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!
Chapter 12
A scientific fact: the sound “a” is pronounced without any pressure of the tongue, by exhaling; if at the same time you open and close your mouth, you get “ma… ma….” That is the origin of a child’s first word.
That means that the child is taking the path of least resistance. What are the parents so happy about?
K. Prutkov — engineer, Thought 53
The first few weeks I was still wary of my double: what if he suddenly disintegrated or dissolved? Or went berserk? He was an artificial creation. Who knew? But no way! He fiercely put away sausage and yogurt drinks in the evening after a tough day at the lab, enjoyed his long baths, liked to have a smoke before going to sleep — in a word, just like me.
After the Hilobok incident, we carefully plotted out the day every morning: where would we be, doing what? When would we eat at the cafeteria? At what time would each of us go through the entryway, so that Vakhterych would forget in the rush that one Krivoshein had already gone through. In the evening we would tell each other whom we had seen and what we had talked about.
The only thing we didn’t discuss was Lena. It was as though she did not exist. I even took her photo off my desk. And she didn’t come over or call — she was mad at me. And I didn’t call her. And neither did he… but she was still there.
It was May, a poetic, glorious southern May — with blue twilights, nightingales in the park, and huge stars above the trees. The chestnut blooms were falling and the acacias were flowering. The sweet, troubling scent penetrated the lab, disturbing our work. We both felt gypped. Ah, Lena, my dear, passionate Lena, reveling in love, why is there only one of you on earth?
That’s the childishness the appearance of my double and “rival” bought out in me! Until then Lena and I had the usual relationship between two worldly — wise people (Lena had divorced her husband the year before; I’d had my share of broken affairs, which turned me into a confirmed bachelor) that comes not so much as the result of mutual attraction but of loneliness. In a relationship like that neither gives himself completely. We enjoyed our dates and tried to pass time in an interesting way; she would spend the night at my place or I would stay at hers; in the mornings we would both be a little uncomfortable and separate with relief. Then I would be drawn to her again and she to me… and so on. I was in love with her beauty (it was great to watch men looking at her in the street or in a restaurant), but I was often bored by her conversation. And as for her… well, who understands a woman’s heart? I often had the feeling that Lena expected something more from me, but I never tried to find out what. And now, where there was danger of losing Lena, I suddenly felt that I needed her desperately, and that without her my life would be empty. And we’re all like that!
But the construction of the chamber was going along swimmingly. In complex work like that it’s important to understand each other — and in that sense it was an ideal arrangement: my double and I never explained anything to each other; one simply replaced the other and went on working. We never argued once about placement of sensors, or where to set up the plugs and sockets or screens.
“Listen, are you getting a little worried by our idyl?” my double asked one day, as we changed guard. “No questions, no doubts. We’re going to make mistakes in complete harmony.”
“What else? You and I have four arms, four legs, two stomachs, and one head for the two of us — the same knowledge, the same life experience….”
“But we argued, contradicted each other!”
“We were simply thinking aloud together. You can argue with yourself. Man’s thoughts are mere variants of actions and they are always contradictory. But we strive to act together.”
“Yes… but that’s no good! We’re not working now, we’re plugging away. An extra pair of hands doubles the work capacity. But our main function is to think. And here… listen, original, we have to become different.”
I couldn’t imagine what serious repercussions this innocent conversation would have. And, as they write in novels, the repercussions didn’t make us wait.
It began with my double buying a volume of Human Physiology intended for secondary phys ed courses. I won’t try to guess whether he had really planned to distinguish himself from me or whether he was simply attracted by the bright green cover and gold lettering, but as soon as he opened it, he began muttering “Aha! Now that’s something….” as if he were reading a catchy mystery, and then he bombarded me with questions:
“Do you know that nerve cells can be up to a meter long?”
“Do you know what controls the sympathetic nervous system?”
“Do you know what protective inhibition is?”
Naturally, I didn’t know. And he went on telling me with a neophyte’s enthusiasm about the sympathetic nervous system regulating the functions of the internal organs, that protective inhibition or pessimum, occurs in nerve tissue when the strength of excitation exceeds the permissible level.
“You understand, the nerve cell can refuse to react to a powerful stimulus in order not to destroy itself! Transistors can’t do that!”
After that textbook he bought up a whole batch of biology books and journals, read them cover to cover, quoting his favorite passages, and got mad when I didn’t share his enthusiasm. And why should I have?
Graduate student Krivoshein set aside the diary. Yes, that’s precisely how it all began. In the dry academic lines of the books and articles on biology he suddenly sensed the proximity of truth that he had earlier felt only when reading the works of great writers, when, delving into the actions and emotions of invented characters, you begin to learn something about yourself. Then he did not realize it, because the physiology facts had enthralled him, so to speak. But he was upset that original Krivoshein was left cold by it all. How could that be? They were the same; that meant that they had to react to things the same way. Did that mean that he, the artificial Krivoshein, wasn’t the same? That was the first hint.
The second time he overslept — sitting up reading until dawn — I blew up:
“Why can’t you get interested in mineralogy — or production economics — if you want so badly to be different! At least you’d get some sleep.”
We were talking in the lab, after my double arrived past noon, sleepy and unshaven; I had shaved in the morning. That kind of discrepancy was enough to worry our institute friends.
He gave me a haughty and surprised look.
“Tell me, what’s that liquid?” and he pointed at the tank. “What is its composition?”
“Organic, of course, why?”
“It’s not tricky. Why did the computer — womb use ammonia and phosphoric acid? Remember? It kept spewing out formulas and amounts and you ran around all the stores like a crazy man, trying to find it all. Why did you get it?! You don’t know? I’ll explain: the computer was synthesizing atpase an
d phosphocreatine — the sources of muscle energy. Understand?”
“I understand. But what about Galosha brand gas? And calcium rhodanate? And the methylviolet? And the other three hundred reagents?”
“I don’t know yet. I have to read up on biochemistry….”
“Uh — huh… and now I’ll explain to you why I got those disgusting things: I was fulfilling the logical conditions of the experiment — the rules of the game, and nothing else. I did not know about your superphosphate. And the computer probably didn’t know that the formulas it was turning out in binary code had such fancy names — because nature is made up of structural elements and not names. And yet it asked for ammonia, phosphoric acid, and sugar, and not for vodka or strichnine. It figured out for istelf, and without textbooks, that vodka is a poison. And it created you without textbooks and medical encyclopedias — it modeled you from life.”
“I don’t see why you’re so uptight about biology. It has everything we need: knowledge about life and man. For example. ” — he was trying to convince me, it was obvious — “did you know that conditioned reflexes are created only when the conditioning stimulus precedes an unconditioned one? The cause precedes the effect, understand? The nervous system has a greater sense of causality than any philosophy book! And biology uses more precise terms than everyday life. You know, how they write in novels: ‘The unconscious terror widened his pupils and made his heart beat faster. The sympathetic system went to work. There you go….” He leafed through his green bible. “ ‘Under the influence of impulses passing through the sympathetic nerves, the following occurs: a) dilation of pupils through the contraction of the radial muscles of the iris; b) increase in frequency and strength of heart contractions…. That’s more like it, eh?”
Self-discovery Page 17