Essential Science Fiction Novels - Volume 10. Edward Bellamy

I resign my position, gentlemen. I beg to take my leave.”

      Dr. Hubka darted forward. “But, gentlemen, I protest! We all protest! We will not part with the manufacture of Karburators! A splendid line like that, gentlemen! No, thank you, we are not to be hoodwinked into handing over a valuable business. With your permission, gentlemen——”

      Bondy rang the bell. “Friends,” he said gloomily, “we will leave this for the time being. It seems to me that our friend Machat is . . . er . . . slightly indisposed. As far as the Karburator is concerned, gentlemen, I guarantee you a dividend of one hundred and fifty per cent. I move that the discussion be now closed.”

      Dr. Hubka took the floor. “I move, gentlemen, that every member of the Board of Directors shall receive one Karburator for testing purposes, so to speak.”

      Bondy looked at all present. His features twitched. He tried to say something, but he only shrugged his shoulders and hissed between his teeth, “As you please.”

      VII

      DEVELOPMENTS

      “How do we stand in London?”

      “M.E.C. shares were quoted at 1470 yesterday. The day before yesterday they were 750.”

      “Good!”

      “Mr. Marek has been made an honorary member of ten learned societies, and is certain to be awarded the Nobel Prize.”

      “Good!”

      “There’s a rush of orders from Germany. Over five thousand Karburators wanted.”

      “Aha!”

      “Nine hundred orders from Japan, too.”

      “Look at that, now!”

      “Czechoslovakia doesn’t show much interest. Three fresh inquiries.”

      “Hm. That’s all one might expect. A wretched state of affairs here, you know.”

      “The Russian Government wants two hundred immediately.”

      “Good! What’s the total?”

      “Thirteen thousand orders.”

      “Good! How far have we got with the buildings?”

      “The division for atomic motor-cars has got the roof on. The section for atomic flying-machines will begin work during the week. We are laying the foundations for the atomic locomotive works. One wing of the department for ships’ engines is already in operation.”

      “Wait a minute. You should start calling them atomobiles, atomotors and atomotives, you know. How is Krolmus getting along with the atomic cannon?”

      “He’s already constructing a model at Pilsen. Our atomic cyclecar is doing its thirty thousandth kilometre on the Brussels racing-track. It has done two hundred and seventy kilometres an hour. We have had seventeen thousand orders for our half-kilo atomotors in the last two days.”

      “A minute ago you told me that the total was thirteen thousand.”

      “Thirteen thousand stationary atomic boilers. Eight thousand of the central heating apparatus. Nearly ten thousand atomobiles. Sixty hundred and twenty atoplanes. Our A.7 has flown from Prague to Melbourne, Australia, without a stop; all on board safe and sound. Here is the telegram.”

      Bondy drew himself up. “Why, my young friend, that’s splendid!”

      “The agricultural machinery department has five thousand orders in. In the section for small power-engines, twenty-two thousand. One hundred and fifty atomic pumps. Three atomic presses. Twelve atomic blast furnaces. Seventy-five atomic wireless stations. One hundred and ten atomic locomotives, all for Russia. We have established general agencies in forty-eight different capitals. The American Steel Trust, the Berlin General Electric Company, the Italian Fiat, Mannesmann, Creusot, and the Swedish steel-works are all making us offers of amalgamation. Krupp’s are paying any price for our shares.”

      “What about the new issue?”

      “Thirty-five times over-subscribed. The financial papers predict a super-dividend of two hundred per cent. The other papers are talking of nothing but this business; politics, sport, technology, science, everything’s Karburator. We’ve had seven tons of newspaper cuttings from our agent in Germany, four hundredweight from France, and a truckload from England. The scientific and technical literature dealing with atomotors, to be published this year, is estimated at sixty tons. The Anglo-Japanese war has been broken off owing to the lack of public interest. In England alone there are nine hundred thousand coal-miners out of work. There has been a rising in the Belgian coalfields; about four thousand killed. More than half the mines in the world have ceased working. The surplus petroleum in Pennsylvania has set the oil-fields ablaze. The fire’s still raging.”

      “The fire’s still raging,” repeated Bondy, as though in a dream. “The fire’s still raging. My God, then, we have won!”

      “The Chairman of the Mining and Smelting Company has shot himself. The Stock Exchange has simply gone mad. We stand at 8,000 to-day in Berlin. The Cabinet is in permanent sitting, and wants to proclaim a state of siege. This isn’t an invention, Chief, it’s a revolution!”

      The Chairman and the General Manager of the M.E.C. looked at each other in silence. Neither of them was a poet, but in that moment their very souls were singing.

      The manager drew his chair closer and said in a low voice, “Chief, Rosenthal has gone crazy.”

      “Rosenthal!” exclaimed G. H. Bondy.

      The manager nodded mournfully. “He has become an orthodox Jew, and he’s gone in for Talmudic mysticism and Cabalism. He has given ten millions to the cause of Zionism. Not long ago he had a terrible quarrel with Dr. Hubka. You’ve surely heard that Hubka has joined the Bohemian Brethren.”

      “What, has Hubka got it too?”

      “Yes, I think the Board of Directors must have caught it from Machat. You were not present at the last meeting, Chief. It was terrible; they talked religion until morning. Hubka moved that we hand over our establishments to the workers. Luckily, they forgot to take a vote on it. They were like men possessed.”

      Bondy gnawed at his fingers. “What on earth am I to do with them?”

      “Hm, nothing whatever. It’s a nervous disease of the age. Something of the sort crops up now and again in the papers, too, but they’re so full of the Karburators that they haven’t space for anything else. There’s an appalling number of cases of religious mania. It’s a psychical epidemic or something. The other day I saw Dr. Hubka preaching to a crowd of people in front of the Industrial Bank about seeking the inward light and making straight the path for God. Fearfully incoherent stuff. He wound up by performing miracles. Forst is at it too. Rosenthal is nothing short of insane. Miller, Homola and Kolator came out with a proposal for voluntary poverty. We can’t possibly have another board-meeting. It’s a regular madhouse, Chief. You’ll have to take the whole idiotic business in hand.”

      “But, man, this is simply awful,” groaned G.H. Bondy.

      “It is indeed. Did you hear about the Sugar Bank? All the officials there were seized with it at one fell swoop. They opened the safes and gave away the money to anyone who came. They finished by burning bundles of banknotes on a bonfire in the main hall. Religious Bolshevism, I should call it.”

      “In the Sugar Bank? . . . Hasn’t the Sugar Bank one of our Karburators?”

      “Yes. For central heating. The Sugar Bank was the first to install one. Now the police have closed the Bank. Even the confidential clerks and the directors were affected.”

      “Send word round that the sale of Karburators to banks is forbidden.”

      “But why?”

      “I