Self-discovery

Chapter 11

The next day we started building an information chamber in the laboratory. We marked off an area of two meters square, covered it with laminated insulation panels and dumped into it all the microphones, analyzers, feelers, and objectives — all the sensors that had been strewn colorfully all over the place by the computer — womb. This was our idea: a living object would get into the chamber, and would gambol, feed, fight with one of its own kind, or just ramble, surrounded by sensors, and the computer would receive information for synthesis.

The “living objects” are calmly chewing their cabbage to this day in their cages in the hall. My double and I were always getting into fights about who would tend them. They were rabbits. I traded the bionics lab a loop oscillograph and a GI — 250 generator lamp for them. One rabbit (Albino Vaska) had something like a bronze crown on his head made out of electrodes implanted for encephalograms.

On May 7 we had a minor but unpleasant occurrence. Usually my double and I coordinated all our work fairly well, so that we would not appear in public simultaneously or repeat ourselves. But that damned lab of experimental apparatus could drive anyone to distraction.

Back in the winter I had ordered a universal system of biosensors from the lab. I prepared the blueprints, a mounting diagram, ordered all the necessary materials and parts — they only had to put it together. And it still wasn’t finished! I needed to install the system in the chamber, and I didn’t have it. The trouble was that the lab was chronically changing directors. One guy turns over the work; the other accepts it — naturally there’s no one to do the work. Then the new director has to acquaint himself with the situation, introduce reforms and changes (a new broom sweeps clean), and no work gets done. Meanwhile the people who have placed orders scream and fume, go to Azarov with their complaints, and a new director is put on the job. See above. I even tried influencing the workers directly, slipping them some booze, getting P657 transistors for their radios — and to no avail. Eventually the reserve of people willing to head that lab dried out, and H. H. Hilobok took over, while continuing his other duties, at half pay — Harry is like this: he’ll take on any job. He’ll organize anything, reorganize, so long as he is not left one on one with nature, with those horrible pieces of equipment that can’t be bossed and bullied but which show things as they really are and what needs to be done.

That day I had called Gavryushenko at the lab. And I heard the same vague muttering about a lack of mounting wire. I freaked out and rushed over to have it out with Harry.

I was so mad that I didn’t notice that Harry seemed a little confused, and I told him off. I promised to turn the work over to schoolchildren and shame the lab completely.

And when I got back to the lodge, I encountered my sweet double, pacing and cooling off. It seems he had just seen Hilobok five minutes earlier and had the exact same conversation with him.

Damn… at least we hadn’t bumped into each other.

In our first experiments we decided to make do without the universal system. The sensors we had were enough for the rabbits. And when we moved on to homo sapiens… by then maybe the lab of experimental apparatus might even have an efficient director.

The scientific council took place on May 16. The might before, we went over what should be said and what should be omitted. We decided to introduce the original idea, that a computer with elements of random transmission might and must construct itself under the influence of random information. The work would be an experimental test of that idea. In order to determine the limits that the computer can reach in constructing itself, the following equipment, material and apparatus would be necessary — see appended list.

“To prepare their minds, just like the supply department, this will be just right,” I said. “So, that’s what I’ll report.”

“But, why, does it have to be you?” my double asked, militantly raising his eyebrows. “When the rabbits need cleaning it’s me; when it’s the scientific council, it’s you, huh? What kind of discrimination against artificial people is this? I demand we do it by lot!”

And that’s how I innocently earned a talking to for “tactless behavior at the scientific council of the institute and for rudeness toward Doctor of Technical Sciences Professor 1.1. Voltampernov.”

No, it really hurt. If it had been to me that the former hotshot of lamp electronics, honored worker of the republic in science and technology, doctor of technical sciences, and professor, Ippolit Illarionovich Voltampernov (oh, why wasn’t I a master of ceremonies?) had let loose his: “And does engineer Krivoshein know, since he bids us to give a computer its head, so to speak, without rudder or wheel, what it will want to do in building itself, and how much thought — out, I dare add, work our qualified specialists here at the institute put into the planning and projecting of computer systems? Into the development of blocks of these systems? And the elements of these systems? Does he have any idea, this engineer who’s vulgarizing principles here before us, of at least the methodology, so to speak, of the optimal projection of flip — flops on the 6N5 bulb? And doesn’t it seem to engineer Krivoshein that his ideas — regarding the fact the computer, so to speak, will manage the optimal construction better than the specialists — are an insult to the majority of the workers of this institute who are fulfilling, I dare say, work that is important for our country’s economy? I would ask the engineer what this would give the….” And each time the word “engineer” sounded like a cross between “student” and “son of a bitch.”

I wish I could have reminded the respected professor in my reply that apparently the same sort of insult was the motive force of his pen in the past, when he wrote the exposes about “the reactionary pseudoscience of cybernetics,” but a shift in wind made him take up the work, too. If the professor was worried about being left out after the success of the present work, he shouldn’t have been: he could always return to semiscientific journalism. And in general, it’s about time to learn that science functions with the use of statements on the heart of the matter and not with the aid of demagogic attacks and sputterings.

It was after these words, taken down by the stenographer, that Voltampernov began yawning convulsively and clutching his breast pocket.

But citizens, that was not me! The report was given by my artificial double, made exactly like me by the proposed method. Voltampernov was angry and embarrassed for three days after that.

I could understand him!

(But, by the way, at the moment when Azarov signed the official order for a reprimand and it reached the office, I was the one who was around. And it was at me that Aglaya Mitrofanovna Garazha, the tough woman head of the office, yelled in front of a large group:

“Comrade Krivoshein, here’s a reprimand for you! Come in and sign for it!”

And like a lamb, I went in and signed. Isn’t fate cruel?)

Actually, the hell with the reprimand. The important thing is that the topic was supported! By Azarov himself. “An interesting idea,” he said, “and a rather simple one; it can be checked.” “But this isn’t an algorithmic problem, Arkady Arkadievich,” assistant professor Prishchepa, the most orthodox mathematician of our institute, interjected. “And if it isn’t algorithmic, it shouldn’t exist?” the academician parried. (Listen to the man.) “In our times the algorithm of scientific retrieval is not reduced to a collection of rules of formal logic.” Now that’s talking! Azarov never liked “random retrieval,” I knew that. What was this? Could my double have conquered him with his logic? Or had our chief suddenly developed some scientific tolerance? Then we would get along fine.

In a word, the vote was eighteen yea’s and one (Voltampernov) nay. The careful Prishchepa abstained. My double, who did not have a learned degree and title, did not vote. Even Hilobok voted for it, and he believes in the success of our work. We won’t let you down, not to worry.

By the way, my double brought some amazing news: Hilobok was writing his dissertation.

“On what?”

“An undisclosed topic. The scientific council was hearing the agenda for the next meeting, and on point it was: “Discussion of the work on his dissertation for a learned degree as doctor of technical sciences by H. H. Hilobok. The topic is marked top secret.” See, we sit here in the lab, cut off from the mainstream of science.”

“An undisclosed topic — that’s fantastic!” I even disconnected my welding iron. We were in the lab, mounting sensors in the chamber. ‘Terrific. No open publication, no audience at the defense… shhh, comrades, top secret! Everyone walks around respecting it from the start.”

The news hurt me to the quick. I couldn’t do my masters and here Harry was going to be a doctor. And he was. The technique involved was well known: you take a secret circuit or construction that is being developed (or even has been developed) somewhere, and add on some compilative verbiage using secret primary sources.

“Ah, he’s not the first, and he’s not the last!” I said, picking up my soldering iron. “Good old Harry! Of course, we could give him a bit of… but is the game worth the candle?”

We were a little uneasy about it. 1 was always angry when I had to watch a bootlicker making progress at full speed; I experience angry thoughts and begin to despise myself for the reasonable recalcitrance of my extremities. But really, the game wasn’t worth the candle. We had so much serious work for just the two of us, and my position was not yet secure — I shouldn’t get involved. Especially not with Harry Hilobok. Ivanov and I once tried to catch Harry in plagiarism. Valery appeared at a seminar, proved everything. But all that happened was that the scientific council recommended that Hilobok rework his article. And then he tried ruining our lives for ever after….

And these public face slappings in front of an audience — with the usual discussions afterward, when people no longer greet each other — are not my piece of cake. When they occur I experience an uncontrollable urge to beat it to my lab, turn on all the equipment, take down data in my journal, and try to do something worthwhile. Now if there were some way to fix guys like Harry with lab methods — you know, the power of engineering thought….

It was worth thinking about. The act that the Voltampernovs and Hiloboks roll out onto the broad highway of science is proof that there are not enough smart people around. And this is in science, where the intellect is the fundamental measuring stick of a man’s qualities. How about in other fields? They put up want ads: “Lathe workers wanted” or “Wanted: engineers, technicians, accountants, and supply personnel.” But no one writes “Wanted: smart people. Apartment comes with job.” Are they too embarrassed? Or are there no apartments? You could start off without the apartments…. Why hide it? Smart people are wanted, and how! They’re wanted for life, for the development of society.

“We must… make doubles of smart people!” I shouted. “Smart, active, decent people! Val, that’s the best application!”

He looked at me with undisguised sadness.

“You beat me to it, you bum.”

“And this will be a reward for those people for living,” I went on. “Society needs you. You know how to work fruitfully, live honestly. And that means there should be more like you! Maybe even several; there’ll be enough work for all. Then we’ll crowd out the Hiloboks….”

This idea revived our self — respect. We felt ourselves on top of things once more and spent the day dreaming about how we would multiply talented scholars, writers, musicians, inventors, heroes…. It really wasn’t a bad idea!