Self-discovery

by Vladimir Savchenko

  In a word, how sad that this idea will have to be left for better times….

  Graduate student Krivoshein rubbed his neck thoughtfully. “Yes, he’s right….” He hadn’t thought about that; it never occurred to him. Maybe because on a fellowship you don’t go around lending money very often. The only thing that occupied him was improving his memory, and that came about on its own. There was too much to remember at once to transform oneself. And when the experiment was over, unnecessary information cluttered up his mind and interfered with the new work. So he mastered the chemistry of directed forgetting: he erased from his cortex those little details of new knowledge that were easier to figure out again than to remember.

  But that was something else. He hadn’t thought about speed of the brain’s logic. He felt funny. He was so engrossed in biology that he had forgotten he came there as a systems engineer to probe new possibilities in man. Did that mean that he didn’t direct the work, that the work had taken him astray? He did what fell into his hands. “Humanity could perish if everyone did only what he could handle,” Androsiashvili had said. And that was no joke.

  But it’s easy to approach this problem. In humans, information is transported by ions, and you can’t make them go any faster, the way computers can. Oh, oh, I seem to be justifying myself! Man can solve complex problems very easily: move, work, talk, but when it comes to logic he just doesn’t have the biological experience. Animals in evolution didn’t have to think, they had to take action — bite, howl, leap, crawl — and the faster the better. Now if animals had had to solve systems of equations, carry on diplomatic talks, do business, and make sense of the world in order to survive — then what wonderful logic they would have developed! I have to think about this, look around….

  August 4. The blinking lights on the control panel of the TsVM — 12 have stopped. That means that all the information about me is recorded in the computer — womb. Where are they now, my dreams, my character flaws, the construction of my intestines, thoughts, and average looks — in the cubes of magnetic memory? In the cells of the crystal unit? Or are they dissolved in the golden liquid of the tank? I don’t know, and it doesn’t matter.

  Tomorrow, a trial re — creation. Only a trial, and nothing more.

  August 5. 2:05 P.M. “You may!” A new, spectral me began appearing in the sunny liquid of the vat. The picture is the same as a rabbit appearing, but at the same moment as the circulatory system appears so does a fuzzy gray mass at the top of the vat; that becomes the brain. The brain that I can’t improve upon with new information. The eye sees but the tooth can’t bite.

  But by four in the afternoon the new double has reached the opaque stage; there are intimations of underwear….

  If six months ago someone had told me that questions of life and death and morality and criminal law would enter my methodology, I doubt that I would have been able to appreciate the depth of the wit. And now I stood in front of the tank and thought: “He’s going to come to life now, climb out of the liquid. Why? What will I do with him?”

  “I existed before I appeared in the computer,” my first double said to me. “I was you.”

  And he was unhappy with his situation. But we’ll learn all the joys of communal living with this one: arguments over Lena, worries that we’ll be caught, the problems of the bed versus the cot…. And most important: this is not what I had expected from the new experiment. The experiment is a success. The computer is re — creating me. But I have to move beyond that.

  And if I dissolve him with the command “No!” — isn’t that death? But, forgive me, whose death is it? Mine? No, I’m still alive. The double’s in the vat? But he doesn’t exist yet.

  Is this all subject to the rule of law — my experiments? And on the other hand, is this abuse of my work? My double was right: there is really strange work.

  And it all stems, I guess, from faintheartedness. In our modern world people in the name of ideals and political goals go forth and send others to kill and die. There are ideas and goals that justify it. And I have a great idea and a great goal: to create a method that improves man and human society. I won’t spare myself, if need be. Then why am I afraid to give the command “No!” for the sake of my work? I have to be firmer, if I’m undertaking this work.

  Especially since this isn’t death. Death is the disappearance of information about a man, but the information is not lost in the computer — womb; it merely changes form, from electrical impulses and potentials to man. And I can always give them another double if they want….

  I pondered until the hoses leaving the tank began contracting rhythmically, emptying out the excess liquid. Then I put on the Crown and gave the command.

  It’s not a pleasant sight: there was a man — and he dissolved. I still feel bad…. All right, pal, don’t rush. I’ll make you fine and dandy. Of course, I can’t give you more brains than what I’ve got myself, but at least I’ll give you looks that will make you reel. After all, you have lots of flaws, as I do: slightly bowed legs, hips too wide and fat, rounded shoulders, a stumpy torso, masses of excess hair on the legs, chest, and back. And protruding ears, and a jaw that makes me look like a complete dolt. And my forehead, and my nose. no, let’s be self — critical. It just won’t do!

  August 6. Experiment number 2 — things get harder by the hour! Today I decided to improve on the looks of a new double and got so messed up that I don’t even want to think about it.

  I began knowing exactly what was “not it” in my looks. (Actually, it’s all “not it,” if it can be changed.) But what was “it?” In my experiments with the rabbits the criterion for “it” was whatever I felt like. But a man is no rabbit; even though they say one head is good, and two are better, no one ever thought that in a biological sense.

  After my command of “You may!” the image of the new double appeared and the semitransparent lilac muscles of the stomach had started disappearing under a layer of yellow fat, I gave the signal “That’s not it!” The computer, obeying my imagination, dissolved the fat tissue where I saw it: on the stomach and near the neck, leaving it on the back and sides.

  I hadn’t noticed that right away, because I was working on the face. Mentally I gave the double a noble brow, but when I looked at the profile, I was aghast: the skull had been flattened! And the shape of the brow contradicted the rest of the face.

  In a word, I was lost. The computer took that for a total “not it” and dissolved the double.

  I was at dead — end. “It was obviously the beauty of the human body. There are classical examples of it. But… turning my double into a pleasant — looking man with classic features in the course of two hours of synthesis was something that was beyond the powers of not only me, but of the most qualified member of the Artists’ Union of the USSR! My only hope was that the computer was remembering all the changes made on the double.

  Then I gave the order “You may!” once more. Yes, the computer — womb remembered everything: the double retained all my clumsy changes. That was better, I could work as many sessions as was necessary.

  In that session I got rid of the excess fat from the double’s body. His pot belly disappeared. You could even see his waist. And his neck took on definite outline. That was enough for a start. “No!” Everything disappeared and I ran over to the city library.

  I’m leafing through Professor G. Gicescusy Atlas of Plastic Anatomy (I also have four richly illustrated books on Renaissance art), learning about the proportions of the human body, picking out the double’s looks like a suit off the rack. The canons of Leonardo da Vinci, of Durer, the proportions of Schmidt — Friech…. It seems that in a proportionate man the buttocks are exactly at mid — height. Who would have thought!

  God, what a poor engineer had to learn!

  I’m taking Hercules as my basis since he is shown from all angles.

  August 74. The twelfth experiment — and it’s still not right. Still lopsided and vulgar. First one leg is shorter than the other, then the a
rms don’t match. Now I’m going to try the proportions of Durer’s Adam.

  August 20. The proportions are right. But the face… an eyeless, dead copy with Krivoshein’s features. Large rust — colored marble curlicues instead of hair. In a word, today was the twenty — first “No!”

  Someone careful and suspicious inside me keeps asking “Is this it? The method you’re developing now, is this the method?”

  I think so, yes. Anyway, it’s a step in the right direction. For now, in order to synthesize a man, I introduce only high — quality information about his body. But in the same manner we could (and in time we’ll work out how to do it) introduce any information gathered by humanity into the computer — womb on the best human qualities, and create not only externally beautiful and physically strong people, but ones who are beautiful and strong in mental and spiritual qualities as well. Usually the good is mixed with the bad in people: he’s smart but weak in spirit; he’s got a strong will but applies it to trifles either through stupidity or ignorance, or he’s firm, and kind, and smart, but sickly. and with this method we could get rid of all the bad and synthesize only the best qualities into a person.

  “A synthetic knight without fear or flaw” — that must sound terrible. But what’s the difference in the end: whether they’re synthetic or natural? As long as there are plenty of them. There are so few “knights” — personally I only know them from movies and books. And yet we need them so much in real life. There’ll be room and work for all of them. And each will be able to influence the world to be a better place.

  August 28. It’s working! Pathetic daubers with their brushes who try to capture the beauty and power of living person in a dead medium. Here it is, my “brush,” an electrochemical machine, a continuation of my brain. And I’m an engineer, not an artist. Without using my hands, through the power of my mind, I am creating beauty in life with life.

  The delicate and precise proportions of Durer’s Adam with the rippling muscles of Hercules. And the face is handsome. Two or three more tries… and I’m done.

  September 1. The first day on the calendar! I’m on my way to the lab. I have pants, shirt, and shoes for him. Into the suitcase. And don’t forget the movie camera — I’m going to film the appearance of the magnificent double. I’m anticipating what an effect that home movie will have someday when I show it!

  I’m going over there, put on Monomakh’s Crown, and mentally I’ll give the order. no, I’ll say it out loud, damn it, in a strong and beautiful voice, the way the Lord had spoken in a similar situation:

  “You may! Appear into this world, double Adam — Hercules — Krivoshein!”

  “And the Lord saw that it was good….”

  Of course, I’m not God. I spent a month creating a man, and He managed on a shortened workday, Saturday. But was that work?

  Chapter 16

  Man has always considered himself smart — even when he walked on all fours and curled his tail like a handle on a lea — kettle. In order to become smart, he’ll have to feel that he is stupid at least once.

  K. Prutkov — engineer, Thought 59

  The next entry in the diary shocked student Krivoshein with its uneven, changed handwriting.

  September 6. But I didn’t want… I didn’t want something like this! All I can do is shout to the sky: I didn’t want it! I tried to make things come out well… without any mistakes. I didn’t even sleep nights. I just lay there with my eyes shut, picturing all the details of Hercules’ body, and then Adam’s, noting which features should be added to my double.

  I couldn’t do it all in one session. No way — that’s why I dissolved him. I couldn’t let out a cripple with arms and legs of different length. And I couldn’t possibly have known that each time I dissolved him I killed him. How could I have known?

  As soon as the liquid cleared his head and shoulders, the double grabbed the edge of the tank with his powerful hands and jumped out. I was running the movie camera, capturing the historic moment of a man appearing from a machine. He fell on the linoleum before me, sobbing with a hoarse, howling cry. I ran to him:

  “What’s the matter?”

  He was hugging my leg with his sticky hands, rubbing his head against them, kissing my hands as I tried to lift him.

  “Don’t kill me, don’t kill me! Don’t kill me any more! Why do you torture me, aaah! Don’t! Twenty — five times you’ve killed me, twenty — five times. Aaah!”

  But I hadn’t known. I couldn’t know that his consciousness revived with every experiment! He understood that I was reshaping his body, doing what I wanted with him, and he couldn’t do a thing about it. My command “No!” first dissolved his body, and then his consciousness dimmed. Why didn’t that artificial idiot tell me that the consciousness begins functioning before the body?

  “Damn it!” the student muttered. “Really — the brain must be unplugged last. When was that?” He turned the pages and sighed with a certain relief. No, it wasn’t his fault. In August and September he couldn’t have told him, he didn’t know it himself. If he were running the experiment, he would have made the same mistake.

  And so I got a man with a classic physique, a pleasant look, and the broken spirit of a slave. “A knight without fear or flaw.”

  Go ahead, look for a scapegoat, you louse. You didn’t know; you tried! But did you!? Wasn’t it conceit, self — love? Didn’t you feel like God sitting up in the clouds in a labeled leather armchair? A god, on whose whims depended the appearance and disappearance of a man, whether he would be or not be. Didn’t you experience an intellectual passion when you gave the computer — womb the orders over and over: “You may!” and “Not it!” and “No!”?

  He tried to escape from the lab immediately. I barely talked him into washing up and dressing. He was trembling. There could be no question of his working alongside me in the lab.

  He spent five days with me^ five horrible days. I kept hoping he’d relax, get better. No way! No, he was healthy in body, knew everything, remembered everything — the computer — womb recorded all my information in him, my knowledge, my memory — but the terror of his experience was overwhelming and could not be controlled by his will or thoughts. His hair turned gray the first day from the memories.

  He was terrified of me. When I would come home, he would jump up and get into a position of submission: his gladiator’s back would hunch and his arms, bulging with rippling muscles, would hang limp. He was trying to look smaller. And his eyes — oh, God, those eyes! They looked at me with a prayer, entreaty, with a panic — stricken readiness to do anything to mollify me. I felt terrified and guilty. I’ve never seen a man look that way.

  And tonight, sometime after three… I don’t know why I woke up. There was a dead gray light from the streetlights on the ceiling. Adam the double was standing over my bed with a raised dumbbell. I could see his muscles in his right arm tense for the blow. We stared at each other for a few seconds. Then he giggled nervously and moved away, his bare feet scuffling on the wood floor.

  I sat up on the bed and turned on the overhead light. He was crouching on the floor by the closet, his head on his knees. His shoulders and the dumbbell in his hand were shaking.

  “What’s the matter?” I asked. “You should strike, once you’ve aimed. You would have felt better.”

  “I can’t forget,” he muttered in a hollow baritone through the sobs. “You see, I can’t forget how you used to kill me… twenty — five times!”

  I opened the desk, took out my passport, engineering degree, what money there was, and shook him by the shoulder. “Get up! Get dressed and go. Go off somewhere, make a life for yourself, work, live. We won’t be able to do anything together. No rest for you or me. It’s not my fault! Damn it, can’t you understand that I didn’t know? I was doing something that had never been done. Surely there were things I couldn’t have known. A man can be born a monster or mentally ill, or become that way after an illness or accident, but then it’s nobody’s fault, nobody to bash
with a dumbbell. If you had been in my place, the same thing would have happened, because you are me! Understand?”

  He was backing toward the wall, shaking. That sobered me up.

  “I’m sorry. Take my papers. I’ll manage here somehow. Here,” I said, opening the passport, “you look more like me on the picture than I do. The photographer must have tried to perfect my features, too. Take the money, a suitcase, clothes — and go where you want. You’ll live on your own, work a bit, and maybe things will be easier for you.”

  Two hours later he was gone. We agreed that he would write to me from wherever he settled. He won’t write….

  It’s a good sign that he tried to kill me. That means he’s no slave. He feels hurt and insulted. Maybe things will work out for him?

  And I’m sitting here without a thought in my head. I have to start over. Oh, nature, what a bitch you are! How you enjoy laughing at our ideas! You seduce us, and then….

  Drop it! Stop looking for someone to blame. Nature has nothing to do with it, it is part of your work only on an elementary level. And the rest is all you. Don’t try to get out of it.

  The alarm went off: 7:15. Time to get up, shave, wash, and go to work. A murky sun over the buildings, the sky full of smoke, dirty, like an old curtain. The wind raised dust, whipping the trees, blowing through the balcony door. Downstairs a bus licks people off the street at the stops. They gather again, and they all have the same expression on their faces: can’t be late for work!

  And I have to get to work too. I’ll get to the lab, jot down the results of my unsatisfactory experiment, and console myself with the bromides: “You learn from your mistakes;” “There are no beaten paths in science;” and so on. And I’ll start the next experiment. And I’ll make more mistakes and destroy not guinea pigs, but… people? You conceited, dreaming cretin, armed with the latest technology!