Noon: 22nd Century tnu-1

by Boris Strugatsky

  Kochin went up to the bed and touched him on the shoulder. “It’s time, Comrade Peters. Please get up.”

  Peters opened bleary eyes. “Just another half hour,” he said plaintively.

  Kochin, distressed, shook his head. “It’s impossible, Comrade Peters. If you oversleep…”

  “Right,” the esper said with a sigh. “I’ll be dull.” He sat up and stretched. “You know what I just dreamed about, George? I dreamed that I was at home on the farm, on the Yukon. My son had just come back from Venus and I was showing him the activated

  [missing text]

  glucose out of his pocket, took out one ampule, and pressed its sucker against the swollen vein on Peters’s arm. When the glucose had penetrated, Peters knocked the empty ampule off with a snap, and rolled his sleeve down. “Well, let’s go suffer,” he said with a sigh.

  The Institute for Space Physics had been built about twenty years before on Kotlin Island in the Gulf of Finland. The old Krondstadt base had been completely demolished; there remained only the gray, moss-covered walls of the ancient forts and, in the park of the science town, the golden monument to those who had taken part in the Great Revolution. An artificial archipelago on which were located the rocketports, airports, energy receivers, and energy stations of the Institute had been created to the west of Kotlin Island. The islands furthest west in the archipelago were occupied by what were called the “loud” laboratories—from time to time explosions thundered there, and they had fires. Theoretical work and “quiet” experiments were conducted in the long, flat buildings of the Institute itself, on Kotlin Island.

  The Institute worked on the leading edge of science. The range of work was extremely broad. Problems of gravity. Deritrinitation. Questions of new physical axiomatics. The theory of discrete space. And very many more specialized problems. Fairly often the Institute took on for research problems which seemed, and which in the last analysis turned out to be, hopelessly complicated and inaccessible. The experimental approach to these problems often demanded monstrous expenditures of energy. Time after time the leadership of the Institute disturbed the World Council with monotonous requests for an hour’s worth, two hours’ worth, and sometimes even a day’s worth of the energy of the Planet. In clear weather Leningraders could see on the horizon the shiny spheres of the gigantic energy receivers erected on the most distant islands of the “Kotlin Achipelago.” Some wit on the Resources Committee had called these energy receivers “Danaidian barrels,” claiming that the energy of the Planet vanished there as if into a bottomless barrel, without visible result; and many on the Council waxed wroth on the subject of the Institute’s activities, but they gave the energy unfailingly, because they considered that humanity was rich and could permit itself some expenditure on the problems of the day after tomorrow. Even at the height of work on the Big Shaft, which was digging toward the center of the Planet.

  Four years earlier a group of Institute members had carried out an experiment having the aim of measuring the energy expended during sigma-deritrinitation. On the border of the Solar System, far beyond the orbit of Transpluto, a pair of drone spaceships were driven up to relativistic velocities and brought to a collision at a relative speed of 295 thousand kilometers per second, over ninety-eight percent of lightspeed. The explosion was terrific; the mass of both starships was turned almost entirely into radiation. The starships disappeared in a blinding flash, leaving after them a thin cloud of metallic vapor. On finishing their measurements, the researchers discovered an energy deficit: a part of the energy, relatively very small, but perfectly detectable, had “disappeared.” On the qualitative side, the result of the experiment had been nothing to write home about. According to the theory of sigma-deritrinitation, a certain part of the energy was, after all, supposed to disappear at a given point in space, in order to ooze out in some form in regions perhaps quite removed from the place of the experiment. This, indeed, was the very essence of the sigma-D-principle, and something similar had happened in its time in the case of the famous Taimyr. But on the quantitative side the energy deficit exceeded the predicted quantity. Part of the energy had “disappeared” to parts unknown. Two concepts had been enlisted to explain this contradiction of the conservation laws. One was the hypothesis that the energy had gotten away in an as-yet-unknown form, for example in some sort of field unknown to science for which instruments for detection and registration did not yet exist. The other was the theory of interpenetrating spaces.

  The theory of interpenetrating spaces had been worked out long before this experiment. This theory regarded the world as a perhaps infinite aggregate of interpenetrating spaces with quite various physical properties. It was this difference in properties that permitted spaces to coexist physically, with no noticeable interaction with each other. It was an abstract theory, and had not led to experimentally verifiable concrete equations. However, it followed from the theory that various forms of matter possess differing abilities to penetrate from one space into a neighboring one. It was proven as well that the penetration pro-cedes the more easily the greater the energy concentration. The concentration of the energy of the electromagnetic field was enormous in the experiment with the spacecraft. This led to the proposal that the energy “leakage” could be explained as an energy transfer from our space to some neighboring space. There were few data, but the idea was so attractive that it immediately found adherents in the Institute.

  Experimental work on the theory of interpenetrating spaces had been undertaken by members of the Department of the Physics of Discrete Space. They immediately turned away from the cumbersome, dangerous, and not very precise experiments connected with the swallowing up and excretion of enormous energies. Anyhow, such experiments left open the question of unknown fields. Consequently it was planned to carry out research on spatial penetrability on the most varied fields: gravitational, electromagnetic, nuclear. But the trump card and main hope was the brilliant idea of one of the members who had noticed a remarkable similarity between the psychodynamic field of the human brain and the hypothetical “linkage field,” whose general mathematical description had been established by the theory of interpenetrating spaces at a time when researchers in psychodynamics had not yet even possessed a mathematical apparatus. The hypothetical “linkage field” was a field which, according to the theory, had the maximum ability to penetrate from one space into the next. Sufficiently accurate artificial receivers for the “psychodynamic field” (and accordingly also for the “linkage field”) did not exist, and so it was up to the espers.

  There were ten billion people on the Planet, and a total of one hundred twenty-two registered espers. The espers read thoughts. The mystery of this unusual ability was still apparently very far from solution. It was clear only that the espers were surprisingly sensitive to the psychodynamic radiation of the human brain and that this sensitivity was innate. Some espers could detect and decipher the thoughts of a person thousands upon thousands of kilometers away. Some received psychodynamic signals only over a distance of a few paces. The parapsychologists argued over whether the espers were the first signs heralding the appearance on the evolutionary ladder of a new kind of human being, or whether this was simply an atavism, the remnant of a mysterious sixth sense that had once helped our ancestors to orient themselves in the dense primeval forest. The more powerful espers worked in the long-distance communication stations, augmenting the usual radio link with distant expeditions. Many espers worked as doctors. And many worked in fields unrelated to thought-reading.

  However that might be, the workers of the Institute for the Physics of Space hoped that the espers would be able to simply “hear” the linkage field. This would be remarkable confirmation of the theory of interpenetrating spaces. The best espers on the Planet had gathered at Kotlin Island at the invitation of the Institute. The plan of the experiment was simple. If a linkage field between neighboring spaces existed, then, according to the theory, it should be very similar to the psychodynamic field of a
human brain and should accordingly be picked up by the espers. If an esper were isolated in a special chamber shielded from the outside world (including human thoughts) by a thick layer of mesomatter, then there would be left in that room only the gravitational field of the Earth, which made no difference to the psychodynamic field, and the hypothetical linkage field coming from the neighboring spaces. Of course, such an experimental arrangement was far from ideal. Only a positive result would be decisive. A negative result indicated nothing—it neither confirmed nor rejected the theory. But so far it was the only chance. The espers were stimulated with neutrino radiation, which increased the sensitivity of the brain; were placed in the chambers; and were left to “listen.”

  Peters and Kochin walked unhurriedly down the main street of the science town. The morning was foggy and grayish. The sun had not yet risen, but far, far ahead the gridded towers of the energy receivers reflected a pink light at an enormous height. Peters walked with his hands clasped behind his back, and sang in an undertone a ditty in English about “Johnny coming down to Highlow, poor old man.” Kochin, with a look of independence, walked alongside and tried not to think about anything. Near one of the cottages Peters suddenly ceased singing and stopped. “We have to wait,” he said.

  “Why?” asked Kochin.

  “Sieverson is asking me to wait up.” Peters nodded in the direction of the cottage. “He’s putting on his overcoat.”

  One-two-three / Pioneers are we, Kochin thought. Two espers—that’s twice as… five times five is eleven—or something like that. “Is Sieverson really by himself? Doesn’t he have a guide?”

  “Five times five is twenty-five,” Peters said querulously. “And I don’t know why Sieverson wasn’t assigned a guide.”

  Sieverson appeared at the door of the cottage. “Don’t swear, young man,” he said to Kochin sternly. “When we were your age we were more polite.”

  “Now, now, Sieverson old chap,” said Peters. “You yourself know you don’t think that—Thank you, I slept very well. And you know, I dreamed about beavers. And that my Harry had come back from Venus.”

  Sieverson came down to the sidewalk and took Peters’s arm. “Let’s go,” he said. “Beavers—I’ve felt like a beaver myself these past few days. You, at least, have dreams, but I-did I tell you that I’ve just had a granddaughter born, Peters?… Oh, I did tell you. Well, I can’t see her even in a dream, because I haven’t seen her even once in real life. And I feel ashamed, Peters. To spend my old age on nonsense like this… Of course it’s nonsense—don’t you contradict me.”

  Kochin trudged behind the pair of venerable espers and repeated to himself, The integral from zero to infinity of e to the minus-x-squared power, radical pi over two… A circle is a geometric locus of points equidistant…

  Old Sieverson grumbled, “I’m a doctor, and in my village I know everyone unto the seventh generation backward and forward, and everyone knows me. I’ve listened to people’s thoughts all my life. Every day I’ve been able to be of help to someone because I heard his thoughts. Now I’m ashamed and stifled. Ashamed and stifled from sitting in total loneliness in these stupid casemates and listening to—what?—the whisperings of ghosts! The whisperings of imaginary spirits springing from someone’s delirious imagination! Don’t you contradict me, Peters! I’m twice as old as you!”

  The unwritten code of the espers forbade them to converse mentally in the presence of a non-esper. Kochin was a non-esper, and he was present. He repeated to himself, The mathematical expectation of a sum of random quantities is equal to the sum of their mathematical expectations… Or to put it another way… uh, the sum of their mathematical expectations… mathematical expectations…

  “They drag us away from our regular work,” Sieverson continued grumbling. “They drive us into this gray fog. Don’t argue, Peters, they do drive us! They drove me! I couldn’t refuse when they asked me, but nothing prevents me from looking upon this request as an attack on my person… Don’t argue, Peters, I’m older than you! Never in my life have I had cause to regret being an esper… Oh, you have had cause? Well, that’s your business. Of course beavers don’t need an esper, But people, sick and suffering people, they need—”

  “Hold on, old chap,” said Peters. “As you see, even healthy people need espers. Healthy but suffering—”

  “Who is healthy here?” exclaimed Sieverson. “These physicists, or should I say alchemists? Why do you think I haven’t left up to now? I can’t very well disappoint them, damn them all! No, young man—” He broke off and turned to Kochin. “There are few people like me. Espers so old and so experienced! And you can stop muttering your abracadabra—I can hear perfectly well what you are sending. Peters, don’t defend the young whipper-snapper, I know what I’m saying! I’m older than all of you put together!”

  Sixty-two times twenty-one, Kochin, red and damp from spite, thought stubbornly. Is… is… Six times two… You’re lying, old man, you couldn’t be that old. And anyhow… “Through the heavens at midnight an angel did fly…” Who wrote that? Lermontov.

  The harsh voice of the loudspeaker rang out over the town: “Attention, comrades! We are relaying a warning from the local microweather station. From nine-twenty to ten-oh-five there will be an average-sized rainfall over the western end of Kotlin Island. The western boundary of the rain zone is the extreme edge of the park.”

  “You’re foresighted, Sieverson,” said Peters. “You wore your overcoat.”

  “I’m not foresighted,” muttered Sieverson. “I simply picked up the decision from the weathermen this morning at six o’clock, when they were talking it over.”

  Wow! Kochin thought excitedly.

  “You’re a very strong esper,” Peters said with great respect.

  “Nonsense!” Sieverson retorted. “Twenty kilometers. You would have caught that thought too, but you were sleeping. I, on the other hand, am afflicted with insomnia on this fogbound island.”

  When they came out to the edge of the town, a third esper caught up to them. A young one, of very presentable appearance, with a cold, self-assured face. He was draped out picturesquely in a modish gold toga. Petya Bystrov was with him.

  While the espers exchanged silent greetings, Petya Bystrov, after glancing furtively at them, ran a hand over his throat and said with his lips only, “Eh, I’m having a rough time.”

  Kochin spread his hands.

  At first the espers walked silently.

  Kochin and Bystrov, their heads hanging, followed several paces behind. Suddenly Sieverson yelled in a cracked falsetto, “Please speak aloud, McCullough! Please speak with words in the presence of young people who are non-espers!”

  “Sieverson, old chap!” said Peters, looking at him reproachfully.

  McCullough waved the skirt of his toga ostentatiously and said in a haughty tone, “Well, I can repeat it in words too! I have nothing to hide. I can’t pick up anything in those stupid chambers. There’s nothing to be picked up there. I’m telling you, there’s simply nothing to be picked up there.”

  “That’s no concern of yours, young man!” screamed Sieverson. “I’m older than you and nonetheless I sit there without one murmur of complaint, and will continue to sit there as long as the scientists require! And if the scientists ask us to sit there, they have a reason for it.”

  “Sieverson, old chap!” said Peters.

  “Yes, of course it’s more boring than hanging around on street corners wrapped up in a hideous gold bathrobe and eavesdropping on other people’s thoughts! And then doing party tricks for the girls! Don’t argue with me, McCullough, you do do that!”

  McCullough wilted, and for some time they all walked silently.

  Then Peters said, “Unfortunately, McCullough is right. Not in eavesdropping on others’ thoughts, of course—but I can’t pick anything up in the chamber either. Neither can you, Sieverson old chap. I’m afraid that the experiment will end up a failure.” Sieverson muttered something inaudible.

  The heav
y slab of titanium steel covered on two sides with a shiny layer of mesomatter slowly descended; and Peters was left alone. He sat down in an armchair in front of a small, empty table, and prepared to be bored for ten straight hours. In accordance with the conditions of the experiment, neither reading nor writing was permitted. You had to sit and “listen” to the silence. The silence was total. The mesoshield did not let a single thought in from outside, and here, in this chamber, for the first time in his life Peters experienced a surprisingly unpleasant feeling of deafness. Probably the designers of this chamber had not suspected how favorable for the experiment this silence was. A “deaf” esper strained to listen, trying to catch even a whisper of a signal, whether he wanted to or not. Moreover, the designers had not known what suffering it cost an esper used to the constant clamor of human thoughts to spend ten hours in the deaf chamber. Peters called it the torture chamber, and many espers had picked up the term.

  I have already sat here for one hundred ten hours, thought Peters. At the end of today it will be a hundred twenty. And nothing. No trace of the notorious “linkage field” which our poor physicists think about so much. And a hundred-some hours is a good many. Just what are they expecting? A hundred espers, each of whom has sat in one of these things for about a hundred hours—that’s ten thousand hours. Ten thousand hours down the drain. The poor, poor physicists! And the poor, poor espers! And my poor, poor beavers! Pete Ballantine is a greenhorn, a kid, out of school for only a few days, I know in my bones that he’s late with the feedings. Probably a week and a half late, I’ll have to send another radiogram this evening. But he’s stubborn as a mule, he doesn’t want to hear anything about the special conditions of the Yukon, And Winter is a greenhorn too, and wishy-washy.

  Peters turned nasty. And Eugene is a green, self satisfied fool. You have to love the beavers! They need love! You have to love them with your whole heart! So that they themselves will climb up onto the bank for you and poke their noses into your hand. They have such nice cute faces. And these “fur breeders” have only got problems on their minds. Fur breeding! How to get two pelts from one beaver! And then make it grow a third! Oh, if only I had my Harry with me… Harry, my boy, how hard it is without you! If you only knew!