Ellis Weiner - Atlas Slugged AGAIN - The Secret Sequel to the Towering Masterpiece

Angel found him two hours later, his skin a necrotic white against the bubble-gum floridity of the clammy, suffocating bag.

The coronation of John Glatt as King of the Earth took place at a ceremony two weeks after the capitulation of Goa and the final consolidation of Takeover Two. It was held in New York’s most elegant and important concert hall, and beamed to television sets all over the world. In his remarks, Glatt thanked Rawbone, De Soto, Daghammarskjold, and Dragnie, all of whom would serve on the Committee to Control the World for lifelong terms.

Glatt’s speech lasted four hours, and touched on a number of important topics, including the history of mankind, the importance of logic, the vision of Man as a heroic being, and how the free market would, henceforth, solve all of humanity’s problems. As the speech was nearing its conclusion Dragnie, standing in the wings and gazing on in proud delight, spotted a familiar face. It was Edward G. Willikers, the classmate of Nathan A. Banden whom she had met several months—and a lifetime—before, at the Glatt School. She motioned for him to join her.

“Hello, Eddie,” Dragnie said. “Don’t tell me you’re on the stage crew here, too.”

“Hi, Miss Tagbord,” the boy said. “Yeah, I’m just helping out for the summer.”

Dragnie found herself revising her characterization of him, for he no longer resembled a mere boy. “You look different, Eddie,” she said. “How’ve you changed?”

“I’m growing my hair long,” he said. “All the guys are doing it.” He indicated Glatt, out on the stage, still speaking. “Gosh, Mister Glatt is wonderful, isn’t he?”

“He certainly is, Eddie. Also… are you growing a beard?”

“Trying to,” he chuckled. “But all of you guys are great,” the youth continued. “Mr. Rawbone, Mr. De Soto… even that Regnad guy, the strikingly beautiful Swiss pirate.”

“Swedish. The Swiss have no coastline.”

“Oh. Yeah.” The young man shrugged. “I get ‘em mixed up. And you, too, Miss Tagbord. You’re really great. Men are saying that you guys are about the greatest people who ever lived.”

“Thank you, Eddie. But if you’ve been listening to Mr. Glatt’s speech, you know that he says that everyone can be a hero just like him. That means you can, too.”

“I know, but…” The young man hesitated. “Miss Tagbord? There’s a few things I don’t understand.”

“Like what, Eddie?”

“Well, like, what Mr. Glatt said in his speech two hours ago. He said, ‘Our conception of Man is as a heroic being, who lives purely for himself. Who asks no other man to do anything on his behalf, and who will do nothing on behalf of another man.’ Did I get that right?”

Dragnie smiled. “Yes, you quoted it perfectly.”

“But the thing is, Miss Tagbord, you can’t be a hero and live only for yourself. That’s not what a hero does. A hero does things for the sake of others. That’s what makes him a hero, and not just some guy doing stuff for himself, like everybody else.”

“Well, I suppose it depends—“

“And another thing. Mr. Glatt said, ‘We call on Man to live solely in the light of logic, undistracted and unimpeded by fear, shame, anger, hatred, and, yes, even love, obligation, loyalty, altruism, sacrifice, and any of the other subjective atavisms that have for millennia distorted Man’s true purpose.’”

“You have a good memory, Eddie. Yes, you see—“

“The thing is, Miss Tagbord, you can’t really be a hero unless you feel fear. Heroism isn’t when you do something that’s no big deal. It’s when you’re afraid of something that might bring harm to yourself, but you do it anyway.”

“Well, of course you’re capable of feeling fear. What Mr. Glatt means is, we admire most the superior man who has no feeling for others—not because he chooses not to, but because he lacks the capacity for it. He is completely unmoved by others’ pleasure, or pain, or suffering, or happiness, because he lives entirely for himself, above the plane of the mediocre herd.”

“But… well, gee, Miss Tagbord, what’s the difference between that kind of person and a whatchamacallit, that we talked about in social studies?”

“A laissez-faire capitalist?”

“A sociopath.”

Dragnie chuckled. “Be careful using that word, Eddie. Just because a superior man’s complete independence of spirit makes it impossible for him to have feelings for any another man, doesn’t mean he’s a ‘sociopath.’ The sociopath has an urge to defy society, so he kidnaps a young girl, kills her, and chops up her body. The superior man, while perhaps admiring the sociopath’s freedom from societal constraint, knows that such an act is not necessary—however much one might admire the principle of freedom as an absolute that lies behind it.”

Eddie Willikers looked dubious. “I could never be like that.”

“Sure you could! You just have to study these ideas, understand the truth of them, and then apply them to your daily life.”

“But that doesn’t make any sense!”

“It makes nothing but sense,” Dragnie smiled. “Try this, next time you go out into society. Don’t let feelings influence your actions. Just base your actions on logic. You’ll see. It’s easier than you think!”

“But isn’t that… you know… crazy?”

“I hardly think—“

“Everything we do begins and ends with feelings. Fathers go to work because they feel responsible for their families. Mothers take care of their kids because they love them. You know what that’s like, right? You have kids, don’t you?”

“No.”

“Oh. Well, anyway, that’s the basis of every human society throughout, like, history. Parents sacrifice their own desires for the sake of their children. That’s what Nature requires, Miss Tagbord. Otherwise, offspring would never—you know—survive. Sure, you use logic to solve problems. And you can say that if you base everything on feelings, you’re like an animal. But if you eliminate feelings completely, and base everything on logic, you’re not heroic. You’re not even human.”

“Eddie, tell me something.” Dragnie fixed the young man with a commanding stare. “Who is John Glatt?”

“Huh?” He pointed out onto the stage. “He is.”

“No, Eddie. True, that man’s name is John Glatt, and he is being crowned the King of the Earth. And these are the values he’s lived by. But we can live by those values, too. We can be just as great as he is. Who is John Glatt? You are. I am. We are all John Glatt.”

Eddie Willikers frowned and scratched his head in puzzlement. “Well, but, gosh, Miss Tagbord, no we’re not.”

“Well, I mean, not literally. But—“

“Not at all. John Glatt invented that electric power motor, and those anti-gravity shoes, and that shame ray, and that concealing projector over Glatt’s Gorge—oh, and those neat teleportation arches. Plus probably other stuff I don’t even know about. He created all these fantastic new devices. That’s got nothing to do with his values. Anyone can have those values, but it doesn’t mean they’re a genius inventor. Same thing with Mister Rawbone. He isn’t rich and powerful because of his values. He invented Rawbonium. That’s not me. I’m not John Glatt. I’m just some kid who graduated high school and is going into college in the fall.”

Dragnie paused. On the edge of the mind of her consciousness she recognized that Glatt was at that moment reading the last several lines of his speech. In a moment the hall would be filled with thunderous applause, and swarming reporters, and dignitaries frantic to have their photos taken with Glatt and the others. Her private moment with this young man would be shattered forever. She simply did not have the time, now, to correct his misapprehensions, to recommend that he surround himself with people who believed in the truth, as she did, as Glatt did, as Rawbone and De Soto and the other members of their circle did. She did not have the time to draw the fine distinction, so crucial to her values, between the perfect man and a sociopathic murderer. She did not have the time, just now, to correct Eddie’s premises. But she sensed, behind his rather appealing looks, an intelligence simmering with potential.