Self-discovery

Chapter 19

A quick — flowing June night: the purple sunset had gone out in the west a short time ago and now in the southeast, beyond the Dneiper, the sky was growing light again. But even a short night is a night; it has the same effect on people. The inhabitants of the shaded parts of the planet sleep. The citizens of Dneprovsk were sleeping. Many of the participants in the described events were sleeping.

Matvei Apollonovich Onisimov was sleeping fitfully. He had a lot of trouble falling asleep: he smoked, tossed and turned, and bothered his wife while he thought about what had happened. When he did fall asleep, exhausted, his overstimulated mind offered a terrible dream. It seemed three bodies killed by fire throwers were found in three city parks. Medical Examiner Zubato, too lazy to examine all three bodies, came up with the theory that all three were killed with one shot. To probe the veracity of his theory, he sat the bodies down on a marble bench in the autopsy room, arms around one another; their wounds matched up.

Matvei Apollonovich, who usually had black and murky dreams that looked as if they were an old, used film, experienced this picture in 3 — D, with color and smell; there were three Krivosheins in a row — huge, naked, pink ones smelling of meat — and they were staring at him with photogenic smiles. Onisimov woke up in protest. But (the dream had helped) he had the beginnings of a good theory when he woke up: they were boiling the murdered Krivoshein’s body in that lab! After all — a body is the most important clue and it’s risky to hide it or bury it; it could be found. And so they were boiling or disintegrating the body in a special liquid, and since this wasn’t an easy matter, they miscalculated and the tank turned over. And that’s why the body seemed warm when Prakhov the technician found it in the tank! That’s why it melted so fast, soaked as it was in their chemicals, leaving only a skeleton. The lab assistant had been knocked out by the tank, and the other conspirator — the one who was pulling all those tricks in front of him yesterday — ran off. (It was clear that the mystifier or circus performer was either using masks or else was well trained in mimicry.) And then he arranged for an alibi — he could have fooled that Moscow professor with his masks and mime. And his papers were just very good fakes.

Matvei Apollonovich lit another cigarette. And still this was no simple crime. If the perpetrators were working both here and in Moscow and there was no motive of greed, personal vendetta, or sex, then. probably Krivoshein had made a serious invention or discovery. No, tomorrow he would insist to his chief that they bring in the security organs on this case! (Although Onisimov will never know what happened, we must give credit to his detective ability. Really: not knowing anything about the essence of the case and using only the external accidental facts, he managed to build a logical, consistent theory — not everyone can do that!)

Having made the decision, Matvei Apollonovich slept soundly. Now he was having pleasant dreams: he’d been promoted for solving the case. But dreams are even less subject to our control than reality, and the investigator began groaning and tossing. His awakened wife asked: “Matvei, what’s the matter?” Onisimov had dreamed that there was a fire in the department and the new promotion list had been destroyed.

Arkady Arkadievich Azarov had just fallen asleep, and only with the help of two sleeping pills. (He’ll wake up in the morning with neurasthenia.) He was also tormented by thoughts of the events in the New Systems Lab. He had already gotten a phone call from the Party City Committee: “Another accident, Arkady Arkadievich? With a loss of human life?” How do they find out so fast? Now it would all begin: reports, commissions, explanations…. But that’s why he was a director and got a fat salary, so that he could be driven crazy! These are the things, for which he’s not responsible and couldn’t possibly be responsible, that cast aspersions on his honest, productive, positive work! Arkady Arkadievich felt alone and miserable.

“I should never have set up that lab of ‘random retrieval. I didn’t listen to myself. I mean the whole idea of random test and free — form combinations being a path that would bring truth and correct solutions to science went deep against my own grain. And it still does. The Monte Carlo Method — just look at the name! Belief in chance — what could be worse in a researcher? Instead of analyzing the problem logically and confidently and slowly reaching its solution, you try your luck, even with the aid of lab equipment and computers! Of course, you can build pseudoscientific systems and algorithms that way, but don’t they resemble the ‘systems’ gamblers have for beating the bank and which always make them bankrupt? Big deal, so you changed the name of the lab. But the essence was the same. You let it develop, because there is this tendency in world systemology. And so let it develop in our institute, too. It’s developed all right!”

Arkady Arkadievich hadn’t expressed his misgivings to Krivoshein back then, because he didn’t want to dampen his enthusiasm. He merely asked: “What are you planning to achieve… through random retrieval?” “First and foremost to master the methodology,” Krivoshein had answered, and that had pleased Azarov more than if he had spewed out hundreds of ideas.

“But he wasn’t just mastering the methodology/’Arkady Arkadievich remembered the laboratory, the setup that looked like an octopus, the expensive collection of test tubes and flasks. “He was doing some vast experiment. Could he have really been doing what he had reported on at the scientific council? But it ended up with a corpse. A corpse that turned into a skeleton!” Azarov felt revulsion and anger. “I have to put an end to experimentation; something always goes wrong! Always! Systemology is essentially a cerebral science. The analysis and synthesis of any system must be promoted! And if you want to work with computers — please do, program your tasks and go into the computer room. And basically with all these experiments,” the academician laughed lightly, calming down, “you never know what you’ve got: a hugh mistake or a discovery!”

Arkady Arkadievich had a long — time score to settle with experimental science, and his opinions on it were firm and definite. Some thirty years ago the young physicist Azarov was studying the process of liquifying helium. Once he stuck two glass stirrers into his Dewar flask, and the liquid, cooled down to 2 on the absolute scale, evaporated very quickly. Two liters of then precious helium disappeared and the experiment was ruined! Arkady accused the lab’s glass man of sticking him with a faulty Dewar flask. He had been penalized… and two years later a classmate of Azarov’s at the university, Pyotr Kapitsa, in an analogous experiment (lowering capillary stirrers into a vessel) discovered the superfluidity of helium!

Arkady Arkadievich grew disillusioned in experimental physics and came to love the dependable and strict world of mathematics. It was math that elevated him — the mathematical approach to the solution of nonmathematical problems. In the thirties he applied his methods to the problems of the general theory of relativity, which had all science enthralled; later his research helped solve important problems in the theory of chain reactions in uranium and plutonium. Then he applied his methods to the problems of chemical catalysis of polymers; and now he was head of the discrete systems direction in systemology.

“Eh, I’m still thinking about the wrong thing!” Azarov complained. “What did happen in Krivoshein’s lab? I remember last autumn he came to me, wanted to talk about something. What? Work, naturally. And I waved him off. I was too busy. Somehow you always consider things that can’t be put off as the most important. I should have talked to him; I’d know now what happened. Krivoshein never approached me again. Of course, people like that are proud and shy. Wait — what kind of people? What’s Krivoshein like? What do I know about him? A few lectures at seminars, an appearance at the scientific council, several exchanges with other lecturers, and a nodding acquaintance.

Can I base a judgement on that? Yes, I can. I’m not so bad at judging people. He was an active and creative person. You recognize people like that by their questions and by their answers. You can see the constant thought flow — not everyone can see it, but I’m the same way; I can recognize it. A man eats, goes to work, greets friends, goes to the movies, argues with his co — workers, lends money, tans at the beach — he does it all wholeheartedly — and yet all the time he’s thinking. On one subject. The idea has no relation to his actions or daily cares, but there is nothing that will distract him from that idea. It’s the most important part of him: new things are born from it. And Krivoshein was like that. And it’s too bad that’s in the past tense — life loses something very necessary with the death of a man like that. And you feel even more alone…. Well, enough, what am I going on about?” Arkady Arkadievich looked at the time. “I must sleep.”

Harry Haritonovich Hilobok couldn’t fall asleep that night either. He kept looking at the lighted window across the way in Krivoshein’s apartment and tried to guess who was that in there. Lena Kolomiets left rapidly after ten (Harry Haritonvich recognized her figure and walk, and thought: “I should get to know her better. There’s a lot to her”), but the light stayed on. Hilobok turned out his lights, and seated himself at the window with a pair of binoculars, but the angle was wrong — he could only see part of the book shelf and the Olympic — ring logo on the wall. “Did she forget to put out the light? Or is there someone else in there? Should I call the police? Ah, the hell with them. Let them figure it out.” Harry Haritonovich yawned deliciously. “Maybe it’s the police in there investigating….”

He went back into his room and lit the night — light, a naked woman made out of fake marble with a light bulb inside. The soft light fell on the bearskin rug on the floor, the walls covered with blue wallpaper with golden storks, the polished grain of the desk, the bookshelves, the closet, the television set, the quilted pink couch, the dark red carpet with a scene of ancient feasting — everything was meant to be conducive to sensuousness. Harry Haritonovich undressed and went to look at himself in the mirror. He liked his face: the straight large nose; the smooth, but not fat, cheeks; the dark mustache — there was something of Guy de Maupassant about him. Very recently he had been trying on his doctor — of — technical — sciences look. “Why did he have to do that, that Krivoshein?” Harry Haritonovich felt his heart beating madly. “What had I ever done to him? I even voted for his project and helped his relative get a job at the lab. He doesn’t have a dissertation and he envies the rest! Or was it because I didn’t fill his request for the SES — 2? Well, it doesn’t matter — there is no more Krivoshein. He’s gone. That’s the way it is. The winner in life is gone. That’s the way it is. The winner in life is the one who outlives his adversary.”

Hilobok was pleased with the humor of his thought and wanted to remember it. It should be noted that Harry Haritonovich was not as stupid as one might assume from his behavior. It’s just that he based his formula for success on the following: they expect less from a fool. No one ever expected great ideas or knowledge from him; thus on those rare occasions when he would display some knowledge or the tiniest idea, it came as such a pleasant surprise that his colleagues would think: “We underestimate Harry Haritonovich,” and try to compensate for that evaluation in their disposition toward him. And that’s how his articles got into the anthology Questions of Systemology — the editors, naturally expecting nothing very good, were bowled over by the few grains of reason in them. Harry Haritonovich turned in work to people who were already demoralized by his talk and behavior. But something went wrong with his dissertation… but, never mind, he would get his!

Harry Haritonovich was lulled by pleasant thoughts and rain — bowlike hopes. He was sleeping soundly and without dreams, the way they must have slept in the Stone Age.

Officer Gayevoy was sleeping and smiling, just returned from his night shift.

After a good cry about Krivoshein and herself, Lena fell asleep.

But not everyone was asleep. The police guard Golovorezov was fighting off sleepiness at his post watching the New Systems Lab; he was sitting on the steps of the lodge, smoking, and looking at the stars over the trees. Something rustled in the grass not far away. He shined his flashlight: a red — eyed albino rabbit looked at him from the bushes. The guard shooed him away. Golovorezov had no idea just what kind of a rabbit it was.

Victor Kravets tossed and turned on the hard cot under a cloth blanket that smelled of disinfectant in the solitary confinement cell of the prison. He was in that state of nervous agitation when sleep is impossible.

“What will happen now? What will happen? Did graduate student Krivoshein get out of it, or will the laboratory and the project perish? What else can I do to help? Fight back? Confess? To what? Citizen investigator, I’m guilty of good intentions — good intentions that didn’t help anything. I guess that’s a heavy guilt, if that’s how it’s worked out. We kept rushing — hurry! hurry! — to master the discovery, to reach that method ‘with absolute dependability. And even though I didn’t admit it to myself, I expected us to come up with it too. Evolution brought new information into man gradually, by the method of small trials and small errors, testing its benefit with innumerable experiments. And we — we tried to do it all in one experiment!

“We should have dropped the idea of possible social repercussions right off the bat and worked openly and calmly like everyone else. In the long run, people aren’t children. They must understand what’s what on their own. We figured out everything: that man is a super complex, protein quantal — molecular system, that he is the product of natural evolution, that he is information recorded in the liquid. The one thing we missed was that man is man. A free creature. The master of his fate and his actions. And that freedom began long before all the rebellions and revolutions, on that distant day when a humanlike ape thought: ‘I can climb up the tree to get the fruit but I can also knock it down with the stick in my hand. Which is better? It wasn’t just thinking, that ape — it had seen storms make branches knock down fruit. Freedom was the opportunity to choose a variant of behavior based on knowledge. From that day every discovery, every invention has given people new opportunities, made them even freer.

“Of course, there have been discoveries (not many) that told people: don’t! You can’t build perpetual motion machines; you can’t pass the speed of light; you can’t accurately measure the speed and position of an electron simultaneously. But our discovery forbids nothing and doesn’t change anything. It says: go ahead!

“Freedom. It’s not easy to recognize your freedom in our modern society, and pick variations of your behavior wisely and well. Millions of years of the past hang over man when biological laws determined the behavior of his ancestors and everything was simple. And now he is still trying to lay the blame for his mistakes on circumstances, on cruel fate, and to place hopes in God, on a strong personality, on luck — just so it’s not him. And when the hopes shatter, man looks and finds a scapegoat: the people who had raised the hopes are free of guilt. In essence, people who take the path of least resistance do not know freedom.”

The peephole in the door opened, letting in a ray of light; it was blocked by the guard’s face. They were probably checking to see if he was planning another break. Victor Kravets laughed silently: naturally the clink was the best place to meditate on freedom! He acknowledged with pleasure that despite all the recent hassles he hadn’t lost his sense of humor.

Double Adam — Hercules was sitting and reminiscing on a bench at the bus stop on an empty street. Yesterday, as he was coming from the railroad station, thinking about the three currents of information (science, life, art) that affect man, he had the beginnings of a vague, but very important idea. He was interrupted by the three men with the demand to show his papers, those so and so’s…. He was left with the feeling that he had been close to a valuable guess. He would have been better off without it, that feeling. Now he wouldn’t get any sleep!

“Let’s try it again. I was thinking about what information can be used, and how, to ennoble man? Krivoshein had the idea of synthesizing a knight ‘without fear or flaw. And now I’ve got it and I can’t reject it. I ruled out information from the environment and from science, because their influence on man can be equally good or bad. There is only the method of awakening good thoughts with a lyre — art.

True, it does awaken them, but the lyre is an imperfect instrument; while it’s being plinked, man is ennobled, but when it stops, so does the effect. There is something left, of course, but not much, just a superficial memory of seeing a play or reading a book. Well, all right, what if we introduce this information into the computer — womb during the synthesis of man. What if we record the contents of many books, show several excellent movies? It would be the same thing: it would remain in the superficial memory — and that’s all. After all, the book’s not about him!

“Aha, that’s what I was thinking about: there is a transparent wall between the source of art information and its receptor — a concrete human being. What is that wall? Damn it, will life experience always be the main factor in the formation of the personality? Do you have to suffer yourself, to understand the suffering of others? Make mistakes to learn the right way? Like a child who has to burn himself to keep from sticking his hand in the fire. But that’s a hard way to learn, life experience, and not everyone can master it. Life can ennoble you but it can also make you bitter and stupid.”

He lit a cigarette and paced back and forth in front of the bench.

“Information from art is not processed thoroughly enough by man so that he can use it to solve his own problems in life. Wait! The information is not processed to the point of problem solving…. I’ve heard that before! When? In the beginning of the experiment: the early complex sensors — crystal unit — TsVMN — 12 did not absorb my information — Krivoshein’s information — it’s the same thing! And then I used feedback!”

Adam was no longer pacing; he was running on the spit — covered pavement from the wastebasket to the lamp post.

“Feedback, that’s what I want! Feedback, which increases the effectiveness of information systems a thousand times. That’s why there’s a wall. That’s why the effect of art information is so low — there is no feedback between the source and the receptor. There is some, of course: reviews, readers’ conferences, critical magazines, and so on, but that’s not it. There has to be direct, technical feedback, so that the information from art that is being introduced into a person can be changed to suit his individuality, character, memory, abilities, even appearance and biography. In that way his own behavior in critical situations can be played for him during synthesis (let him make his mistakes, learn from them, seek the correct solutions!); he can be displayed to himself — instead of an invented hero — with his spiritual world, abilities, qualities, and flaws. He can help him find himself.. and then that great information will become his life experience. It will take on the universal force of truth that comes from scientific information. This will be a new kind of art — not written, not acted, not musical — everything together, expressed in biopotentials and chemical reactions. The art of synthesizing man!”

Suddenly he stopped. “Yes, but how do you do that in the computer — womb? How do you create that kind of feedback? It won’t be easy. Well — experiments, experiments, and more experiments — we’ll do it! We managed to create feedback between the parts of the complex. The important thing is we have the idea!”

Vano Aleksandrovich Androsiashvili wasn’t sleeping either, in his dacha outside Moscow. He was standing on the veranda, listening to the rustle of the rain. Today at a department meeting they discussed the work of their students. Krivoshein came out looking the worst: in a year’s time he hadn’t taken a single exam; lately his attendance at lectures and labs had been erratic; and he hadn’t chosen a topic for his dissertation. Professor Vladimir Veniaminovich Valerno expressed the opinion that the man was taking up a place in the graduate department for nothing, getting a fellowship, and that it wouldn’t be a bad idea to free that spot for someone more deserving. Vano Aleksandrovich had wanted to say nothing, but lost his temper, and said many rash and angry things to Vladimir Veniaminovich about condescension and disdain in judging the work of young researchers. Valerno was stunned, and Androsiashvili himself felt bad: Vladimir Veniaminovich didn’t deserve that kind of rebuke.

Vano Aleksandrovich had spent many an evening pondering the miraculous healing of the student after he was hit by the icicle, remembering their conversation about controlling metabolism in the organism, and came to the conclusion that Krivoshein had discovered and developed the ability to regenerate tissue rapidly, an ability characteristic of the simplest coelenterates. He couldn’t imagine how he had done it. He was waiting for Krivoshein to come and tell him: Vano Aleksandrovich was willing to forget his injured feelings and promise silence, if necessary. He’d do anything to find out! But Krivoshein was silent.

Now Androsiashvili was mad at himself for not finding out why the police were holding the student when he had talked to them yesterday on their videophone. “Has he done something? When did he have time? He came by the department in the morning to announce that he had to go to Dneprovsk for a few days. Krivoshein’s second mystery.” The professor chuckled. But the anxiety didn’t go away. All right, there might have been a mishap, but what if it was something serious? Say what you will, but Krivoshein was the discoverer and bearer of an important discovery about man. That discovery must not perish.

“I have to go to Dneprovsk,” the thought suddenly came to him. But then the proud blood of a mountain dweller and corresponding member of the Academy boiled over: he, Vano Aleksandrovich Androsiashvili, would rush to help out a graduate student who had gotten into a mess! A student that he took into the department out of pity and who had hurt him deeply with his lack of trust?

“Yes, rush off!” Vano Aleksandrovich shook his head, calming himself. “First of all, you, Vano, don’t believe that Krivoshein committed any crime. He’s not the type. There’s some problem or misunderstanding there, that’s all. You have to help him. Second, you’ve been dreaming of a way to gain his confidence and get closer to him. Well, here it is. Maybe he has good reason for hiding. But don’t let him think that Androsiashvili is a man that can’t be counted on, who withdraws from petty irritations. No! Of course, even in Dneprovsk you won’t begin to question him — he’ll tell you if he wants to. But that discovery must be saved. It’s more important than your pride.”

Vano Aleksandrovich felt better because he had overcome himself and reached a wise decision.

Graduate student Krivoshein wasn’t sleeping either. He was still reading the diary.