presumption which proved quite correct. On the second page of this folder I read the number and location of my living quarters, the sources from which my meals and clothing were issued, as well as the sizes and qualities of my garments, and numerous other references to various details of living, all of which seemed painstakingly ridiculous at the time. I put this elaborate identification paper back into its receptacle and opened the notebook. It proved to be a diary kept likewise in thorough German fashion. I turned to the last pages and perused them hastily. The notes in Armstott's diary were concerned almost wholly with his chemical investigations. All this I saw might be useful to me later, but what I needed more immediately was information as to his personal life. I scanned back hastily through the pages for a time without finding any such revelations. Then I discovered this entry made some months previously. I cannot think of chemistry tonight for the vision of Katrina dances before me as in a dream. It must be a strange mixture of bloodlines that could produce such wondrous beauty in no other woman have I seen such a blackness of hair and eyes combined with such a whiteness of skin. I suppose I should not have danced with her. Now I see all my resolutions shattered, but I think it was most of all the blackness of her eyes. What care we live but once! I read and reread this entry, and searched feverishly in Armstott's diary for further evidence of a personal life. But I only found tedious notes on his chemical theories. Perhaps this single reference to a woman was but a passing fancy of a man otherwise engrossed in his science. But if rescuers came, and I succeeded in passing for the German chemist, the presence of a woman in my new role of life would surely undo all my effort. If no personal acquaintance of the dead man came with the rescuing party, I saw no reason why I could not for the time pass successfully as Armstott. I should at least make the effort, and I reasoned I could best do this by playing the malingerer and appearing mentally incompetent. Such a ruse I reasoned would give me opportunity to hear much and say little, and perhaps so get my bearings in the new role that I could continue it successfully. Then as I was about to return the notebook to my pocket, my hopes sank as I found this brief entry, which I had at first scanning overlooked. It is twenty days now since Katrina and I have been united. She does not interfere with my work as much as I feared. She even lets me talk chemistry to her, though I am sure she understands not one word of what I tell her. I think I have made a good selection, and it is surely a permanent one. Therefore I must work harder than ever, or I shall not get on. This alarmed me. Yet if Armstott had married he made very little fuss about it. Evidently it concerned him chiefly in relation to his work. But whoever and whatever Katrina was, it was clear that her presence would be disastrous to my plans of assuming his place in the German world. Pondering over the ultimate difficulty of my situation, but with the growing faith in the plan I had evolved for avoiding immediate explanations, I fell into a long pose-boned sleep. The last thing I remember was tumbling from my chair and sprawling out upon the floor, where I managed to snap out my light before the much needed sleep quite overcame me. Part three. I was awakened by voices, and opened my eyes to find the place brightly lighted. I closed them again quickly, as someone approached, and prodded me with the toe of his boot. Here is a man alive! said a voice above me. He is Captain Armstott. The chemist! said another voice, approaching. This is good. We have special orders to search for him. The newcomer bent over and felt my heart. I was quite aware that it was functioning normally. He shook me, and called me by name. After repeated shakings I opened my eyes and stared at him blankly. But I said nothing. Presently he left me, and returned with a stretcher. I lay inertly as I was placed thereon, and born out of the chamber. Other stretcher-bearers were walking ahead. We passed through the engine room where mechanics were at work on the damaged liquid air engine. My stretcher was placed on a little car which moved swiftly along the tunnel. We came into a large subterranean station, and I was removed and brought before a bevy of white-garbed physicians. They looked at my identification folder and then examined me. Through it all I lay limp and as near lifeless as I could simulate, and they succeeded in getting no speech out of me. The final orders were to forward me post-haste to the Imperial Hospital for complex gas cases. After an eventless journey of many hours I was again unloaded and transferred to an elevator. For several hundred metres we sped upward through a shaft, while about us whistled a blast of cold, crisp air. At last the elevator stopped, and I was carried out to an ambulance that stood waiting in a brilliantly lighted passage, arched over with gray concrete. I was no longer beneath the surface of the earth, but was somewhere in the massive concrete structure of the city of Berlin. After a short journey our ambulance stopped and attendants came out and carried my litter through an open doorway and down a long hallway into the spacious ward of the hospital. From half-closed eyes I glanced about apprehensively for a black-haired woman. With a sigh of free leaf I saw there were only doctors and male attendants in the room. They treated me most professionally, and gave no sign that they suspected I was other than Captain Karl Armstatt, which fact my papers so eloquently testified. The conclusion of their examination was voiced in my presence. Physically he's normal, said the head physician, but his mind seems no stupor. There is no remedy, as the nature of the gas is unknown, all that can be done is to await the wearing off of the effect. I was then left alone for some hours, and my appetite was troubling me. At last an attendant approached with some savoury soup. He propped me up and proceeded to feed me with a spoon. I made out from the conversation about me that the other patients were officers from the underground fighting forces. An atmosphere of military discipline pervaded the hospital, and I felt reassured in the conclusion that all visiting was forbidden. Yet my thoughts turned repeatedly to the black-eyed Katrina of Armstatt's diary. No doubt she had been informed of the rescue, and was waiting in grief and anxiety to see him, so both she and I were awaiting a tragic moment, she to learn that her husband or lover was dead, I for the inevitable tearing off of my protecting disguise. After some days the head physician came to my cot and questioned me. I gazed at him, and knit my brows as if struggling to think. You were gassed in the mine, he kept repeating. Can you remember? Yes, I ventured. I went to the mine. There was the sound of boring overhead. I sat meant watch. I was at the desk. I heard shouting. After that I cannot remember. They were all dead, but you, said the doctor. All dead, I repeated. I liked the sound of this, and so kept on mumbling. All dead. All dead. Part 4 My plan was working nicely, but I realised I could not keep up this role forever, nor did I wish to, for the idleness and suspense were intolerable, and I knew that I would rather face whatever problems my recovery involved than to continue in this monotonous and meaningless existence. So I convalesced by degrees and got about the hospital, and was permitted to wait on myself, but I cultivated a slowness and brevity of speech. One day as I sat reading, the attendant announced, A visitor to see you, sir? Trembling with excitement and fear, I tensely waited the coming of the visitor. Presently a stalwart-faced young man followed the attendant into the room. You remember, Hoeknecht, said the nurse? He is your assistant at the laboratory. I stared stupidly at the man, and cold fear crapped over me as he with puzzled eyes returned my gaze. You're much changed, he said at last. I hardly recognise you. I've been very ill, I replied. Just then the head physician came into the room, and seeing me talking to a stranger walked over to us. As I said nothing, Hoeknecht introduced himself. The medical man began at once to enlarge upon the peculiarities of my condition. The unknown gas, he explained, acted upon the whole nervous system and left profound effects. Never in the records of the hospital has there been so strange a case. Hoeknecht seemed quite odd and completely credulous. His memory must be revived, continued the head physician, and that can best be done by recalling the dominating interest of his mind. Captain Armstott was wholly absorbed in his research work in the laboratory, offered Hoeknecht. Then, said the physician, you must revive the activity of those particular brain cells. With that command the laboratory assistant was left in charge. He took his new task quite seriously, turning to me and raising his voice as if to penetrate my doled mentality. He began, Do you not remember our work in the laboratory? Yes, the laboratory. Laboratory, I repeated vaguely. Hoeknecht described the laboratory in detail, and gradually his talk drifted into an account of the chemical research. I listened eagerly to get the threads of the work I must needs do if I were to maintain my role as Armstott. Knowing now that visitors were permitted me, I again grew apprehensive over the possible advent of Katrina. But no woman appeared. In fact I had not yet seen a woman among the Germans. Always it was Hoeknecht, and, strictly according to his orders, he talked incessant chemistry. Part 5 The day I resumed my normal wearing apparel I was shown into a large lounging room for convalescence. I seated myself a short distance apart from a group of officers, and sat eyeing another group of large hoaking fellows at the far end of the room. These I concluded to be common soldiers, for I heard the officers in my ward grumbling at the fact that they were quartered in the same hospital with men of the ranks. Presently an officer came over and took a seat beside me. It is very rarely that you men in the professional service are gassed, he said. You must have a dull life. I do not see how you can stand it. But certainly, I replied, it is not so dangerous. And for that reason it must be stupid. I, for one, think that even in the fighting forces there is no longer sufficient danger to keep up the military morale. Danger makes men courageous. Without danger courage declines, and without courage what advantage would there be in the military life? Suppose, I suggested, the war should come to an end. But how can it? he asked incredulously. How can there be an end to the war? We cannot prevent the enemy from fighting. But what, I ventured, if the enemy should decide to quit fighting. They've almost quit now, he remarked with apparent disgust. They are losing the fighting spirit, but no wonder they say that the world state population is so great that only two percent of its men are in the fighting forces. What I cannot see is how it people so peaceful can keep from utter degeneration. And they say that the world state soldiers are not even bred for soldiering, but are picked from all classes. If they should decide to quit fighting, as you suggest, we also would have to quit. It would be intolerable. It is bad enough now. But could you not return to industrial life and do something productive? Productive? sneered the fighter. I knew that you professional men had no courage. It is not to be expected. But I never before heard even one of your class suggest a thing like that. A military man do something productive. Why don't you suggest that we be changed to women? And with that my fellow patient rose, and turning sharply on his metal heel walked away. The officer's attitude toward his profession set me thinking, and I found myself wondering how far it was shared by the common soldiers. The next day when I came out into the convalescent corridor I walked past the group of officers and went down among the men whose garments bore no medals or insignia. They were unusually large men, evidently from some specially selected regiment, picking out the most intelligent-looking one of the group I sat down beside him. Is this the first time you've been gassed? I inquired. Third time replied the soldier. I should think you would have been discharged. Discharged? said the soldier in a perplexed tone. Why, I am only forty-four years old. Why should I be discharged, unless I get an explosion and lose a leg or something? But you've been gassed three times. I said. I should think they ought to let you return to civil life and your family. The soldier looked hard at the insignia of my rank as captain. You professional officers don't know much, do you? A soldier quit in due common labour, and how that's a fine idea. And a family. Do you think I'm a ho and so learn? At the thought the soldier chuckled. Me, with a family, he muttered to himself. Now that's a fine idea. I saw that I was getting on dangerous ground, but curiosity prompted a further question. Then I suppose you have nothing to hope for until you reach the age of retirement, and this war should come to an end. Again the soldier eyed me carefully. Now you do have some queer ideas. There was a man in our company who used to talk like that when no officers were around. This fellow, his name was Montufo, said he could read books, that he was a forbidden love-child, and his father was an officer. I guess he was forbidden all right, for he certainly wasn't right in his head. He said that he would go out on the top of the ground and march over the enemy country, and be shot at by the flying planes like the roof guards. If the officers had heard him, they would surely have sent him to the crazy ward, while he said that the war would be over after that, and we would all go to the enemy country and go about as we like, and own houses, and women, and flying planes, and animals, as if the royal house would ever let a soldier do things like that. Well, I said. And why not, if the war were over? Now there you go again. How do you mean the war was over? What would all us soldiers do if there was no fighting? You could work, I said, in the shops. But if we worked in the shops, what would the workmen do? They would work too, I suggested. The soldier was silent for a time. I think I get your idea, he said. The eugenics staff would cut down the birth rates, so that there would only be enough soldiers and workers to fill the working jobs. They might do that, I remarked, wishing to lead him on. Well, said the soldier, returning to the former thought. I hope they won't do that until I'm dead. I don't care to go up on the ground to get shot at by the fighting planes. At least now we have something over our heads, and if we are going to get gassed or blown up we can't see it coming, at least. Just then the officer with whom I had talked the day before came up. He stopped before us and scowled at the soldier who saluted in hasty confusion. I wish, Captain, said the officer, addressing me, that you would not take advantage of these absurd hospital conditions to disrupt discipline by fraternizing with a private. At this the soldier looked up and saluted again. Well, said the officer. He's not to blame, sir, said the soldier. He's off his head. Chapter 3 In a Black Utopia The Blonde Brood Breeds and Swarms Part 1 It was with a strange mixture of eagerness and fear that I received the head physician's decision that I would henceforth recover my faculties more rapidly in the familiar environment of my own home. A wooden-faced male nurse accompanied me in a closed vehicle that ran noiselessly through the vaulted interior streets of the completely roofed-in city. Once our vehicle entered an elevator and was let down a brief distance. We finally alighted in a street very like the one on which the hospital was located and filed down a narrow passageway. My companion asked for my keys, which I found in my clothing. I stood by with a palpitating heart as he turned the lock and opened the door. The place we entered was a comfortably furnished bachelor's apartment. Books and papers were littered about giving evidence of no disturbance since the sudden leaving of the occupant. Immensely relieved, I sat down in an upholstered chair while the nurse scurried about and put the place in order. You feel quite at home? He asked as he finished his task. Quite, I replied, things are coming back to me now. You should have been sent home sooner, he said. I wished to tell the chief as much, but I am only a second-ear intern, and it is forbidden me to express an original opinion to him. I am sure I will be all right now, I replied. He turned to go and then paused. I think, he said, that you should have some notice on you, that when you do go out, if you become confused and make mistakes, the guards will understand. I will speak to Lieutenant Forrester, the third assistant, and ask that such a card be sent to you. With that he took his departure. When he had gone I breathed joyfully and freely, the rigid face and staring eye that I had cultivated, relaxed into a natural smile, and then I broke into a laugh. Here I was in the heart of Berlin, unsuspected of being other than a loyal German, and free, for the time at least, from problems of personal relations. I now made an elaborate inspection of my surroundings. I found a wardrobe full of men's clothing, all of a single shade of mauve like the suit I wore, some suits I guessed to be work clothes from their cheaper texture, and some, much finer, were evidently dress apparel. Having reassured myself that Armstott had been the only occupant of the apartment, I turned to a pile of papers that the hospital attendant had picked up from the floor, where they had dropped from a mail-shoot. Most of these proved to be the accumulated copies of a daily chemical news bulletin. Others were technical chemical journals. Among the letters I found an invitation to a meeting of a chemical society. And a note from my tailor asking me to call. The third letter was written on a typewriter, an instrument the like of which I had already discovered in my study. This sheet bore a neatly engraved head, reading Katrina, Permit 843LX, Apartment 57 K Street, Level of the Free Women. The letter ran, Dear Carl, for three weeks now you have failed to keep your appointments and sent no explanation. You surely know that I will not tolerate such rude neglect. I have reported to the supervisor that you are dropped from my list. So this was Katrina, here at last was the end of the fears that had haunted me. Part 2 As I was scanning the chemical journal I heard a bell ring, and turning about I saw that a metal box had slid forth upon a sideboard from an opening in the wall. In this box I found my dinner which I proceeded to enjoy in solitude. The food was more varied than in the hospital. Some was liquid and some gelatinous, and some firm like bread or biscuit. But of natural food products there was nothing save a dish of mushrooms, and a single sprig of green no longer than my finger, and which, like a feather in a boy's cap, was inserted conspicuously in the top of a synthetic pudding. There was one food that puzzled me for it was sausage-like in form and sausage-like in flavour, and I was sure contained some real substance of animal origin, presuming, as I did at that moment, that no animal life existed in Berlin. I ate this sausage with doubts and misgivings. The dinner finished I looked for a way to dispose of the dishes. Packing them back in the container I fumbled about and found a switch, which set something going in the wall, and my dishes departed to the public dishwasher. Having cleared the desk I next turned to Armstotz bookshelves. My attention was caught by a ponderous volume. It proved to be an atlas and directory of Berlin. In the front of this was a most revealing diagram, which showed Berlin to be a city of sixty levels. The five lowest levels were underground, and all were labelled mineral industries. Above these were eight levels of food, clothing, and miscellaneous industries. Then came the seven workmen's residence levels, divided by trade groups. Above this were the four intellectual levels, on one of which I as a chemist had my abode. Directly above these was the level of free women, and above that the residence level for military officers. The next was the royal level, double in height of the other levels of the city. Then came the administrative level, followed by eight maternity levels, then four levels of female schools, and nine levels of male schools. Then for six levels and reaching to within five levels of the roof of the city were soldier's barracks. Three of the remaining floors were labelled swine levels, and one green gardens. Just beneath the roof was the defence level, and above that the open roof itself. It was a city of some three hundred metres in height, with mineral industries at the bottom and the swine levels, I recall the sausage, at the top, midway between remote from possible attack through mines or from the roof. Royalty was sheltered, while the other privileged groups of society were stratified above and below it. Following the diagram of levels was a most informing chart, arranged like a huge multiplication table. It gave, after each level, the words permitted, forbidden, and permitted as announced, arranged in columns for each of the other levels. From this I traced out that as a chemist I was permitted on all the industrial workmen's and intellectual levels, and on the level of free women. I was permitted, as announced, on the administrative and royal levels, but forbidden on the levels of military officers and soldiers' barracks, maternity, and male and female schools. I found that as a chemist I was particularly fortunate, for many other groups were given even less liberty, as for common workmen and soldiers they were permitted on no levels except their own. The most perplexing thing about this system was the apparent segregation of such large groups of men from women. Family life in Germany was evidently wonderfully altered and seemingly greatly restricted, a condition inconsistent with the belief that I had always held that the German race was rapidly increasing. Turning to my atlas index I looked up the population statistics of the city and found that by the last census it was nearly three hundred million, and except for the few millions in the mines this huge mass of humanity was quartered beneath a single roof. I was greatly surprised for this population figure was more than double the usual estimates current in the outside world. Coming from a world in which the ancient tendency to congest in cities had long since been overcome, I was staggered by the fact that nearly as many people were living in this one city as existed in the whole of North America. Yet when I figured the floor area of the city, which was roughly oval in shape, being eight kilometers in breadth, and eleven in length, I found that the population on a given floor area was no greater than it had been in the island of Manhattan before the reform land laws were put into effect in the latter part of the twentieth century. There was, therefore, nothing incredible in these figures of total population, but what I discovered next was a severe strain on credence. It was the German population by sexes. The figures showed that there were nearly two and a half males for every female. According to the usual estimate of war losses the figure should have been at a ratio of six women living to about five men, and here I found them recorded as only two women to five men. Inspection of the birth rate showed an even higher proportion of males. I consulted further tables that gave births by sexes and groups. These varied somewhat, but there was this great preponderance of males in every class but one. Only among the seventeen thousand members of royalty did the proportion of the sexes approach the normal. Apparently I had found an explanation of the careful segregation of German women that were not enough to go around. Turning the further pages of my atlas I came upon an elaborately illustrated directory of the uniforms and insignia of the various military and civil ranks and classes. As I had already anticipated I found that any citizen in Berlin could immediately be placed in his proper group and rank by his clothing which was prescribed with military exactness. Various fabrics and shades indicated the occupational groupings while trimmings and insignia distinguished the ranks within the groups. In all there were many hundreds of distinct uniforms. Two groups alone proved exceptions to this ironclad rule. Royalty and free women were permitted to dress as they chose and were restricted only in that they were forbidden to imitate the particular uniforms of other groups. I next investigated the contents of Armstod's desk. My most interesting find was a check-book with receipts and expenditures carefully recorded on the stubs. From this I learned that as Armstod I was in receipt of an income of five thousand marks paid by the government. I did not know how much purchasing value that would amount to, but from the account book I saw that the expenses had not equaled a third of it, which explained why there was a bank balance of some twenty thousand marks. Clearly I would need to master the signature of Carl Armstod, so I searched among the papers until I found a bundle of returned decks. Many of the larger checks had been made out to Katrina, others to the Master of Games, evidently to cover gambling losses. The smaller checks I found by reference to the stubs were for ornaments or entertainment that might please a woman. The lack of the more ordinary items of expenditure was presently made clear by the discovery of a number of punchmarked cards, for intermittent though necessary expenses, such as tonsorial service, clothing, and books. For the more constant necessities of life, such as rent, food, laundry, and transportation, there was no record whatever, and I correctly assumed that these were supplied without compensation and were therefore not a matter of personal choice or permissible variation. Of money in its ancient form of metal coins and paper, I found no evidence. Part 3 In my mail the next morning I found a card signed by Lieutenant Forester of the hospital staff. It read, The bearer Carl Armstod has recently suffered from gas poisoning while defending the mines beneath enemy territory. This has affected his memory. If he is therefore found disobeying any ruling or straying beyond his permitted bounds, return him to his apartment and call the hospital for complex gas cases. It was evidently a very kindly effort to protect a man whose loss of memory might lead him into infractions of the numerous rulings of German life. With this help I became ambitious to try the streets of Berlin alone. The notice from the tailor afforded an excuse. Consulting my atlas to get my bearings I now ventured forth. The streets were tunnel-like passageways closed over with a beamed ceiling of whiteish-gray concrete studded with glowing light globes. In the residence districts the smooth sidewalls were broken only by high ventilating gratings and the narrow passage halls from which led the doors of the apartments. The uncanny quiet of the streets of this city with its three hundred million inhabitants awed and impressed me. Hurryedly I walked along occasionally passing men dressed like myself. They were pale men with blanched or sallow faces. But nowhere were their faces of ruddy tan as one sees in a world of sun. The men in the hospital had been pale, but that had seemed less striking for one is used to pale faces in a hospital. It came to me with a sense of something lost that my own countenance blanched in the mine and hospital would so remain colourless like the faces of the men who now stole by me in their felted footwear with a cat-like tread. At a cross-street I turned and came upon a small group of shops with monotonous panelled display windows inserted in the concrete walls. Here I found my tailor, and going in I promptly laid down his notice and my clothing card. He glanced casually at the papers, punched the card, and then looking up he remarked that my new suit had been waiting some time. I began explaining the incident in the mine and the stay in the hospital, but the tailor was either disinterested or did not comprehend. Will you try on your new suit now? He interrupted, holding forth the garments. The suit proved a trifle tight about the hips, but I hastened to assure the tailor that the fit was perfect. I removed it and watched him do it up in a parcel, open a wall closet, call my house number, and send my suit on its way through one of the numerous carriers that interlaced the city. As I walked more leisurely back to my apartment by a less direct way, I found my analytical brain puzzling over the refreshing quality of the breezes that blew through those tunnel-like streets. With bits of paper I traced the airflow from the lattice faces of the elevator shafts to the ventilating gratings of the enclosed apartments and concluded that there must be other shafts to the rear of the apartments for its exit. It occurred to me that it must take an enormous system of ventilating fans to keep this air in motion, and then I remembered the liquid air engine I had seen in the mine and a realization of the economy and efficiency of the whole scheme dawned upon me. The Germans had solved the power problem by using the heat of the deeper strata of the earth to generate power through the agency of liquid air and the exhaust from their engines had automatically solved their ventilating problem. I recalled with a smile that I had seen no evidence of heating apparatus anywhere except that which the miners had used to warm their food. In this city cooling rather than heating facilities would evidently be needed, even in the dead of winter, since the heat generated by the inhabitants and the industrial processes would exceed the radiation from the exterior walls and roof of the city. Sunshine and fresh air they had not, but our own scientists had taught us for generations that heat and humidity and not lack of oxygen or sunshine was the cause of the depression experienced in indoor quarters. The air of Berlin was cool and the excess of vapor had been frozen out of it. Yes, the climate of Berlin should be more salubrious to the body, if not to the mind, than the fickle environment of capricious nature. From my reasoning about these ponderous problems of existence I was diverted to a trivial matter. The men I observed on the streets all wore their hair clipped short, while mine, with six weeks growth, was getting rather long. I had seen several barber's signs, but I decided to walk on for quite a distance beyond my apartment. I did not want to confront a barber who had known Carl Armstatt for barbers deal critically in the matter of heads and faces. At last I picked out a shop. I entered and asked for a haircut. But you are not on my list, said the barber, staring at me in a puzzled way. Why do you not go to your own barber? Grasping the situation, I replied that I did not like my barber. Then why do you not apply at the tonsorial administrative office of the level for permission to change? Returning to my apartment, I looked up the office in my directory, went thither, and asked the clerk if I could exchange barbers. He asked for my card and after a deal of clerical activities, wrote thereon the name of a new barber. With this official sanction I finally got my haircut, and my card punched, thinking, meanwhile, that the soundness of my teeth would obviate any amateur detective work on the part of a dentist. Nothing it seemed was left for the individual to decide for himself. His every want was supplied by orderly arrangement, and for everything he must have an authoritative permit. Had I not been classed as a research chemist, and therefore a man of some importance, this simple business of getting a haircut might have proved my undoing. Indeed, as I afterwards learned, the exclusive privacy of my living quarters was a mark of distinction. Had I been one of lower ranking, I should have shared my apartment with another man, who would have slept in my bed while I was at work, for in the sunless city was neither night nor day, and the whole population worked and slept in prescribed shifts, the vast machinery of industry, like a blind giant in some plutonic treadmill, toiled ceaselessly. The next morning I decided to extend my travels to the medical level, which was located just above my own. There were stairs beside the elevator shafts, but these were evidently for emergency as they were closed with locked gratings. The elevator stopped at my ring. Not sure of the proper manner of calling my floor, I was carried past the medical level. As we shot up through the three hundred meter shaft, the names of levels as I read them in my atlas flashed by on the blind doors. On the topmost defence level we took on an officer of the roof-guard, strange they swore the of skin, and now the car shot down while the rising air rushed by us with a whistling roar. On the return trip I called my floor as I had heard others do, and was let off at the medical level. It was even more monotonously quiet than the chemical level, save for the hurrying passage of occasional ambulances on their way between the elevators and the various hospitals. The living quarters of the physicians were identical with those on the chemist level, so too were the quiet shops from which the physicians supplied their personal needs. Standing before one of these I saw in a window a new book entitled Diseases of Nutrition. I went in and asked to see a copy. The bookseller staring at my chemical uniform in amazement reached quickly under the counter and pressed a button. I became alarmed and turned to go out, but found the door had been automatically closed and locked. Trying to appear unconcerned I stood idly glancing over the bookshelves, while the bookseller watched me from the corner of his eye. In a few minutes the door opened from without, and a man in the uniform up the street-guard appeared. The bookseller motioned toward me. Your identification folder, said the guard. Mechanically I withdrew it and handed it to him. He opened it and discovered the card from the hospital, smiling on me with an air of condescension. He took me by the arm and led me forth and conducted me to my own apartment on the chemical level. Arriving there he pushed me gently into a chair and stepped toward the switch of the telephone. Just a minute, I said. I remember now. I was not on my level. That was not my bookstore. The guard orders me to call up the hospital, said the guard. It is unnecessary, I said. Do not call them. The guard gazed first at me, and then at the card. It is signed by a lieutenant and you are a captain. His brows knitted as he wrestled with the problem. I do not know what to do. Does a captain with an affected memory outrank a lieutenant? He does. I solemnly assured him. Still a little puzzled he returned the card, saluted and was gone. It had been a narrow escape. I got out my atlas and read again the rules that set forth my right to be at large in the city. Clearly I had a right to be found in the medical level, but in trying to buy a book there I had evidently aired most seriously. So I carefully memorised the list of shops set down in my identification folder and on my cards. For the next few days I lived alone in my apartment, unmolested, except by an occasional visit from Holknecht, the laboratory assistant, who knew nothing but chemistry, talked nothing but chemistry, and seemed dead to all human emotions and human curiosity. Applying myself diligently to the study of Armstotz books and notes, I was delighted to find that the Germans, despite their great chemical progress, were ignorant of many things I knew. I saw that my knowledge, discreetly used, might enable me to become a great man among them, and so learn secrets that would be of immense value to the outer world, should I later contrive to escape from Berlin. By my discoveries of the German workings in the potash mines I had indeed opened a new road to Berlin. It was up to me by further discoveries to open a road out again, not only for my own escape, but perhaps also to find a way by which the world armies might enter Berlin, as the Greeks entered Troy. Vague ambitious dreams were these filled and thrilled me, for I was young in years, and the romantic spirit of heroic adventures surged in my blood. These days of study were quite uneventful, except for a single illuminating incident, a further example of the super-efficiency of the Germans. I found the meals served me at my apartment rather less in quantity than my appetite craved. While there was a reasonable variety, the nutritive value was always the same to a point of scientific exactness, and I had seen no shops where extra food was available. After I had been in my apartment about a week, someone rang at the door. I opened it, and a man called out with the single word, Wayer, just behind him stood a platform scale on small wheels and with handles like a go-cart. The Wayer stood notebook in hand, waiting for me to act. I took the hint, and stepped upon the scales. He read the weight, and as he recorded it remarked, three kilograms over. Without further explanation he pushed the scales toward the next door. The following day I noticed that the portions of food served me were trifle smaller than they had been previously. The original Karl Armstott had evidently been of such build that he carried slightly less weight than I, which, in fact, now condemned me to this light diet. However, I reasoned that a light diet is conducive to good brainwork, and as I later learned the object of this systematic weight control was not alone to save food but to increase mental efficiency, for a fat man is phlegmatic and a lean one too excitable for the best mental output. It would also help my disguise by keeping me the exact weight and build of the original Karl Armstott. After a fortnight of study I felt that I was now ready to take up my work in the laboratory, but I feared my lack of general knowledge of the city and its ways might still betray me. Hence I began further journeyings about the streets and shops of those levels where a man of my class was permitted to go. Part 4 After exhausting the rather barren sport of walking about the monotonous streets of the four professional levels I took a more exciting trip down into the lower levels of the city where the vast mechanical industries held sway. I did not know how much freedom might be allowed but I reasoned that I would be out of my supposed normal environment and hence my ignorance would be more excusable and in less danger of betraying me. A lighting from the elevator I hurried along past endless rows of heavy columns. I peered into the work rooms which had no enclosing walls and discovered with some misgivings that I seem to have come upon a race of giants. The men at the machines were great hulking fellows with thick heavy muscles such as one would expect to see in a professional wrestler or weightlifter. I paused and tried to gauge the size of these men. I decided that they were not giants for I had seen taller men in the outer world. Two officials of some sort, distinguishable by fine or garb walking among them, appeared to be men of average size and the tops of their heads came about to the workers' chins. That there should be such men among the Germans was not unbelievable but the strange thing was that there should be so many of them and that they should be so uniformly large for there was not a workman in the whole vast factory floor that did not overtop the officials by at least half ahead. Of course, I reasoned. This is part of German efficiency, for the men were feeding large plates through stamping mills. They have selected all the large men for this heavy work. Then as I continued to gaze it occurred to me that this bright metal these Sampson's were handling was aluminum. I went on and came to a different work hall where men were tending wire winding machinery making the coils for some light electrical instruments. It was work that girls could easily have done, yet these men were nearly if not quite as hulking as their mates in the stamping mill. To select such men for light-fingered work was not efficiency but stupidity. And then it came to me that I had also thought the soldiers I had seen in the hospital to be men picked for size and that in a normal population there could not be such an abundance of men of abnormal size. The meaning of it all began to clear in my mind the pedigree in my own identification folder with the numerous fraternity the system of social castes which my atlas had revealed the inexplicable and unnatural proportion of the sexes. These gigantic men were not the mere pick from individual variation in the species but a distinct breed within a race wherein the laws of nature that had kept men of equal stature for countless centuries even as wild animals were equal had been replaced by the laws of scientific breeding. These heavy and ponderous laborers were the persaurons and Clydesdales of a domesticated and scientifically bred human species. The soldiers somewhat less bulky and more active were no doubt another distinct breed. The professional classes which had seemed quite normal in physical appearance were they bred for mental rather than physical qualities. Otherwise why the pedigree? Why the rigid castes? The isolation of women? I shuddered as the whole logical inevitable explanation unfolded. It was uncanny unearthly yet perfectly scientific, a thing the world had speculated about for centuries, a thing that every schoolboy knew could be done and yet which I, facing the fact that it had been done, could only believe by a strained effort at scientific coolness. I walked on and on, absorbed, overwhelmed by these assaulting unbelievable conclusions, yet on either side as I walked was the ever-present evidence of the reality of these seemingly wild fancies. There were miles upon miles of these endless workrooms and everywhere the same gross breed of great blonde beasts. The endless shops of Berlin's industrial level were very like those elsewhere in the world, except that they were more vast, more concentrated, and the work more speeded up by super-machines and excessive specialization. Millions upon millions of huge drab clad, stalwart-faced workmen stood at their posts of duty, performing over and over again their routine movements as the material of their labours shuttled by in endless streams. Occasionally among the workmen I saw the uniforms of the petty officers who acted as foremen, and still, more rarely, the administrative offices, where enclosed in glass-paneled rooms, higher officials in more bespangled uniforms poured over charts and plants. In all this colossal business there was everywhere the atmosphere of perfect order, perfect system, perfect discipline. Go, as I might, among the electrical works, among the vast factories of chemicals and goods, the lighter labour of the textile mills, or the heavier, noisier business of the mineral works and machine shops, the same system of colossal, coordinate, mechanism of production, throbbed ceaselessly, materials flowed in endless streams, feeding electric furnaces, mills, machines, passing out to packing tables and thence to vast storerooms. Industry here seemed endless and perfect. The bovine humanity fitted to the machinery as the ox to the treadmill. Everywhere was the ceaseless throbbing of the machine. Of the human variation and the free action of man and labour there was no evidence and no opportunity for its existence. Turning from the mere monotonous endlessness of the workshops, I made my way to the levels above where the workers lived in those hours when they ceased to be a part of the industrial mechanism of production, and everywhere were drab-coloured men, for these shifts of labour were arranged so that no space at any time was wholly idle. I now passed by miles of sleeping dormitories, and other miles of gymnasiums, picture theatres, and gaming tables, and strikingly incongruous with the atmosphere of the place, huge assembly rooms which were labelled free speech halls. I started to enter one of these, where some kind of a meeting was in progress, but I was thrust back by a great fellow who grinned foolishly, and said, pardon, Herr Captain, it is forbidden you. Through half-darkened streets I again passed by the bunk-shelf to sleeping chambers, with their cavernous aisles walled with orderly rows of lockers. Again I came to other barracks where the men were not yet asleep, but were straggling in and sitting about on the lowest bunks of these sterile makeshift homes. I then came into a district of mess halls where a meal was being served. Here again was absolute economy and perfect system. The men dined at endless tables, and their food, like the material for their labours, was served to the workers by the highly efficient device of an endless moving belt that rolled up out of a slot in the floor at the end of the table, after the manner of the chained steps of an escalator. From the moving belts the men took their portions, and as they finished eating they cleared away by setting the empty dishes back upon the moving belt. The sight fascinated me because of the adaptation of this mechanical principle to so strange a use, for the principle is old, and as every engineer knows was instrumental in founding the house of Detroit vehicle kings that once dominated the industrial world. The founder of that illustrious line gave the poorest citizen a motor-car, and disrupted the wage system of his day by paying his men double the standard wage. Yet he failed to realize the full possibilities of efficiency, for he permitted his men to eat at round tables and to be served by women. Truly we of the free world very narrowly escaped the fetish of efficiency which finally completely enslaved the Germans. Each of the long tables in this Berlin dining-hall, the ends of which faced me, was fenced off from its neighbours. At the entrance gates were signs which read 2600 calories, 2800 calories, 3000 calories. I followed down the line to the sign which read Maximum Diet 4000 calories, the next one read Minimum Diet 2000 calories. And thence the series was repeated. Farther on I saw that men were assembling before such gates and lines, for the meal there had not begun. Moving to the other side of the street I walked by the lines which curved out and swung down the street. Those before the sign of Minimum Diet were not quite so tall as the average, although obviously of the same breed, but they were all gaunt many of them drooped and old, relatively the inferior specimens and their face bore a cowering look of fear and shame, of men, solin and dull, beaten in life's battle. Following down the line and noting the improvement in physique as I passed on, I came to the farthest group, just as they had begun to pass into the hall. These men entering the gate labelled Maximum Diet 4000 calories were obviously the pick of the breed, middle aged, powerful, Herculian, and yet not exactly Herculian either, for many of them were overfull of waistline, men better fed than is absolutely essential to physical fitness. Evidently a different principle was at work here than the strict economy of food that required the periodic weighing of the professional classes. Turning back I now encountered men coming out of the dining hall in which I had first witnessed the meal in progress. I wanted to ask questions and yet was a little afraid, but these big fellows were seemingly quite respectful, except when I started to enter the free speech hall they had humbly made way for me. Emboldened by their deference I now approached a man whom I had seemed come out of a 3800 calories gate, and who had crossed the street and stood there picking his teeth with his fingernail. He ceased this operation as I approached and was about to step aside, but I paused and smiled at him, much I fear as one smiles at a dog of unknown disposition, for I could hardly feel that this ungainly creature was exactly human. He smiled back and stood waiting. Perhaps I stammered. You will tell me about your system of eating. It seems very interesting. I eat 38. He grinned. Pretty good, yes. I'm 25 years old and not so tall, either. I eyed him up. My eyes came just to the top button of his jacket. I began 30. Continued the workman. I came up one almost every year. One year I came up to it once. Pretty good, yes. One more to come. What then, I asked. The big fellow smiled with the childish pride, and doubling up his arm as huge as an average man's thigh, he patted his biceps. I get it all right. I pass examination, no flaws in me, never been to hospital, not one day. Yes, I get it. Get what? Paternity, said the man in a lower voice as he glanced about to see if any of his fellows was listening. Paternity, you know? Women! I thought of many questions but feared to ask them. The worker waited for some men to pass, then he bent out for me, grinning sardonically. Did you see them? You have seen women, yes? Yes, I ventured. I have seen women. Pretty good. Beautiful, yes? Yes, I stammered. They are very beautiful. But I was getting nervous and moved away. The workman, hesitating a little, then followed at my side. But tell me, I said, about these calories. What did you do to get the big meals? Why do some get more to eat than others? Better man! he replied, without hesitation. But what makes a better man? You don't know. Of course, you are an intellectual and don't work. But we work hard. The harder we work, the more we eat. I load aluminum pigs on the elevator. One pig is two calories, nineteen hundred pigs a day. Pretty good, yes? All kinds of work has its calories. So many for each thing to do. More work, more food it takes to do it. They say all is alike, that no one can get fat. But all work calories are not alike, because some men get fatter than others. I don't get fat. My work is hard. I ought to get two and a half calories for each pig I load. Still, I do not get thin. But I do not play hard in gymnasium, see? Those latemen, they got it too easy, and they play hard in gymnasium. I don't care if you do report. I got mad at them. They got it too easy. One got paternity last year already, and he is not as good a man as I am. I could throw him over my shoulder in wrestling. Do you not think they get it too easy? Do the men like this system? I asked. The measuring of food by the amount of work one does. Do any of them talk about it, and demand that all be fed alike? The skinny minimum eaters do, said the work man with a snare. When we let them talk, which isn't often, but when they get a chance, they talk belemism. But what if they do talk? It does them no good. We have a red flag. We have imperial socialism. We have the house of Hohen Zollern. Well, then I say let them talk if they want to. Every man must eat according to his work. That is socialism. We can't have belemism when we have socialism. This speech so much more informative and evidencing a knowledge I had not anticipated, quite disturbed me. You talk about these things, I ventured, in your free speech halls, the hitherto pleasant face of the working man altered to an ugly frown. No, you don't, he growled. You don't think because I talk to you that you can go asking me what is not your right to know, even if you are an officer. I remained discreetly silent, but continued to walk at the side of the striding giant. Presently I asked. What do you do now? Are you going to work? No, he said, looking at me doubtfully. That was dinner, not breakfast. I'm going now to the picture hall. And then I asked. Do you go to bed? No, he said. We then go to the gymnasium or the gaming tables. Six hours work, six hours sleep, four hours for amusement. And what do you do, I asked, the remainder of the day. He turned and stared at me. That is all we get here, sixteen hours. This is the metal-workers level. Some levels get twenty hours, it depends on the work. But, I said, a real day has twenty-four hours. I've heard, he said, that it does on the upper levels. But, I protested. I mean a real day, a day of the sun. Do you understand that? Oh yes, he said. We see the pictures of the place in the sun. That's a fine show. Oh, I said. Then you have pictures of the sun? Of course, he replied. The sun that shines upon the throne, we all see that. At the time I could not comprehend this reference, but I made bold to ask if it were forbidden me to go to his picture hall. I can't make out, he said. Why you want to see, but I never heard of any order forbidding it. I go here, he remarked, as we came to a picture theatre. I let my Herculean companion enter alone, but followed him shortly and found a seat in the secluded corner. No one disputed my presence. The music that filled the hall from some hidden horn was loud, and in a rough way, joyous. The pictures, evidently carefully prepared for such an audience, were limited to the light that these men knew. The themes were chiefly of athletic contests, of boxing, wrestling, and feats of strength. There were also pictures of working contests, always ending by the awarding of honors by some such bespangled official, but of love and romance, of intrigue and adventure, of pathos and mirth. These pictures were strangely devoid. There was, in fact, no woman's likeness cast upon the screen, and no pictures depicting emotion or sentiment. As I watched the sterile flittings of the picture screen, I decided, despite the glimmering of intelligence that my talking Herculeas had shown in reference to socialism and bellemism, and the secrets of the free-speech halls, that these men were merely great, stupid beasts of burden. They worked, they fed, they drank, they played exuberantly in their gymnasiums and swimming pools, they played long and eagerly at games of chance. Beyond this their lives were essentially blank. Ambition and curiosity they had none beyond the narrow circle of their round of living. But for all that they were docile, contented, and, within their limitations, not unhappy. To me they seemed more and more to be like well cared for domestic animals, and I found myself wondering, as I left the hall, why we, of the outer world, had not thought to produce pictures in similar vein to entertain our dogs and horses. Part five. As I returned to my own quarters I tried to recall the description I had read of the children of the abyss, the dwellers and ancient city slums. There was a certain kinship, no doubt, between those former submerged workers in the democratic world, and this labour-breed of Berlin. Yet the enslaved and sweated workers of the old regime were always depicted as suffering from poverty, as undersized, ill-nourished, and afflicted with disease. The reformers of that day were always talking of sanitary housing, scientific diet, and physical efficiency, but here was a race of labourers whose physical welfare was as well taken care of as if they had been prized swine or oxen. There was a paleness of countenance among these labourers of Berlin that to me seemed suggestive of ill health, but I knew that was merely due to lack of sun, and did not signify a lack of physical vitality. Mere sun-darken skin does not mean physiological efficiency, else the negro were the most efficient of races. Men can live without sun, without rain, without contact with the soil, without nature's greenery and the brotherhood of fellow species and wild haunts. The whole climb of civilisation had been away from these primitive things. It had merely been an artificial perfecting of the process of giving the living creature that which is needed for sustenance and propagation in the most concentrated and most economical form, the elimination of nature's superfluities and wastes. As I thought of these things it came over me that this unholy imprisonment of a race was but the logical culmination of mechanical and material civilisation. This development among the Germans had been hastened by the necessities of war and siege, yet it was what the whole world had been driving toward since man first used a tool and built a hut. Our own freer civilisation of the outer world had been achieved only by compromises, by a stubborn resistance against the forces to which we ascribed our progress. We were merely not so completely civilised, because we had never been wholly domesticated. As I now record these thoughts on the true significance of the perfected civilisation of the Germans, I realise that I was even more right than I then knew, for the sunless city of Berlin is of a truth, a civilisation gone to seed, its people are a domesticated species, they are the logical outcome of science applied to human affairs, with them the prodigality and waste of nature have been eliminated, they have stamped out contagious diseases of every kind, they have substituted for the laws of nature, the laws that man may pick by scientific theory and experiment from the multitude of possibilities. Yes, the Germans were civilised, and as I pondered these things I recalled those fairy tales that naturalists tell of the stagnant and fixed society of ants in their subterranean catacombs. These insect species credited for industry and intelligence have in their lesser world reached a similar perfection of civilisation. Ants have a royal house, they have a highly specialised and fixed system of caste, a completely socialised state, yes, a utopia, even as Berlin was a utopia, with the light of the sun and the light of the soul, the soul of the wild-free man, forever shut out. Yes, I was walking in utopia, a nightmare at the end of man's long dream, utopia, black utopia, city of the endless night, diabolically compounded of the three elements of civilisation in which the Germans had always been supreme, imperialism, science, and socialism.