control of a situation.
Is not the zealous search for causal connections another expression of
the property instinct in man? Even here we seek to know what belongs to
what.
-K. Prutkov-enzhener, Thought 10
We went out into the institute grounds. The night was warm. Our
exhaustion made us forget that we should not appear in public together, and
we remembered only in the entry. Old man Vakhterych stared at us with his
inebriated eyes. We froze.
"Ah. Valentin Vasilyevich!" the old man exclaimed happily. "Done for
the day?"
"Yes ..." we replied in unison.
"Good." Vakhterych rose heavily and unlocked the front door. "And
nothing will happen to the institute, and no one will steal it, and have a
good evening, and I still have to sit here. People go off to enjoy
themselves, and I have to sit here...."
We ran out into the street and hurried off.
"That's something!" I noticed that the facade of the new institute
building was decorated with multicolored lights. "What's the date?"
My double counted on his fingers:
"The first... no, the second of May. Happy holiday, Val!"
"Belatedly... oh, boy!"
I remembered that I had a date with Lena for May I to go out with some
of her co-workers and to go for a motorcycle excursion on the second. I had
blown it. She would never forgive me.
"And Lena is out dancing right now . . . somewhere with somebody," my
double muttered.
"What do you care?"
We fell silent. Buses, decorated with branches, raced up and down the
street. Neon rocket boosters were set up on rooftops. We could see people
dancing, singing, drinking, through open windows.
I lit a cigarette and started rethinking my observations of the
computer-womb (as we finally decided to call the complex). "First of all,
it's not a computer-oracle or a computer-thinker, because there is no
winnowing of information in it, only combinations-sometimes meaningful,
sometimes not. Secondly, it can be controlled not only by energy (clamping
the hoses, turning off water and power-in other words, grabbing it by the
throat), but also by information. Of course, for now it responds only to the
command 'No!'-but it's a beginning. I think the most convenient way to
command it is through Monomakh's Crown with brain waves. Third, the
computer-womb, while very complex, is still only a machine, an artificial
creation without a goal. The striving for stability, informational
equilibrium, is not a goal but a characteristic, just like that of an
analytic scale. But it is expressed in a more complex way: through synthesis
in the form of living matter via external information. A goal always lies in
solving a problem. There was no problem-and so it fooled around from an
excess of possibilities. But..."
"... man must set its goals," my double picked up; I was no longer
amazed by his ability to think with me. "As for all other machines.
Therefore, as the bureaucrats say, all responsibility lies with us."
I didn't feel like thinking about responsibility. You work and work
unstintingly-and then you get stuck with responsibility, too. And people go
off to enjoy themselves. We missed the holiday. What dopes! And my whole
life will go by in a smelly lab.
We turned down a chestnut-lined avenue which led to Academic Town. A
couple strolled ahead of us. My double and I felt a pang-we poor, sober,
hungry, and lonely men. That couple fit in so beautifully in the gaslit
avenue. Tall and elegant, he held her by the waist. She bent her full mane
of hair toward him. We unthinkingly sped up, in order to pass them and be
spared the lyrical sight.
"We'll play some music, now, Tanechka! I have records that'll make you
salivate!" Hilobok's buzzing voice reached us, and we were knocked for a
loop. The charm of the lovely picture faded. "Harry has another new one," my
double announced. As we got closer we recognized the girl, too. Just
recently she had come to the institute in school uniform to do her probation
work; now, I think, she worked as a lab assistant in the digital computer
lab. I liked her looks: full lips, a soft nose, and big brown eyes that were
dreamy and trusting.
"And when Arkady Arkadievich is on vacation or on a business trip
abroad, I have to make many of his decisions," Harry said, spreading his
peacock tail. "And even when he's here ... what? Of course, it's
interesting, why not?"
There goes little Tanechka, her head bent forward towards Hilobok's
shoulder, and assistant professor Harry seems like a shining knight of
Soviet science to her. Maybe he even has radiation sickness like the hero of
the movie Nine Days in One Year? Or maybe his health is completely
undermined by his scientific work, like the hero of the movie Everything
Will Remain for the People? And so she melts, imagining herself as his
heroine, the little fool.... Your scientific boyfriend is in fine shape,
don't you worry, Tanechka. He hasn't worn himself out with science. And he's
leading you directly to your first major disillusionment in life. He's a pro
in that department....
My double slowed down and said under his breath:
"Should we beat him up? It would be very easy; you go off to visit some
friends and establish an alibi, and I'll...."
He beat me to it by a split second. He spoke hurriedly in general, to
prove his individuality. He understood that we thought the same way. But
since he spoke up so soon, I immediately developed the second mechanism of
proving my individuality: opposition to someone else's idea.
"Over the girl, you mean? The hell with her; if not her, then he'll get
someone else."
"Over her, and everything in general. For the good of my soul. Remember
the stink he made over our work?" His eyes narrowed. "Remember?"
I remembered. I was working in Valery Ivanov's lab then. We were
developing storage blocks for defense computers. Serious things were going
on in the world, and we were working hard, not observing days off or
holidays, and turned in the work six months before the government's
deadline. And soon the institute well-wishers related Hilobok's
pronouncement on us: "In science people who turn in research before it's due
are either careerists or brown-noses, or both!" His pronouncement became
popular. We have quite a few who are in no danger of being called careerists
or brown-noses from working the way we did. Sensitive and hotheaded, Valery
kept wanting to have a heart-to-heart with Hilobok, then had a fight with
Azarov and left the institute.
My fists grew heavy with the memory. Maybe my double could provide the
alibi, and I'd... ? And then I pictured it: a sober intelligent man beating
another intelligent man to a pulp in front of a girl. What was that! I shook
my head to chase out the image.
"No, that's not it. We can't succumb to such base feelings."
"Then what is if?"
"Then we must at least protect those dreamy eyes from Harry's sweaty
embrace." My double bit his lip thoughtfully and pushed me under a tree
(taking the initiative again). "Harry Haritonovich, could I see you
privately for a moment?"
Hilobok and the girl turned around.
"Ah, Valentin Vasilyevich! Of course ... Tanechka, I'll catch up with
you." The assistant professor turned toward my double.
"Aha!" I got his plan and raced through the trees' shadows. Everything
worked perfectly. Tanechka got as far as the fork in the road, stopped,
looked around and saw the same man who had called her boyfriend away just a
few minutes before.
"Tanechka," I said. "Harry Haritonovich asked me to convey his
apologies. He won't be returning. You see, his wife is back and.... Where
are you going? I'll walk you!"
But Tanechka was running away, hands over her face, straight for the
bus stop. I headed home.
A few minutes later my double came in.
"Wait," I said before he could open his mouth. "You told Harry that
Tanechka is the fiancee of your friend, who's a boxing champion?"
"And a judo black belt. And you told her about his wife?"
"Right. Well, at least we've found one positive application of our
study."
We got undressed, washed, and got ready for bed. I took the bed and he
took the folding bed.
"By the way, speaking of Hilobok," my double said, sitting down on his
bed. "We didn't mention that our retrieval topic will be discussed at the
next scientific council? If Harry hadn't reminded me so nicely, I would
never have known. 'It's time, Valentin Vasilyevich. After all you've been
working six months now, and it hasn't been discussed yet. Of course, random
retrieval is a good thing, but you've been requisitioning equipment and
materiel, and I keep getting calls from accounting, wanting to know what to
call the account. And there's talk in the institute that Krivoshein can do
what he wants while everyone else has to fill out forms in triplicate. I, of
course, understand that you must do all this for your dissertation, but you
must give your topic form and bring it into the overall plan....' The creep
brought up work as soon as I told him about the boxing and judo."
"If Hilobok is to be believed, all science is done to keep accounting
happy."
I explained the situation to my double. When the computer was spewing
out those crazy numbers, I had called Azarov in total despair and asked to
see him for advice. As usual, he was too busy and suggested that it would be
better to have a scientific council; he would ask Hilobok to arrange it.
"And by then, the little red egg had hatched," my double finished. "So
shall we report it? With the intention of writing a master's dissertation.
Even Hilobok understands that it's important."
"And I'll bring you in as a demonstration at my defense?"
"We'll see who demonstrates whom," he replied. "But basically ... it's
impossible. We can't."
"Of course we can't," I agreed glumly. "And we can't apply for a patent
either. It looks as if I have only expenses so far on this deal, no
profits."
"I'll give you the money, you cheapskate! Listen, what do you need with
the Nobel Prize?" My double narrowed his eyes. "If the computer-womb can
easily make people, then money ..."
"... is easier than anything! With the right paper and all the water
marks ... well, why not?"
"We'll each buy a three-bedroom co-op," my double said, leaning back
against the wall dreamily.
"And a Volga car..."
"And two dachas each: one in the Crimea for rest and one on the Riga
seacoast for respectability."
"And we'll make a few more of us. One will work so that public outcry
will be stifled ..."
"... and the others will be parasites to their heart's content..."
"... with a guaranteed alibi. Why not?"
We stopped and looked at each other in disgust.
"God, what depressing small-timers we are!" I grabbed my head. "We take
a major discovery and try it on for size on stupid stuff: a dissertation, a
prize, a dacha, beating people up with alibis... This is a Method of
Synthesizing Man! And we're...."
"It's all right, it happens. Every person has petty thoughts once in a
while. The important thing is to keep them from turning into petty acts."
"Actually, so far I see only one positive application of the discovery:
you can see your faults much better when they're in someone else."
"Yes, but is that any reason for doubling the earth's population?"
We were sitting opposite each other in our underwear. I was reflected
in him, a mirror image.
"All right, let's get serious. What do we want?"
"And what can we do?"
"And what do we understand about this business?"
"Let's begin with what's what. The ideas of Sechyonov, Pavlov, Weiner,
and Ashby agreed on one point: that the brain is a machine. Petruccio's
experiments on controlling the development of a human fetus is another move
in this direction. The striving for greater complexity and universality in
technological systems-just take the desire of microelectricians to create
machines that are as complex as the human brain!"
"In other words-our discovery is no accident. The way was prepared for
it by the development of ideas and technology. If not this way, then
another; if not now, then in a few years or decades; if not us, then someone
else would discover it. Therefore, the question comes down to ..."
". . . what can we and must we do in that period-maybe a year, maybe
decades, no one knows, but it's better to take the shorter time-that we have
as a head start on the others." "Yes."
"How is it usually done?" My double rested his cheek on his hand. "An
engineer has the desire to create something lasting. He looks for a client.
Or the client looks for him, depending on who needs whom more. The client
gives him a technological problem: 'Use your ideas and your knowledge to
create such and such. It must have the following parameters and withstand
the following ... and it should guarantee the production annually of no less
than such-and-such percent. The amount is, and the time allotted is. The
sanctions follow general usage....' A contract is signed and then it is
done. We have an idea and we want to develop it further. But if a client
comes along now and says: 'Here's the dough; go to work on your system for
doubling people and it's none of your business why I want it'-we wouldn't
agree, right?"
"Well, it's a little early to be worrying about that. The method hasn't
been researched. What kind of production could there be? Who knows, maybe
you'll disintegrate in a few months." "I won't. Don't count on it." "What's
it to me? Live for all I care."
"Thanks! You are such a boor! Just unbelievable! Would I like to give
you a good punch!"
"All right, all right, don't get off the subject. You misunderstood me.
I meant that we still don't know all the aspects and possibilities of the
discovery. We're at the very beginning. If we compare it to radio, say, then
we're at the level of Hertz's waves and Popov's spark transmitter. What now?
We must research the possibilities."
"Right. But that doesn't change things. Any research that is applied to
man and human society must have a definite goal. And there's nobody around
to give us a two-page, typewritten list setting a technological task. But we
don't need it. We must determine for ourselves what goals man now faces."
"Well... before, the goals were simple: survival and propagation of the
species. In order to achieve them you had to worry about wildlife, skins for
cover, and fire . . . beating off animals and acquaintances with a cudgel,
digging in the clay to make a cave without any conveniences, and so on. But
modern society has solved these problems. Get a job somewhere and you'll
have the minimum you need for living. You won't perish. And you can have
children; if worst comes to worst, the government will even take on the
responsibility of bringing them up for you. So now, it follows that people
should have new desires and needs."
"More than you can count! Comfort, recreation, interesting and not
boring work. Refined society, various symbols of vanity-titles, awards,
medals. The need for excellent clothing, delicious food, embroidery, a
suntan, news, books, humor, ornamentation, fads...." "But none of that is
important, damn it! That can't be important. People can't, and don't want to
return to their previous primitive existence; they squeeze everything from
modern life that they can-it's only natural. But there has to be some goal
behind their desires and needs, no? A new goal of existence."
"In brief, what is the meaning of life? Rather a complicated problem,
wouldn't you say? So, I knew we would end up here!" My double got up, moved
to get the kinks out of his body, and sat down again. So-starting out with
jokes and getting more and more serious-we discussed the most important
aspects of our work. I've often gotten around to discussing the meaning of
life-over cognac or on a coffee break-as well as social structure, and the
destiny of mankind. Engineers and scientists like to gab about worlds the
way housewives do about high prices and lack of morality. Housewives do it
to prove their diligence and goodness, and the researchers do it to
demonstrate the breadth and scope of their vision to their friends. But this
conversation was much more difficult than the usual engineering bull: we
overturned ideas as if they were snowdrifts. It was distinguished by
responsibility: after this conversation deeds and actions would follow the
words-deeds and actions that allowed no room for mistakes.
We weren't sleepy any more.
"All right. Let's assume that the meaning of life is to satisfy needs.
No matter what kind. But what desires and needs of mankind can we satisfy by
creating new people? The artificially created people will have their own
needs and desires! It's a vicious circle."
"No, no. The meaning of life is to live. Live a full life, freely,
interestingly, creatively. Or at least to aim for that... and then?"
"Fully! Meaning of life! Aiming!" My double jumped up and started
pacing the room. "Interests, desires, . . . mammy, what abstractions! Two
centuries ago these approximate concepts would have sufficed, but today....
What the hell can we do if there are no exact data on man? What vectors are
used to describe striving? What units measure interests?"
(We were discouraged by that then-and we're discouraged by that now. We
were used to exact, precise concepts: parameters, clearances, volume of
information in bits, action in microseconds-and we came face to face with
the terrifying vagueness of knowledge about man. It's good enough for a
conversation. But please, do tell me how can you use them in applied
research, where a simple and harsh law reigns: if you know something
imprecisely, that means you don't know it.)
"Hmmmmmm ... I envy the men who invented the atom bomb." My double got
up and leaned in the balcony doorway." 'This device, gentlemen, can destroy
a hundred thousand people'-and it was perfectly clear to them that Oak Ridge
had to be built... And our device can create people, gentlemen!"
"Some people do research on uranium; others build factories to enrich
uranium with the necessary isotopes ... others construct the bombs... others
in high political circles give the order... others drop the bombs on still
others, the inhabitants of Hiroshima and Nagasaki ... and others.... Hey,
wait a minute, I'm on to something!"
My double regarded me with curiosity.
"You see, we're talking very logically, and we can't find our way out
of the paradoxes, the dead questions like 'What's the meaning of life?' and
you know why? There is no such thing in nature as Man in General. On earth
there are all kinds of different people, and their desires are varied, and
often contradictory. Let's say a man wants to live well and for that he
needs weapons. Or take this: a young man dreams of becoming a scientist but
he doesn't feel like chewing on the granite of science-he doesn't like the
taste. And these different people live in different circumstances, find
themselves in varying situations, dream about one thing and strive for
another, and achieve yet a third ... and we're trying to fit them all in one
mold!"
"But if we move on to individuals and take into account all the
circumstances ..." my double frowned, "it'll be a mess!"
"And you want everything to be as simple as the creation of storage
blocks, eh? Wrong case."
"I know it's a different case. Our discovery is as complex as man
himself... and we can't throw anything out or simplify anything to make our
work easier. But what constructive ideas are flowing out of your great
insight that all men are different? I mean constructive, that will help our
work."
"Our work ... hm. It's tough...."
Our conversation hit another dead end. The poplars rustled downstairs
by the house. Someone walked into the courtyard, whistling a tune. A cool
breeze came in from the balcony.
My double was staring dully at the lamp and then shoved his finger
second-knuckle deep into his nostril. His face expressed the fierce pleasure
of natural exercise. Something itched in my right nostril, too, but he had
beat me to it. I watched myself picking my nose and I suddenly realized why
I hadn't recognized my double when we met on the institute grounds.
Basically, no one knows himself. We never see ourselves-even before the
mirror we unconsciously correct ourselves, trying to look better and more
intelligent. We don't hear ourselves, because the vibrations of our thorax
reach our eardrums through the bones and muscles of our head as well as
through the air. We do not observe ourselves from the side.
My double cleaned his nose, and then his finger, and then looked up and
laughed, when he understood what I was thinking.
"So, are people different or the same?"
"Both. A certain objective lesson can be drawn here-not from your lousy
manners, of course. We're talking about the technical production of a new
information system-Man. Technology produces other systems: machines, books,
equipment.... The common factor in every produced system is similarity,
standardization. Every book in a given press run is like all the others,
down to the typos. And in equipment of a given series, the needles, the
scales, the class of precision, and the length of the guarantee are the
same. The differences are minor: in one book the text is a little clearer;
in one piece of equipment there's a scratch or it has a slightly higher
margin of error at high temperatures..."
"... but within the class of precision."
"Natch. In the language of our science, we could say that the volume of
individual information in each such artificial system is negligibly small in
comparison with the volume of information that is common in all the systems
of a given class. And for man that is not the case. People contain common
information, biological knowledge of the world, but each person has an
enormous amount of personal, individualized information. You can't overlook
it-without it man is not man. That means that every person is not standard.
That means..." "... that all attempts to find the optimum parameters for man
with an allowable margin of error of no more than five percent is a waste of
time. Fine! Do you feel better?" "No. But that's the harsh truth."
'Therefore, we can't hide in our work from these terrible and
mysterious concepts: man's interests, personality, desires, good and evil...
and maybe even the soul? I'm going to quit."
"You won't. By the way, are they really so mysterious, these concepts?
In life people all understand what's what. You know, they judge a base act
and say, 'You know, that was lousy! and everyone agrees."
"Everyone except the louse. Which is very much to the point." He
slapped his thighs. "I don't understand you! It's not enough that you got
burned on the simple word understanding? Now you want to give the computer
problems with good and evil? A machine doesn't catch things between the
lines, doesn't get jokes, is indifferent to good and evil... Why are you
laughing?"
I really was laughing.
"I don't understand how you cannot understand me. After all you are
me!"
"That's tangential. I'm a researcher first, and then I'm Krivoshein,
Sidorov, or Petrov!" He was obviously all worked up. "How will we work if we
don't have precise concepts of the crux of the matter?"
"Well . . . the way people worked at the dawn of the age of
electrotechnology. In those days everyone knew what phlogiston was, but no
one had any idea about tension, voltage, or induction. Ampere, Volt, Henry,
and Ohm were merely last names. They tested tension with their tongues, the
way kids check batteries nowadays. They discovered current by copper buildup
on cathodes. But people worked. And we ... what's the matter with you?"
Now my double was doubled up with laughter.
"I can just imagine it: twenty years from now there'll be a unit
measuring something and they'll call it a krivoshein! Oh, I can't stand it!"
I fell down on my bed laughing, too.
"And there'll be a krivosheinmeter... like an ohmmeter."
"And a microkrivoshein or a megakrivoshein ... a megakri for short.
Ho-ho!"
I like remembering how we roared. We were obviously unworthy of our
discovery. We laughed. We got serious.
"Historical examples are inspirational, of course," my double said.
"But that's not it. Galvani could blather as much as he wanted over 'animal
electricity,' Zeebeck could stubbornly insist that thermo-stream gave rise
not to thermoelectricity, but to thermomag-netism-the nature of things was
not altered by that. Sooner or later they hit on the truth, because the
important thing was the analysis of information. Analysis! And we're dealing
with synthesis. And here nature is no guideline for man: it builds its own
system; he builds his. The only truths for him in this business are
possibility and goal. We have the possibility. And the goal? We can't
formulate it."
"The goal is simple: for everything to be good."
"Again with good?" My double looked at me. "And then we have childish
prattle about what is good and what is bad?"
"Skip the childish prattle! Let's operate with these arbitrary concepts
however clumsy they may be: good, evil, desires, needs, health, talent,
stupidity, freedom, love, longing, principle-not because we like them, but
because there aren't any others. They don't exist!"
"I have nothing to counter that. There aren't any others, that's true."
My double sighed. "I can tell this is going to be a lot of work!"
"And let's talk it all out. Yes, things should be good. All the
applications of the discovery that we permit to enter the world must be ones
that we are sure of, that will not bring any harm to people, only good. And
let's put aside our discussion of how to measure benefit. I don't know what
units it takes."
"Krivosheins, of course," my double countered.
"Cut it out! But I know something else: the role of an intellectual
monster on a world scale does not appeal to me."
"Me neither. But just a small question: do you have a plan?"
"For what?"
"A method for using the computer-womb so that it only gives benefit to
mankind. You see this would be an unprecedented method in the history of
science. Nothing that has been invented and is being invented has that
magical quality. You can poison yourself with medicine. You can use
electricity for lighting homes or for torturing people. Or for launching a
rocket with a warhead. And that holds for everything."
"No, I don't have a concrete plan as yet. We don't know enough. Let's
study the computer-womb and look for that method. It must exist. It's not
important that there is no precedent for it in science-there is no precedent
for our discovery either. We will be synthesizing precisely that system that
does good and evil, and miracles, and nonsense-man!"
"That's all true," my double agreed after some thought. "Whether we
find that great method or not, there's no point in undertaking work like
that without a goal like it. They manage to make people without us, somehow
or other...."
"So, let's end the session properly, all right?" I suggested. "Let's
make up a work project like in a contract: we the undersigned: humanity,
called the client, and the party of the first part; and the heads of the New
Systems Laboratory of the Institute of Systemology, V. V. Krivoshein and V.
V. Krivoshein, called the Executors, and the party of the second part, agree
to the following...."
"Why so much about a contract and a technical task-after all in this
work we represent the interests of the client ourselves. Do it straight and
simple!"
He got up, took down the Astra-2 cassette recorder from the closet, put
it on the table, and turned on the microphone. And we-that is, I, Valentin
Vasilyevich Krivoshein, thirty-four years old, and my artificial double, who
appeared on this earth a week ago-two unsentimental, rather ironic
people-swore a vow.
I guess it might have seemed high-flown and ridiculous. There was no
fanfare, no flags, no rows of students at ease. The morning sky was pale,
and we stood before the mike in our underwear, and the draft from the
balcony chilled our feet... but we made the vow in dead earnest.
And so it will be. No other way.
If, when you come home at night, you mistakenly drink developing fluid
instead of water, you might as well have some fixative, or you'll leave
things half-done.
-K. Prutkov-enzhener, Thought 21
The next day we started building an information chamber in the
laboratory. We marked off an area of two meters square, covered it with
laminated insulation panels and dumped into it all the microphones,
analyzers, feelers, and objectives-all the sensors that had been strewn
colorfully all over the place by the computer-womb. This was our idea: a
living object would get into the chamber, and would gambol, feed, fight with
one of its own kind, or just ramble, surrounded by sensors, and the computer
would receive information for synthesis.
The "living objects" are calmly chewing their cabbage to this day in
their cages in the hall. My double and I were always getting into fights
about who would tend them. They were rabbits. I traded the bionics lab a
loop oscillograph and a GI-250 generator lamp for them. One rabbit (Albino
Vaska) had something like a bronze crown on his head made out of electrodes
implanted for encephalograms.
On May 7 we had a minor but unpleasant occurrence. Usually my double
and I coordinated all our work fairly well, so that we would not appear in
public simultaneously or repeat ourselves. But that damned lab of
experimental apparatus could drive anyone to distraction.
Back in the winter I had ordered a universal system of biosensors from
the lab. I prepared the blueprints, a mounting diagram, ordered all the
necessary materials and parts-they only had to put it together. And it still
wasn't finished! I needed to install the system in the chamber, and I didn't
have it. The trouble was that the lab was chronically changing directors.
One guy turns over the work; the other accepts it-naturally there's no one
to do the work. Then the new director has to acquaint himself with the
situation, introduce reforms and changes (a new broom sweeps clean), and no
work gets done. Meanwhile the people who have placed orders scream and fume,
go to Azarov with their complaints, and a new director is put on the job.
See above. I even tried influencing the workers directly, slipping them some
booze, getting P657 transistors for their radios-and to no avail. Eventually
the reserve of people willing to head that lab dried out, and H. H. Hilobok
took over, while continuing his other duties, at half pay-Harry is like
this: he'll take on any job. He'll organize anything, reorganize, so long as
he is not left one on one with nature, with those horrible pieces of
equipment that can't be bossed and bullied but which show things as they
really are and what needs to be done.
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!
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-enzhener, 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 ...."
Is not the zealous search for causal connections another expression of
the property instinct in man? Even here we seek to know what belongs to
what.
-K. Prutkov-enzhener, Thought 10
We went out into the institute grounds. The night was warm. Our
exhaustion made us forget that we should not appear in public together, and
we remembered only in the entry. Old man Vakhterych stared at us with his
inebriated eyes. We froze.
"Ah. Valentin Vasilyevich!" the old man exclaimed happily. "Done for
the day?"
"Yes ..." we replied in unison.
"Good." Vakhterych rose heavily and unlocked the front door. "And
nothing will happen to the institute, and no one will steal it, and have a
good evening, and I still have to sit here. People go off to enjoy
themselves, and I have to sit here...."
We ran out into the street and hurried off.
"That's something!" I noticed that the facade of the new institute
building was decorated with multicolored lights. "What's the date?"
My double counted on his fingers:
"The first... no, the second of May. Happy holiday, Val!"
"Belatedly... oh, boy!"
I remembered that I had a date with Lena for May I to go out with some
of her co-workers and to go for a motorcycle excursion on the second. I had
blown it. She would never forgive me.
"And Lena is out dancing right now . . . somewhere with somebody," my
double muttered.
"What do you care?"
We fell silent. Buses, decorated with branches, raced up and down the
street. Neon rocket boosters were set up on rooftops. We could see people
dancing, singing, drinking, through open windows.
I lit a cigarette and started rethinking my observations of the
computer-womb (as we finally decided to call the complex). "First of all,
it's not a computer-oracle or a computer-thinker, because there is no
winnowing of information in it, only combinations-sometimes meaningful,
sometimes not. Secondly, it can be controlled not only by energy (clamping
the hoses, turning off water and power-in other words, grabbing it by the
throat), but also by information. Of course, for now it responds only to the
command 'No!'-but it's a beginning. I think the most convenient way to
command it is through Monomakh's Crown with brain waves. Third, the
computer-womb, while very complex, is still only a machine, an artificial
creation without a goal. The striving for stability, informational
equilibrium, is not a goal but a characteristic, just like that of an
analytic scale. But it is expressed in a more complex way: through synthesis
in the form of living matter via external information. A goal always lies in
solving a problem. There was no problem-and so it fooled around from an
excess of possibilities. But..."
"... man must set its goals," my double picked up; I was no longer
amazed by his ability to think with me. "As for all other machines.
Therefore, as the bureaucrats say, all responsibility lies with us."
I didn't feel like thinking about responsibility. You work and work
unstintingly-and then you get stuck with responsibility, too. And people go
off to enjoy themselves. We missed the holiday. What dopes! And my whole
life will go by in a smelly lab.
We turned down a chestnut-lined avenue which led to Academic Town. A
couple strolled ahead of us. My double and I felt a pang-we poor, sober,
hungry, and lonely men. That couple fit in so beautifully in the gaslit
avenue. Tall and elegant, he held her by the waist. She bent her full mane
of hair toward him. We unthinkingly sped up, in order to pass them and be
spared the lyrical sight.
"We'll play some music, now, Tanechka! I have records that'll make you
salivate!" Hilobok's buzzing voice reached us, and we were knocked for a
loop. The charm of the lovely picture faded. "Harry has another new one," my
double announced. As we got closer we recognized the girl, too. Just
recently she had come to the institute in school uniform to do her probation
work; now, I think, she worked as a lab assistant in the digital computer
lab. I liked her looks: full lips, a soft nose, and big brown eyes that were
dreamy and trusting.
"And when Arkady Arkadievich is on vacation or on a business trip
abroad, I have to make many of his decisions," Harry said, spreading his
peacock tail. "And even when he's here ... what? Of course, it's
interesting, why not?"
There goes little Tanechka, her head bent forward towards Hilobok's
shoulder, and assistant professor Harry seems like a shining knight of
Soviet science to her. Maybe he even has radiation sickness like the hero of
the movie Nine Days in One Year? Or maybe his health is completely
undermined by his scientific work, like the hero of the movie Everything
Will Remain for the People? And so she melts, imagining herself as his
heroine, the little fool.... Your scientific boyfriend is in fine shape,
don't you worry, Tanechka. He hasn't worn himself out with science. And he's
leading you directly to your first major disillusionment in life. He's a pro
in that department....
My double slowed down and said under his breath:
"Should we beat him up? It would be very easy; you go off to visit some
friends and establish an alibi, and I'll...."
He beat me to it by a split second. He spoke hurriedly in general, to
prove his individuality. He understood that we thought the same way. But
since he spoke up so soon, I immediately developed the second mechanism of
proving my individuality: opposition to someone else's idea.
"Over the girl, you mean? The hell with her; if not her, then he'll get
someone else."
"Over her, and everything in general. For the good of my soul. Remember
the stink he made over our work?" His eyes narrowed. "Remember?"
I remembered. I was working in Valery Ivanov's lab then. We were
developing storage blocks for defense computers. Serious things were going
on in the world, and we were working hard, not observing days off or
holidays, and turned in the work six months before the government's
deadline. And soon the institute well-wishers related Hilobok's
pronouncement on us: "In science people who turn in research before it's due
are either careerists or brown-noses, or both!" His pronouncement became
popular. We have quite a few who are in no danger of being called careerists
or brown-noses from working the way we did. Sensitive and hotheaded, Valery
kept wanting to have a heart-to-heart with Hilobok, then had a fight with
Azarov and left the institute.
My fists grew heavy with the memory. Maybe my double could provide the
alibi, and I'd... ? And then I pictured it: a sober intelligent man beating
another intelligent man to a pulp in front of a girl. What was that! I shook
my head to chase out the image.
"No, that's not it. We can't succumb to such base feelings."
"Then what is if?"
"Then we must at least protect those dreamy eyes from Harry's sweaty
embrace." My double bit his lip thoughtfully and pushed me under a tree
(taking the initiative again). "Harry Haritonovich, could I see you
privately for a moment?"
Hilobok and the girl turned around.
"Ah, Valentin Vasilyevich! Of course ... Tanechka, I'll catch up with
you." The assistant professor turned toward my double.
"Aha!" I got his plan and raced through the trees' shadows. Everything
worked perfectly. Tanechka got as far as the fork in the road, stopped,
looked around and saw the same man who had called her boyfriend away just a
few minutes before.
"Tanechka," I said. "Harry Haritonovich asked me to convey his
apologies. He won't be returning. You see, his wife is back and.... Where
are you going? I'll walk you!"
But Tanechka was running away, hands over her face, straight for the
bus stop. I headed home.
A few minutes later my double came in.
"Wait," I said before he could open his mouth. "You told Harry that
Tanechka is the fiancee of your friend, who's a boxing champion?"
"And a judo black belt. And you told her about his wife?"
"Right. Well, at least we've found one positive application of our
study."
We got undressed, washed, and got ready for bed. I took the bed and he
took the folding bed.
"By the way, speaking of Hilobok," my double said, sitting down on his
bed. "We didn't mention that our retrieval topic will be discussed at the
next scientific council? If Harry hadn't reminded me so nicely, I would
never have known. 'It's time, Valentin Vasilyevich. After all you've been
working six months now, and it hasn't been discussed yet. Of course, random
retrieval is a good thing, but you've been requisitioning equipment and
materiel, and I keep getting calls from accounting, wanting to know what to
call the account. And there's talk in the institute that Krivoshein can do
what he wants while everyone else has to fill out forms in triplicate. I, of
course, understand that you must do all this for your dissertation, but you
must give your topic form and bring it into the overall plan....' The creep
brought up work as soon as I told him about the boxing and judo."
"If Hilobok is to be believed, all science is done to keep accounting
happy."
I explained the situation to my double. When the computer was spewing
out those crazy numbers, I had called Azarov in total despair and asked to
see him for advice. As usual, he was too busy and suggested that it would be
better to have a scientific council; he would ask Hilobok to arrange it.
"And by then, the little red egg had hatched," my double finished. "So
shall we report it? With the intention of writing a master's dissertation.
Even Hilobok understands that it's important."
"And I'll bring you in as a demonstration at my defense?"
"We'll see who demonstrates whom," he replied. "But basically ... it's
impossible. We can't."
"Of course we can't," I agreed glumly. "And we can't apply for a patent
either. It looks as if I have only expenses so far on this deal, no
profits."
"I'll give you the money, you cheapskate! Listen, what do you need with
the Nobel Prize?" My double narrowed his eyes. "If the computer-womb can
easily make people, then money ..."
"... is easier than anything! With the right paper and all the water
marks ... well, why not?"
"We'll each buy a three-bedroom co-op," my double said, leaning back
against the wall dreamily.
"And a Volga car..."
"And two dachas each: one in the Crimea for rest and one on the Riga
seacoast for respectability."
"And we'll make a few more of us. One will work so that public outcry
will be stifled ..."
"... and the others will be parasites to their heart's content..."
"... with a guaranteed alibi. Why not?"
We stopped and looked at each other in disgust.
"God, what depressing small-timers we are!" I grabbed my head. "We take
a major discovery and try it on for size on stupid stuff: a dissertation, a
prize, a dacha, beating people up with alibis... This is a Method of
Synthesizing Man! And we're...."
"It's all right, it happens. Every person has petty thoughts once in a
while. The important thing is to keep them from turning into petty acts."
"Actually, so far I see only one positive application of the discovery:
you can see your faults much better when they're in someone else."
"Yes, but is that any reason for doubling the earth's population?"
We were sitting opposite each other in our underwear. I was reflected
in him, a mirror image.
"All right, let's get serious. What do we want?"
"And what can we do?"
"And what do we understand about this business?"
"Let's begin with what's what. The ideas of Sechyonov, Pavlov, Weiner,
and Ashby agreed on one point: that the brain is a machine. Petruccio's
experiments on controlling the development of a human fetus is another move
in this direction. The striving for greater complexity and universality in
technological systems-just take the desire of microelectricians to create
machines that are as complex as the human brain!"
"In other words-our discovery is no accident. The way was prepared for
it by the development of ideas and technology. If not this way, then
another; if not now, then in a few years or decades; if not us, then someone
else would discover it. Therefore, the question comes down to ..."
". . . what can we and must we do in that period-maybe a year, maybe
decades, no one knows, but it's better to take the shorter time-that we have
as a head start on the others." "Yes."
"How is it usually done?" My double rested his cheek on his hand. "An
engineer has the desire to create something lasting. He looks for a client.
Or the client looks for him, depending on who needs whom more. The client
gives him a technological problem: 'Use your ideas and your knowledge to
create such and such. It must have the following parameters and withstand
the following ... and it should guarantee the production annually of no less
than such-and-such percent. The amount is, and the time allotted is. The
sanctions follow general usage....' A contract is signed and then it is
done. We have an idea and we want to develop it further. But if a client
comes along now and says: 'Here's the dough; go to work on your system for
doubling people and it's none of your business why I want it'-we wouldn't
agree, right?"
"Well, it's a little early to be worrying about that. The method hasn't
been researched. What kind of production could there be? Who knows, maybe
you'll disintegrate in a few months." "I won't. Don't count on it." "What's
it to me? Live for all I care."
"Thanks! You are such a boor! Just unbelievable! Would I like to give
you a good punch!"
"All right, all right, don't get off the subject. You misunderstood me.
I meant that we still don't know all the aspects and possibilities of the
discovery. We're at the very beginning. If we compare it to radio, say, then
we're at the level of Hertz's waves and Popov's spark transmitter. What now?
We must research the possibilities."
"Right. But that doesn't change things. Any research that is applied to
man and human society must have a definite goal. And there's nobody around
to give us a two-page, typewritten list setting a technological task. But we
don't need it. We must determine for ourselves what goals man now faces."
"Well... before, the goals were simple: survival and propagation of the
species. In order to achieve them you had to worry about wildlife, skins for
cover, and fire . . . beating off animals and acquaintances with a cudgel,
digging in the clay to make a cave without any conveniences, and so on. But
modern society has solved these problems. Get a job somewhere and you'll
have the minimum you need for living. You won't perish. And you can have
children; if worst comes to worst, the government will even take on the
responsibility of bringing them up for you. So now, it follows that people
should have new desires and needs."
"More than you can count! Comfort, recreation, interesting and not
boring work. Refined society, various symbols of vanity-titles, awards,
medals. The need for excellent clothing, delicious food, embroidery, a
suntan, news, books, humor, ornamentation, fads...." "But none of that is
important, damn it! That can't be important. People can't, and don't want to
return to their previous primitive existence; they squeeze everything from
modern life that they can-it's only natural. But there has to be some goal
behind their desires and needs, no? A new goal of existence."
"In brief, what is the meaning of life? Rather a complicated problem,
wouldn't you say? So, I knew we would end up here!" My double got up, moved
to get the kinks out of his body, and sat down again. So-starting out with
jokes and getting more and more serious-we discussed the most important
aspects of our work. I've often gotten around to discussing the meaning of
life-over cognac or on a coffee break-as well as social structure, and the
destiny of mankind. Engineers and scientists like to gab about worlds the
way housewives do about high prices and lack of morality. Housewives do it
to prove their diligence and goodness, and the researchers do it to
demonstrate the breadth and scope of their vision to their friends. But this
conversation was much more difficult than the usual engineering bull: we
overturned ideas as if they were snowdrifts. It was distinguished by
responsibility: after this conversation deeds and actions would follow the
words-deeds and actions that allowed no room for mistakes.
We weren't sleepy any more.
"All right. Let's assume that the meaning of life is to satisfy needs.
No matter what kind. But what desires and needs of mankind can we satisfy by
creating new people? The artificially created people will have their own
needs and desires! It's a vicious circle."
"No, no. The meaning of life is to live. Live a full life, freely,
interestingly, creatively. Or at least to aim for that... and then?"
"Fully! Meaning of life! Aiming!" My double jumped up and started
pacing the room. "Interests, desires, . . . mammy, what abstractions! Two
centuries ago these approximate concepts would have sufficed, but today....
What the hell can we do if there are no exact data on man? What vectors are
used to describe striving? What units measure interests?"
(We were discouraged by that then-and we're discouraged by that now. We
were used to exact, precise concepts: parameters, clearances, volume of
information in bits, action in microseconds-and we came face to face with
the terrifying vagueness of knowledge about man. It's good enough for a
conversation. But please, do tell me how can you use them in applied
research, where a simple and harsh law reigns: if you know something
imprecisely, that means you don't know it.)
"Hmmmmmm ... I envy the men who invented the atom bomb." My double got
up and leaned in the balcony doorway." 'This device, gentlemen, can destroy
a hundred thousand people'-and it was perfectly clear to them that Oak Ridge
had to be built... And our device can create people, gentlemen!"
"Some people do research on uranium; others build factories to enrich
uranium with the necessary isotopes ... others construct the bombs... others
in high political circles give the order... others drop the bombs on still
others, the inhabitants of Hiroshima and Nagasaki ... and others.... Hey,
wait a minute, I'm on to something!"
My double regarded me with curiosity.
"You see, we're talking very logically, and we can't find our way out
of the paradoxes, the dead questions like 'What's the meaning of life?' and
you know why? There is no such thing in nature as Man in General. On earth
there are all kinds of different people, and their desires are varied, and
often contradictory. Let's say a man wants to live well and for that he
needs weapons. Or take this: a young man dreams of becoming a scientist but
he doesn't feel like chewing on the granite of science-he doesn't like the
taste. And these different people live in different circumstances, find
themselves in varying situations, dream about one thing and strive for
another, and achieve yet a third ... and we're trying to fit them all in one
mold!"
"But if we move on to individuals and take into account all the
circumstances ..." my double frowned, "it'll be a mess!"
"And you want everything to be as simple as the creation of storage
blocks, eh? Wrong case."
"I know it's a different case. Our discovery is as complex as man
himself... and we can't throw anything out or simplify anything to make our
work easier. But what constructive ideas are flowing out of your great
insight that all men are different? I mean constructive, that will help our
work."
"Our work ... hm. It's tough...."
Our conversation hit another dead end. The poplars rustled downstairs
by the house. Someone walked into the courtyard, whistling a tune. A cool
breeze came in from the balcony.
My double was staring dully at the lamp and then shoved his finger
second-knuckle deep into his nostril. His face expressed the fierce pleasure
of natural exercise. Something itched in my right nostril, too, but he had
beat me to it. I watched myself picking my nose and I suddenly realized why
I hadn't recognized my double when we met on the institute grounds.
Basically, no one knows himself. We never see ourselves-even before the
mirror we unconsciously correct ourselves, trying to look better and more
intelligent. We don't hear ourselves, because the vibrations of our thorax
reach our eardrums through the bones and muscles of our head as well as
through the air. We do not observe ourselves from the side.
My double cleaned his nose, and then his finger, and then looked up and
laughed, when he understood what I was thinking.
"So, are people different or the same?"
"Both. A certain objective lesson can be drawn here-not from your lousy
manners, of course. We're talking about the technical production of a new
information system-Man. Technology produces other systems: machines, books,
equipment.... The common factor in every produced system is similarity,
standardization. Every book in a given press run is like all the others,
down to the typos. And in equipment of a given series, the needles, the
scales, the class of precision, and the length of the guarantee are the
same. The differences are minor: in one book the text is a little clearer;
in one piece of equipment there's a scratch or it has a slightly higher
margin of error at high temperatures..."
"... but within the class of precision."
"Natch. In the language of our science, we could say that the volume of
individual information in each such artificial system is negligibly small in
comparison with the volume of information that is common in all the systems
of a given class. And for man that is not the case. People contain common
information, biological knowledge of the world, but each person has an
enormous amount of personal, individualized information. You can't overlook
it-without it man is not man. That means that every person is not standard.
That means..." "... that all attempts to find the optimum parameters for man
with an allowable margin of error of no more than five percent is a waste of
time. Fine! Do you feel better?" "No. But that's the harsh truth."
'Therefore, we can't hide in our work from these terrible and
mysterious concepts: man's interests, personality, desires, good and evil...
and maybe even the soul? I'm going to quit."
"You won't. By the way, are they really so mysterious, these concepts?
In life people all understand what's what. You know, they judge a base act
and say, 'You know, that was lousy! and everyone agrees."
"Everyone except the louse. Which is very much to the point." He
slapped his thighs. "I don't understand you! It's not enough that you got
burned on the simple word understanding? Now you want to give the computer
problems with good and evil? A machine doesn't catch things between the
lines, doesn't get jokes, is indifferent to good and evil... Why are you
laughing?"
I really was laughing.
"I don't understand how you cannot understand me. After all you are
me!"
"That's tangential. I'm a researcher first, and then I'm Krivoshein,
Sidorov, or Petrov!" He was obviously all worked up. "How will we work if we
don't have precise concepts of the crux of the matter?"
"Well . . . the way people worked at the dawn of the age of
electrotechnology. In those days everyone knew what phlogiston was, but no
one had any idea about tension, voltage, or induction. Ampere, Volt, Henry,
and Ohm were merely last names. They tested tension with their tongues, the
way kids check batteries nowadays. They discovered current by copper buildup
on cathodes. But people worked. And we ... what's the matter with you?"
Now my double was doubled up with laughter.
"I can just imagine it: twenty years from now there'll be a unit
measuring something and they'll call it a krivoshein! Oh, I can't stand it!"
I fell down on my bed laughing, too.
"And there'll be a krivosheinmeter... like an ohmmeter."
"And a microkrivoshein or a megakrivoshein ... a megakri for short.
Ho-ho!"
I like remembering how we roared. We were obviously unworthy of our
discovery. We laughed. We got serious.
"Historical examples are inspirational, of course," my double said.
"But that's not it. Galvani could blather as much as he wanted over 'animal
electricity,' Zeebeck could stubbornly insist that thermo-stream gave rise
not to thermoelectricity, but to thermomag-netism-the nature of things was
not altered by that. Sooner or later they hit on the truth, because the
important thing was the analysis of information. Analysis! And we're dealing
with synthesis. And here nature is no guideline for man: it builds its own
system; he builds his. The only truths for him in this business are
possibility and goal. We have the possibility. And the goal? We can't
formulate it."
"The goal is simple: for everything to be good."
"Again with good?" My double looked at me. "And then we have childish
prattle about what is good and what is bad?"
"Skip the childish prattle! Let's operate with these arbitrary concepts
however clumsy they may be: good, evil, desires, needs, health, talent,
stupidity, freedom, love, longing, principle-not because we like them, but
because there aren't any others. They don't exist!"
"I have nothing to counter that. There aren't any others, that's true."
My double sighed. "I can tell this is going to be a lot of work!"
"And let's talk it all out. Yes, things should be good. All the
applications of the discovery that we permit to enter the world must be ones
that we are sure of, that will not bring any harm to people, only good. And
let's put aside our discussion of how to measure benefit. I don't know what
units it takes."
"Krivosheins, of course," my double countered.
"Cut it out! But I know something else: the role of an intellectual
monster on a world scale does not appeal to me."
"Me neither. But just a small question: do you have a plan?"
"For what?"
"A method for using the computer-womb so that it only gives benefit to
mankind. You see this would be an unprecedented method in the history of
science. Nothing that has been invented and is being invented has that
magical quality. You can poison yourself with medicine. You can use
electricity for lighting homes or for torturing people. Or for launching a
rocket with a warhead. And that holds for everything."
"No, I don't have a concrete plan as yet. We don't know enough. Let's
study the computer-womb and look for that method. It must exist. It's not
important that there is no precedent for it in science-there is no precedent
for our discovery either. We will be synthesizing precisely that system that
does good and evil, and miracles, and nonsense-man!"
"That's all true," my double agreed after some thought. "Whether we
find that great method or not, there's no point in undertaking work like
that without a goal like it. They manage to make people without us, somehow
or other...."
"So, let's end the session properly, all right?" I suggested. "Let's
make up a work project like in a contract: we the undersigned: humanity,
called the client, and the party of the first part; and the heads of the New
Systems Laboratory of the Institute of Systemology, V. V. Krivoshein and V.
V. Krivoshein, called the Executors, and the party of the second part, agree
to the following...."
"Why so much about a contract and a technical task-after all in this
work we represent the interests of the client ourselves. Do it straight and
simple!"
He got up, took down the Astra-2 cassette recorder from the closet, put
it on the table, and turned on the microphone. And we-that is, I, Valentin
Vasilyevich Krivoshein, thirty-four years old, and my artificial double, who
appeared on this earth a week ago-two unsentimental, rather ironic
people-swore a vow.
I guess it might have seemed high-flown and ridiculous. There was no
fanfare, no flags, no rows of students at ease. The morning sky was pale,
and we stood before the mike in our underwear, and the draft from the
balcony chilled our feet... but we made the vow in dead earnest.
And so it will be. No other way.
If, when you come home at night, you mistakenly drink developing fluid
instead of water, you might as well have some fixative, or you'll leave
things half-done.
-K. Prutkov-enzhener, Thought 21
The next day we started building an information chamber in the
laboratory. We marked off an area of two meters square, covered it with
laminated insulation panels and dumped into it all the microphones,
analyzers, feelers, and objectives-all the sensors that had been strewn
colorfully all over the place by the computer-womb. This was our idea: a
living object would get into the chamber, and would gambol, feed, fight with
one of its own kind, or just ramble, surrounded by sensors, and the computer
would receive information for synthesis.
The "living objects" are calmly chewing their cabbage to this day in
their cages in the hall. My double and I were always getting into fights
about who would tend them. They were rabbits. I traded the bionics lab a
loop oscillograph and a GI-250 generator lamp for them. One rabbit (Albino
Vaska) had something like a bronze crown on his head made out of electrodes
implanted for encephalograms.
On May 7 we had a minor but unpleasant occurrence. Usually my double
and I coordinated all our work fairly well, so that we would not appear in
public simultaneously or repeat ourselves. But that damned lab of
experimental apparatus could drive anyone to distraction.
Back in the winter I had ordered a universal system of biosensors from
the lab. I prepared the blueprints, a mounting diagram, ordered all the
necessary materials and parts-they only had to put it together. And it still
wasn't finished! I needed to install the system in the chamber, and I didn't
have it. The trouble was that the lab was chronically changing directors.
One guy turns over the work; the other accepts it-naturally there's no one
to do the work. Then the new director has to acquaint himself with the
situation, introduce reforms and changes (a new broom sweeps clean), and no
work gets done. Meanwhile the people who have placed orders scream and fume,
go to Azarov with their complaints, and a new director is put on the job.
See above. I even tried influencing the workers directly, slipping them some
booze, getting P657 transistors for their radios-and to no avail. Eventually
the reserve of people willing to head that lab dried out, and H. H. Hilobok
took over, while continuing his other duties, at half pay-Harry is like
this: he'll take on any job. He'll organize anything, reorganize, so long as
he is not left one on one with nature, with those horrible pieces of
equipment that can't be bossed and bullied but which show things as they
really are and what needs to be done.
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!
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-enzhener, 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 ...."