"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.



        Chapter 11


     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!



        Chapter 12


     A scientific fact: the  sound "a" is pronounced without any pressure of
the tongue, by exhaling; if at the same time you open and  close your mouth,
you get "ma... ma ...." That is the origin of a child's first word.
     That  means that the child is taking the path of least resistance. What
are the parents so happy about?
     -K. Prutkov-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 ...."
     "But we argued, contradicted each other!"
     "We  were simply thinking aloud together. You  can argue with yourself.
Man's  thoughts   are  mere  variants   of  actions  and   they  are  always
contradictory. But we strive to act together."
     "Yes... but that's no good! We're not working now, we're plugging away.
An  extra pair of  hands doubles the work capacity. But our main function is
to think. And here... listen, original, we have to become different."
     I  couldn't   imagine   what   serious   repercussions   this  innocent
conversation  would have. And, as they  write  in novels, the  repercussions
didn't make us wait.
     It  began with  my  double buying a volume of Human Physiology intended
for secondary  phys ed courses. I  won't try to  guess whether he had really
planned to distinguish himself from me or whether he was simply attracted by
the bright green cover and  gold lettering, but  as soon as he opened it, he
began muttering "Aha!  Now that's something,..."  as if  he  were reading  a
catchy mystery, and then he bombarded me with questions:
     "Do you know that nerve cells can be up to a meter long?"
     "Do you know what controls the sympathetic nervous system?"
     "Do you know what protective inhibition is?"
     Naturally, I didn't know. And  he  went on telling me with a neophyte's
enthusiasm about the sympathetic nervous system regulating the  functions of
the internal organs, that protective inhibition or pessimum, occurs in nerve
tissue when the strength of excitation exceeds the permissible level.
     "You  understand,  the  nerve  cell can refuse  to react  to a powerful
stimulus in order not to destroy itself! Transistors can't do that!"
     After  that textbook he bought  up a whole batch of  biology  books and
journals,  read  them cover to cover, quoting his favorite passages, and got
mad when I didn't share his enthusiasm. And why should I have?


     Graduate student Krivoshein set  aside the diary. Yes, that's precisely
how it all  began. In the dry academic lines  of  the books  and articles on
biology he suddenly sensed the proximity  of truth that he had earlier  felt
only when reading the works of great writers, when, delving into the actions
and emotions  of  invented  characters, you  begin to learn something  about
yourself.  Then  he did  not  realize it, because the  physiology facts  had
enthralled him, so to  speak.  But he was upset that original Krivoshein was
left cold  by it all. How could that be? They were the same; that meant that
they had  to  react  to things the  same  way.  Did that mean  that  he, the
artificial Krivoshein, wasn't the same? That was the first hint.
     The second time he overslept-sitting up reading until dawn-I blew up:
     "Why  can't you get interested in mineralogy-or production economics-if
you want so badly to be different! At least you'd get some sleep."
     We were  talking  in the lab, after my double arrived past noon, sleepy
and unshaven; I had  shaved in  the morning.  That  kind of discrepancy  was
enough to worry our institute friends.
     He gave me a haughty and surprised look.
     "Tell me, what's that liquid?" and he pointed at the tank. "What is its
composition?"
     "Organic, of course, why?"
     "It's not tricky. Why did the computer-womb use ammonia  and phosphoric
acid? Remember? It kept  spewing out formulas and amounts and you ran around
all the stores like a crazy man, trying to find it all. Why did you get it?!
You  don't know?  I'll  explain:  the computer was  synthesizing  atpase and
phosphocreatine-the sources of muscle energy. Understand?"
     "I understand. But what about Galosha brand gas? And calcium rhodanate?
And the methylviolet? And the other three hundred reagents?"
     "I don't know yet. I have to read up on biochemistry...."
     "Uh-huh... and  now  I'll  explain  to you why I  got those  disgusting
things:  I was fulfilling the logical conditions of the experiment-the rules
of the game, and nothing else. I did not know about your superphosphate. And
the computer  probably  didn't know that the formulas it  was turning out in
binary  code had  such  fancy names-because  nature is made up of structural
elements and not  names. And yet it asked for  ammonia, phosphoric acid, and
sugar,  and  not  for  vodka or  strichnine. It figured out  for istelf, and
without textbooks,  that  vodka is a  poison.  And it  created  you  without
textbooks and medical encyclopedias-it modeled you from life."
     "I don't see why  you're so uptight about biology. It has everything we
need: knowledge about life  and man.  For example  . .  ."-he  was trying to
convince  me, it was obvious-"did  you  know that conditioned  reflexes  are
created  only when  the conditioning stimulus precedes an unconditioned one?
The cause precedes  the effect, understand? The nervous system has a greater
sense of  causality than any philosophy book! And biology uses  more precise
terms  than  everyday  life.  You  know, how  they  write  in  novels:  'The
unconscious terror  widened  his pupils and made his heart beat faster.' The
sympathetic  system  went to  work. There you  go...." He leafed through his
green  bible.  "  'Under  the  influence  of  impulses passing  through  the
sympathetic nerves, the following occurs: a) dilation of pupils  through the
contraction of  the radial muscles of