Self-discovery

Chapter 14

Now the student was reading the notations with envious curiosity. Well, what had he achieved, when all he wanted was to twirl knobs?

June I. Phew… finished! The information chamber is ready. I begin the experiments with the rabbits tomorrow. If I follow tradition, I should begin with frogs. but I would never pick the disgusting things up! No, let my double play with toads. He’s a brilliant student, quite industrious.

I wonder how he’s doing.

June 2.1 equipped the rabbits with electrodes and sensors and put them all in the chamber. Let them overload it with information.

June 7. The rabbits lived in the chamber for four days. They munched carrots and cabbage leaves, wriggled their noses, fought, copulated, and napped. I did my first tests today. I put on Monomakh’s Crown, mentally ordered “Proceed!” — and the computer — womb worked. Four rabbit doubles in an hour and a half.

What a relief — the machine worked.

An interesting detail: the visual appearance of the rabbits (what happens before that, I don’t know) begins with the circulatory system; the blue red vessels show up in the golden fluid just as they do in the yolk of a fertilized chicken egg.

As they came to life, the rabbits floated up. I pulled them out by the ears, bathed them in a tub, all warm and trembling, and then put them in with the regular ones. The encounter between the natural and artificial doubles had an even more banal character than my meeting with my double. They stared at each other in disbelief, sniffed each other, and (since they don’t have a secondary signal system, to explain) fought. Then they got tired, sniffed some more and went on with the normal rabbit routine.

The important thing is that the computer works on my command, without any additions. You put on the crown, remember (preferably with a mental image) which rabbit you want copied, give permission mentally — and in twenty — five to thirty minutes it’s flopping around in the tank. The reverse operation — dissolving an appearing rabbit with the command “No!” — the computer — womb also does without reproach.

For its success and hard work I feed it salts, acids, glycerine, vitamins, and reagents. Just like giving fish to a trained seal.

June 20. When it works, it works. And when it doesn’t you could just beat your head on the wall. All this time I’ve been trying to stop the synthesis of a rabbit at some stage. No matter what command I’ve tried: “Stop!” “Halt!” “Enough!” “Cut it out!” — both mentally and verbally — nothing helps. Either the synthesis goes on to the end, or there is dissolution.

It looks like the computer — womb works like a flip — flop circuit in a computer, that is, either open or closed, and has no in — between positions. But you would expect a complex machine to be more flexible than that silly circuit.

I’ll keep trying….

July 6. Life cannot be stopped. That must be it. Any interruption of life is death. But death is only an instant, after which begins the process of decay or in this case, dissolution. And I’m synthesizing living systems. And the computer — womb itself is a living organism. That’s why nothing can freeze in it. Too bad, it would have been very convenient…. The first offspring of an artificial male and regular female appeared today — eight white bunnies. That must be an important fact. But I have plenty of rabbits without that.

Damn it, but the machine must obey orders more complex than “You may!” and “No!” I must control the synthesis process, otherwise all my ideas fly out the window.

July 7. So that’s how you work, computer — womb! And it’s so simple.

Today I ordered the machine to re — create Albino Vaska one more time. When it appeared as a translucent apparition in the middle of the vat, I concentrated on its tail and imagine that it was no longer. No changes followed. That wasn’t it. And I thought sadly, “That’s not it.. ” — and everything began changing in the rabbit. The body’s contour wavered in a slow rhythm: the body, ears, and feet and tail either grew longer and fatter or shorter and thinner; the internal organs pulsed in the same rhythm. Even the color of the blood changed color from dark cherry to light red and back again.

I jumped up from my chair. The rabbit was still being “shaken!” Its shape kept changing, being distorted and caricatured; the trembling became more frequent and wild. Finally the albino dissolved into a purplish gray cloud and dissolved.

At first I was scared: the picture reminded me of the computer’s old delirium. Except for the rhythm. All the fluctuations of size and shade were amazingly coordinated.

And then I understood. I figured it out myself, I might add, damn it!

The computer’s original information on the rabbit was concrete and definite. It combined all the informational details, searching for the precise variation; but search or not, you can only re — create what’s recorded. You can’t make a vacuum cleaner from motorcycle parts.

And then the computer receives the signal “That’s not it” — neither confirming nor negating — a signal of doubt. It disrupts the informational stability of the synthesis of the rabbit; to put it bluntly, it throws the computer off the track. And it begins searching — what is “it” — through the simple method of trial and error (a little more, a little less so as not to destroy the system…. But the computer doesn’t know what “it” is, and it doesn’t get confirmation from me. Complete disruption of the system and dissolution follow.

And then (this is what’s good about a researcher’s job: if you hit the right vein you can do in a day, with the aid of one or two ideas, what would ordinarily take years and years!) I put on Monomakh’s Crown and told the computer “You may!” Now I knew what I would do with the rabbit double. It appeared. I concentrated on the tail (the connection chain: the bioimpulses from my retinas with the image of the rabbit tail went into the brain, into the crown, into the computer, and there — comparison and selection of information — the computer fixed my attention) and I even frowned, to make it more expressive: “That’s not it.” A powerful unbalancing impulse went into the computer. The tail got shorter. A tiny bit…. “That’s not it!”

The tail quivered, and got longer…, “That’s it; that’s it!”

The tail froze. “That’s not it!” It got even longer. “That’s it!” It froze. “That’s it! That’s not it! It! Not it!” — and things got moving. The hardest part was to catch the fluctuation in the right direction. Later I no longer gave the computer the elemental commands “It — not it,” but simple silent approval. The tail got longer; a chain of small vertebrae grew in it, they were covered with muscle tissue, pink skin, white fur… and in ten minutes Vaska the double was whipping his sides with his tail like an irritated tiger.

And I sat in a chair wearing Monomakh’s Crown, and an unbelievable swirl of “well, well, well, now we’re cooking. Oh, boy! Phew!” went through my mind, the way it does when you can’t express it in words yet, but you know that you’ve understood, and you’re not going to lose it now! And my face probably reflected that extreme state of bliss that is usually seen only in drooling idiots.

That was it. No mysticism. The computer — womb was working on the same “yes — no” system that regular computers do.

“That’s right,” nodded the graduate student. “But that’s rather crude control. Of course, for a machine. What am I quibbling about? That’s a fine job!”

Damn it, this is terrific! At my commands of “yes,” “not it,” and “no” the computer forms cells, tissue, bone. Only living organisms can do that, and much more slowly.

Well, baby, I’m going to squeeze everything I can out of you!

July 15. Now the machine and I are working well together. More accurately, it’s learned to receive, decipher, and execute commands from my brain that are not broken down into “it” and “not it.” The essential feedback and content of the commands remained the same, except that it all took place very quickly. I imagine what has to be changed in the developing double and how. As if I were drawing or sculpting the rabbit.

The computer is now my electronic biochemical hand. It’s marvelous and luxurious to mold different kinds of rabbit freaks with my mind. With six legs, with three tails, two heads, without ears, or with long floppy mutt ears. Dr. Moreau with his scalpel and carbolic acid was an amateur! My only tool was Monomakh’s Crown. I didn’t even have to twirl dials.

The most amusing part was that the monsters continue to live. They scratch with four legs and stuff carrots into two mouths…

“Easy work,” muttered the graduate student with envy. “Just like in the movies: sit back and watch. Nothing hurts, nothing to be afraid of. No violent passions — only engineering work.”

He sighed, remembering his suffering. He got used to the various autovivisections rather quickly. When you know that the pain will pass and the wound will heal, then pain becomes another irritant, like bright light or loud noise — unpleasant but not terrible. When you know…. In his planned experiments he knew it. He also began any new change on a small scale. He checked to see how the organism put up with the changes; he always had medicine on hand: ampules of neutralizers and antibiotics, and the phone to call emergency. But there had been one unplanned experiment, in which he had almost died. Actually, it wasn’t even an experiment.

There was a department seminar in radiobiology. The third — year students surrounded the uranium reactor and watched the dark cellular cylinder in its depths respectfully. It gave off a green, calm light in the water, illuminating the wires, the nickel — plated bars, levers, and wheels of the control board above it.

“That beautiful light, the color of young grass, around the body of the reactor,” said Professor Valerno in his rich deep baritone, “is called the Cherenkovsky glow. It is caused by the movement of superfast electrons in the water, which are created, in turn, by the division of nuclei of uranium — 235.”

Krivoshein assisted; that is, he sat around, bored, and waited for the professor to ask him to run the demonstration. Actually, Valerno could have easily done the experiment himself, or asked a student to do it, but his scholarly rank rated a qualified assistant. “So just sit there,” Krivoshein thought gloomily. Then he got the idea that he hadn’t tried out radiation sickness on himself. He sat up and started planning how to go about it. “Take a flask of water from the reactor and for starters give myself a slight radiation burn. This was serious stuff!”

“The presence of intense Cherenkovsky glow in the water is evidence of intense radiation in the body of the reactor,” Valerno droned on, “which is not surprising. It’s a chain reaction. The growth in the brightness of the light is evidence of the growth of the intensity of the radiation, and a dimming — of the opposite. Here, please look.” He turned the wheel on the panel to the left and the right. The green light in the tank blinked.

“And if you turn it all the way to the right, there’ll be an explosion?” a red — haired, freckled boy in glasses demanded.

“No,” replied the professor, barely suppressing a yawn (that question came up every time). “There’s a governor on it. And besides, the reactor can be automatically blocked. As soon as the intensity of the chain reaction exceeds certain limits, the automatic device throws additional graphite rods into the reactor — those, see? They consume the neutrons and quench the reaction. And now let’s familiarize ourselves with the action of radioactivity on a living organism. Valentin Vasilyevich, could you join us?”

Krivoshein rolled a cart with a fish tank over to the reactor; the tank contained a half — dead eel, with fins and sharp teeth.

“This is a freshwater eel, Anguilliformes,” Valerno announced, without even looking, “the most hardy of river fish. When Valentin Vasilyevich dumps it into the pool, the eel, heeding its instincts, will immediately go to the bottom… hmm… something that I wouldn’t do in its place, since even the luckiest ones come floating belly up from there in two minutes. Well, see for yourselves. Mark the time, please. Valentin Vasilyevich, you’re on.”

Krivoshein tipped the fish tank over the pool and started the stopwatch. The students leaned over the edge. A streak of black lightning sped to the gray — tiled bottom of the pool, made a circle, another, crossed the green light over the cylinder. Apparently blinded by that, the eel bumped into the opposite wall and reeled back.

Suddenly the light in the pool got brighter — and in the green light Krivoshein saw something that made his skin crawl: the eel got trapped in the wires that held the graphite rods, the regulators of the reactor, and was struggling among them! One rod fell out of its case and flew off like a green stick into the water. The light got even brighter.

“Everyone back!” Quickly appraising the situation, the pale Valerno barked a command. His baritone was flat. “Please leave at once!” He pulled the emergency alarm. The contacts of the automatic blocking device clicked. The light in the water blinked, as though they were doing arc welding in the pool, and got even brighter. The students, covering their faces, raced from the exits. There was a crush at the door.

“Please stay calm, comrades!” Valerno shouted in a real falsetto. “The concentration of uranium — 235 in the heat — generating elements is not enough for an atomic explosion! There will only be a heat explosion, like in a steam engine!” “Oh, God!” some exclaimed.

The doors cracked. A girl screamed. Someone cursed. The freckled four — eyes, not losing his head, grabbed a very heavy Sl — 8 synchronoscope from the table, and threw it through the window, following it rapidly…. The room was empty in a few seconds.

In the first moment of panic Krivoshein followed the rest, but stopped himself and went over to the reactor. Rapid, large bubbles rose from the cylinder and the water churned. Instead of the quiet glow there was a green bonfire in the water. The eel was quiet, but the graphite rods that it had knocked out were crisscrossed and wedged against one another.

“When the water splashes up, there’ll be a cloud of radioactive steam all over,” Krivoshein thought feverishly. “That’s as bad as an atomic blast. Can I do it? I’m scared. Well! What good are all my experiments, if I’m scared? And what if I end up like the eel? The hell with it!”

(Even now Krivoshein couldn’t believe it. How could he have done it? Had he decided that he was invincible? Or was it the thinking of a motorcyclist who has to pass between two oncoming trucks — the important thing is don’t think, just go forward! The intoxicating instant of danger, the roar of the trucks, and with a beating heart you tear out into the asphalt expanse! But this wasn’t an instant — and it was quite possible he could end up along with the dead eel on the pool bottom.)

The motorcyclist’s daring hit him. Tearing off his buttons, he undressed, put his leg over the edge, and — “Stop, Val! Think!” — went to the counter, and put on rubber gloves and goggles (“Wish I had an Aqua — lung!”). He filled his lungs with air and plunged into the pool.

Even at a distance from the reactor the water was warm. “A thousand one, a thousand two….” Krivoshein, instinctively turning his face away, walked across the slippery tiles to the middle of the pool. His rubber gloves were in contact with something, and he had to look: the eel, hanging in a loop between the wires, was there. “A thousand ten, a thousand eleven,” and carefully, so as not to disturb the rods, he pulled at the dead fish. “Thousand sixteen….” His hands got hot, and he instinctively wanted to pull away, but he controlled the impulse and slowly extracted the eel from the jumble. The goggles weren’t so hermetic, and streams of radioactive water seeped into his eyes. He squinted. “Thousand twenty, a thousand twenty — one” — he got it out! The green glow flickered, and the rods silently slipped back into the cylinder. It got dark in the pool.

“A thousand twenty — five!” With a sharp push Krivoshein came up to the wall, jumped out of the water, grabbed the edge, and climbed over. “A thousand thirty….”

He had the presence of mind to hop around to get the excess water off his body; he even rolled around on the floor. He wiped his face and eyes dry with his pants. “Just don’t let me get blind before I get there.” He dressed haphazardly and ran out of the room.

The radiation counter howled harshly as he went by. An automatic barrier blocked his path. He jumped over it and ran across the freshly dug lawn to his dorm.

“A thousand seventy; a thousand seventy — one,” his brain continued to count. It was twilight and he avoided meeting acquaintances; but someone called after him near zone B: “Hey, Val, where’s the fire? He thought it was Nechinorov, a graduate student. “A thousand eighty, a thousand eighty — one….” His skin ached and itched and then it was pierced by a million needles. That was his nervous system, honed in previous experiments, telling him that the protons and gamma — quanta from the decayed nuclei were shooting the molecules of protein in the cells of the epithelium, in the nerve endings of the skin, breaking through the walls of the blood vessels, and wounding the red and white corpuscles. “A thousand hundred. thousand hundred five….” Now the prickling had moved to his muscles, stomach, and under his skull. His lungs were congested as though he had taken a deep draw on the crudest homegrown tobacco in the world. That was the blood carrying the exploded atoms and fractured proteins all over his body.

“A thousand two hundred five… two hundred eight… idiot, what have you done? Two hundred twelve….” He no longer had the idea, the impetus. There was only fear. He wanted to live. He was getting nauseating cramps in his stomach, and his mouth was filled with copper — tasting saliva. Bumping into the massive front door as he ran in, Krivoshein realized that he was dizzy. He was seeing black. “Two hundred forty — one… will I make it?” He had to get up to the fourth floor. He slapped himself as he ran, and his head got clearer.

Twilight rushed into the dark room with him. For the first few seconds Krivoshein circled the room aimlessly and weakly. The fear, that biological fear that cannot be controlled, that makes a wounded animal head for his lair, had almost killed him: he had forgotten what to do. He felt terribly sorry for himself. His body was filled with a ringing weakness and his consciousness was slipping away. “Well, so go ahead and perish, you fool,” he thought listlessly and felt a wave of extreme anger. And that’s what saved him.

His clothes, spotted with green like lichen on trees, fell on the floor. The room got even lighter; his feet glowed, and his hair and vein pattern were visible on his hands. Krivoshein ran into the shower and turned it on. The cold water poured over him, sobering him up, over his head and body, forming an irridescent pool of emerald green on the floor, and refreshed him long enough to gather his thoughts and will power.

Now, like a strategist, he commanded the battle for survival that was raging in his body. Blood, blood, blood, was rushing through his entire body! The feverish pounding of his heart resounded in his temples. Myriad capillaries washed damaged molecules and particles from every cell in his muscles and glands and sucked them out from the lymph nodes. The white corpuscles surrounded them, breaking them down to elemental particles, and carried them off into the spleen, the lungs, the liver, kidneys, intestines, tossed them into the sweat glands. “Cover the bone vessels!” he instructed the nerves, remembering in time that radioactivity could settle in bone marrow, which produced blood cells.

Several minutes passed. Now he was exhaling radioactive air with faintly glowing vapors, spitting out glowing saliva that had collected the decayed radioactive cells of the brain and muscles, washing off greenish drops of sweat from his body, and urinating a beautiful emerald green stream. After an hour his excretions no longer glowed, but his body still ached.

And so he spent three hours in the shower. He swallowed water washed himself off, and threw out all the harmful radiation from his body. He came back to his room after midnight, unsteady on his feet from weakness and physical emaciation. He pushed his glowing clothes into a corner and fell onto his bed. Sleep!

The next day he was very thirsty. He dropped by the radiometrics lab, used the Geiger counter all over his body. The apparatus crackled as usual, noting random cosmic particles.

“My God, when did you lose all that weight?” Nechinorov asked as he ran into him at a lecture….

“Yes, in terms of results, that was a major experiment,” chuckled the graduate student. “I conquered a fatal dose of radiation! But in terms of performance… no, those experiments are no joke. It’s better to do it his way.”

July 27. I have a great quantity of doubles and monsters. I set the normal rabbits free on the grounds, and the monsters I take out one at a time in a satchel and take them to the other side of the Dnieper.

That’s it. The pleasure of the novelty has worn off. I’m disgusted by this mockery of nature: it’s only a rabbit, but it is alive. The ones who squint at themselves suspiciously, two heads on the same body… ugh! But, what the hell! I’ve discovered a method of controlling biological synthesis. I tested it and developed it. Science in the long run creates methods, not constructions, not things, not objects, but methods — how to do it all. And no researcher would ever pass up a chance to squeeze every possibility from his method.

By the way, yesterday there was a new dish at the institute cafeteria — roast rabbit with new potatoes, forty — five kopeks. Let’s just call it a coincidence. But even that’s a possible application of the discovery: breeding rabbits, as well as cows, for meat, improving the breeds. With an industrial application this method would have to be better than standard methods.

Tomorrow I’m going back to experiment on the synthesis of man. The methodology is clear, there’s no point in dragging it out. And the very thought of it makes me drool. To go back to the synthesis of man… it was one thing when my double appeared on his own, almost by accident, the way it happens in life; it’ll be another thing to prepare a human being consciously, like a rabbit. In essence, I won’t be ‘going back’ to this, I’ll be beginning.

What kind of a creature is man, that I can’t work with him as calmly as I do with a rabbit?

Let’s set up some perspective here. The megagalaxy, a cloud of stars, floats in the black void. There is a lentil — shaped dust mote of stars in it — our Milky Way. At the edge of it, our Sun, and around it, the planets. On one of them — not the largest, and not the smallest — live people. Three and a half billion, that’s not so many. If you line them up in formation, all of humanity can be seen from the Eiffel Tower. If you put them together, you would get a cube with each side a kilometer long, that’s all. A cubic kilometer of living and thinking matter, a molecule in the universe…. And so what?

What? That I’m a human being too. One of them. Not the lowest and not the highest. Not the smartest, and not the dumbest. Not the first, and not the last. And yet I feel that I am all of that. And I feel responsible for everything.