Self-discovery

by Vladimir Savchenko

  Words and images got in the way. He was overexplaining. He told the liver how to synthesive glycogen from amino acids and fats, break down the glycogen into glucose, and excrete it into the blood; he told the thyroid to contract and squeeze out drops of thyroxin into the blood; he told the circulatory system to expand the capillaries in the large chest muscles and to contract the other vessels — and nothing happened, his pectorals didn’t grow bigger. After all, the liver didn’t know it was the liver, and the thyroid didn’t have the slightest idea what thyroxin was and couldn’t picture a drop of it. Krivoshein cursed himself for excessive attention at his lectures and in the library. The result of all this exertion was only a headache.

  The problem was that in order to control metabolism within himself, he had to avoid numbers, terms, and even images, and think only in sensations. The problem came down to changing “knowledge in sensation” into a tertiary signal system of controlling internal secretions with the aid of sensations.

  The funniest part was that he didn’t need lab apparatus or control circuits. All he had to do was lie in a darkened room, eyes closed and ears plugged, and listen to himself in a half — dreaming state. Strange sensations came from within: the spleen, changing the blood, itched, and intestines tickled when they contracted; the salivary glands felt cold under his chin; the adrenals reacted to nerve signals with a delicious shudder, and the part of the blood enriched with adrenalin and glucose spread warmth through the body like a sip of wine. The sick cells in the muscles made themselves known with a gentle prickling.

  Using engineering terminology, he was checking out his body with nerves the way an assembler checks out a circuit with a tester.

  By this time he had a clear understanding of the binary arithmetic of sensation: painful — pleasant. And it occurred to him that the simplest way of subjugating the cellular processes to his consciousness was to make them hurt. It was quite possible that the incident with the icicle prompted this discovery; the idea came to him right after it.

  Of course, the cells that were deteriorating and dying from various causes let themselves be known very palpably. The organism itself, without any orders from “above” sent leucocytes, feverish tissue, enzymes, and hormones to help. All he had to do was either speed up or slow down these microscopic struggles for life.

  He injected and cut muscles everywhere he could reach with a needle or a scalpel. He injected fatal doses of typhus and cholera bacteria cultures. He inhaled mercury vapor, drank mixtures of corrosive sublimate and wood alcohol. (He didn’t have the nerve to try faster — acting poisons, however.) And the more he tried the better his organism handled all the dangers he was aware of.

  And then he caused cancer in himself. Cause cancer! Any doctor would spit in his eye for an announcement like that. To cause cancer you have to know what causes cancer. To be perfectly honest, he wouldn’t maintain that he knew the causes of cancer, but this was simply because he couldn’t translate into words all the feelings that accompanied the changes in the skin on his right side. He began with questioning the patients who were undertaking gamma therapy at the lab. What did they feel? This was not kind — asking terrified, exhausted people, contorted by pain, about their experiences and not promising anything in return — but that was how he understood the image of a cancer patient.

  The growth was getting bigger and harder. Smaller growths began branching off from it — strange greenish purple ones, like cauliflower. Pain chewed up his side and shoulder. At the university clinic, where he went for a diagnosis, they suggested an immediate operation, without even letting him leave the place. He got out of it by lying and saying that he wanted to undergo radiation therapy first.

  Graduate student Krivoshein, crumpling a cigarette, stepped out onto the balcony. It was a warm night. A car, waving its headlights, raced down a side road. Two little lights, a red one and a green one, traveled from Cygnus to Lyra. Behind them followed the roar of a jet engine. Like a match across a cover, a meteor struck the sky.

  Back in his room, standing in front of the mirror, he concentrated his will and feelings, and the growth melted away in fifteen minutes. Twenty minutes later there was nothing but a purple spot the size of a saucer. Another ten minutes later there was just his usual skin, in goose bumps — it was chilly in the room.

  But he couldn’t express his knowledge about stopping cancer in either prescriptions or medical advice. What he could describe in words wouldn’t heal anyone, except maybe other doubles like himself. So all his knowledge applied only to them.

  With time, probably, he would learn to overcome the barrier between the doubles of the computer — womb and regular people. After all, biologically they were not too different. And the knowledge was there. Even if he couldn’t express it verbally, they could record the fluctuations of his biopotentials, graph his temperatures, develop numbers of analysis in computers — medicine was a precise science now. And finally they would come around to recording and transmitting precise sensations. Words were not necessary. The important thing for a sick person was to get well, and not to write a dissertation on his recovery. That wasn’t the point.

  The student’s attention was riveted by a light exploding below. He looked closely: leaning against a lamp post, the fellow in the cape from yesterday, the detective, was lighting a cigarette. He tossed the match and walked away slowly.

  “So he found me, the damn creep! He’s stuck on me like a burr!” Krivoshein’s mood was ruined. He went back inside and sat down to read the diary.

  Chapter 14

  Life is short. There is barely enough time to make an adequate

  number of mistakes. Repeating them, that’s an unforgivable

  luxury.

  K. Prutkov — engineer, Thought 22

  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 i
t. “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.”