the iris; b) increase in frequency and
strength of heart contractions....' That's more like it, eh?"
     "It's more  like it, but how much more? It doesn't occur to you that if
biology had made giant strides in this business, then it would be biologists
and not us who are synthesizing man?"
     "But on the  basis  of this knowledge we'll be able to make an analysis
of man."
     "An  analysis!"  I   remembered   the  "streptocidal  striptease   with
trembling,..." my near breakdown, the punchtape  bonfire-and I got mad. "All
right, let's  drop  our work,  memorize all the  textbooks and  pharmacology
manuals,  master a mass of terms, acquire  degrees and baldspots, and thirty
years or so from  now let's return to our work so that we  can  label it all
properly. This is  phosphocreatine, and this  is gluten... a hundred billion
labels. I've  already tried to analyze  your appearance.  I've had  it.  The
analytic path will take us the devil knows where."
     In  a  word, we didn't reach an agreement. This was the  first instance
when  each of  us retained his opinion.  I still don't  understand why he, a
systems  technologist, engineer, electronics man... well,  the same as  I...
why  he turned to biology. We have  an experimental setup the likes of which
he'll never find in any other lab. We have to run experiments, systemize the
results  and  observations,  establish general  laws-I  mean  general  ones,
informational  ones!  Biological laws are  a step  backward  in  comparison.
That's the way it's done.  And that's the only way to study the best  way to
control the computer-womb-after all, it's a computer first and foremost.
     The  arguments  continued  during the  next  few  days.  We got  angry,
attacking one another. Each one used arguments in his favor.
     'Technology shouldn't be copying nature; it should be complementing it.
We plan to double good  people. And what if the good man is limp? Or lost an
arm in the war?  Or is in lousy health? After all, a man's worth is  usually
known when he has reached a ripe old age; and then his health isn't  what it
used to  be, and maybe senility is creeping  up ...  and we should re-create
all that, too?"
     "No. We have to find a way to iron out the wrinkles in the doubles. Let
them be healthy, attractive."
     'There, you see!"
     "What see?"
     "In order to correct the  doubles  you need biological information on a
good constitution and attractive looks. Biological!"
     "I don't see that. If the computer, without any biological preparation,
can re-create  an  entire person, then why does  it need information when it
will be  creating parts of a person? Biological  information won't  help you
construct a  person  or an arm. You crazy  person, why can't you see that we
can't delve into all  the details of the human organism? We can't. We'll get
bogged  down. There  are untold billions of them, and no two are  the  same.
Nature didn't follow a few state plans, you know. That's why the question of
correcting doubles must be  reduced to tuning the computer-womb  by external
integral characteristics  ...  in other words, so  that we just  have  a few
dials to spin!"
     "Well, really!" He would spread his hands in shock and walk away.
     This  situation  was  getting  on  our nerves. We  had wandered  into a
logistical dead end.  A  difference in opinion on future work is nothing  so
terrible; finally you can try it both ways and let the results be the judge.
The unbearable part  was  that we  did  not understand  each  other!  Us-two
informationally  identical people. Is there any  truth in the world in  that
case?
     I began reading  his collection of biology  opuses (when he was on duty
at the lab).  Maybe I just had an antibiology hangover from  my  school days
and now I would read it, and be amazed, and start mumbling: "Now that's it!"
I didn't. There was no question; it  was an  interesting science, and  there
were  a lot of edifying  details (but only details!) about  the functions of
the organism. It was good for one's general development,  but it wasn't what
we needed. It  was a descriptive  and approximate  science, another  form of
geography. What did he see in it?
     I'm an  engineer-that  says it all. After  ten  years of work, machines
have  entered  my soul, and I feel confident working with them. In machines,
everything is subject to  reason and  my  hands; everything is definite.  If
it's  yes, then it's yes; if it's no, then  it's  no. Not like  with people:
"Yes, but..."  followed by  a phrase that crosses out the "yes." And yet the
double was me....
     We began avoiding  our painful argument  and  worked  in silence. Maybe
everything  would  work  out  and  we  would  understand   each  other.  The
information chamber was almost  ready. Another day or two and we  could  let
the  rabbits  in.  And then what  had to  happen  sooner  or  later  finally
happened: the phone rang in the laboratory.
     It  had  rung  before.  "Valentin  Vasilyevich, either  produce a  form
requisitioning the  reagents by June 1 or we'll  close the supply department
as  far  as  you're  concerned!"  The call  was  from  accounting.  "Comrade
Krivoshein, drop  into department one," said Johann Johannovich Kliapp. "Old
man, can  you lend me  your silver-nickel battery for a week?" said good old
Fenya  Zagrebnyak. And  so  on. But this was an absolutely special  call. As
soon as my double had said "Krivoshein here," he looked beatifically dumb.
     "Yes, Lena," he murmured,  "yes ... no, no, dearest.  Don't be silly...
every day and every hour!"
     Pliers in hand, I froze by the chamber. My beloved was being taken away
from me before my  very eyes.  My beloved! I  knew that  for sure now. I got
hot.  I coughed wheezily.  My double looked up at me with eyes  clouded with
tender desire and came to. He was grim and sad.
     "Just  a  second, Lena,  . .  ."  and  he  handed  me  the phone. "It's
basically for you."
     I grabbed the phone and shouted: "I'm listening, darling. Go on!"
     Actually, there's no need to  describe  what we  talked  about. She, it
turned out,  was away on a business trip and had only returned yesterday. Of
course,  she was mad about  the May 1 holidays. She had expected a call from
me.
     When  I hung  up, the double was  gone from the lab. I didn't feel like
working any  more either. I locked up the  lodge  and headed  off  for home,
whistling, to shave and change for that evening.
     My double was packing.
     "Going far?"
     "To the  village  to  visit my  aunt,  to the  sticks, to  Saratov!  To
Vladivostok to lick salt spray from my lips. It's none of your business."
     "No, drop the jokes. Where are you going? What's up?"
     He looked up at me:
     "You really don't understand? Well, that makes sense. You're not me."
     "No, why  not? You are  me, and I am you. That, anyway,  was always our
starting point."
     'That's  the point-it's not so." He lit up  a cigarette and took a book
from  the  shelf. "I'll take  Introduction to Systemology.  You can use  the
library. You are  number one,  and  I'm the second. You were born, grew  up,
developed,  took on a certain position in society. Every man has  some place
in  life. Whether  it's  good  or bad,  it's his own. I  have no place. It's
taken! Everything's taken, from girl  friend to civil position, from the bed
to the apartment."
     "You  can  sleep  on  the  bed,  for  God's  sake,  I  don't  have  any
objections."
     "Don't talk nonsense. The bed isn't the point."
     "Listen,  if  you're  leaving  over Lena,  then  .  .  . maybe  we  can
experiment a little more, and ... maybe we can try it?"
     "Re-create a second Lena,  an artificial one?" He laughed  darkly.  "So
that she can  hang around life like  a ticketless passenger. A reward for  a
good life...  what a stupid idea  that was! The best pupils, they're a bunch
of  spoiled   privileged   people.  Imagine  Arkady  Arkadievich's   double:
Academician  A.  A.  Azarov, but  without an  institute to  run,  without  a
framework,  without  membership  in  the   academy,   without  a   car   and
apartment-without  anything  except  his  personal  qualities  and  pleasant
memories. What would  his  life be  like?" He put a  towel, toothbrush,  and
toothpaste into the suitcase. "In a word, I've had it. I can't lead a double
entendre life any more-worrying about being seen together, looking around in
the  cafeteria, taking money from you. Yes, I'm taking your money  from you,
being jealous of you and Lena. Why should I suffer  like that-for what sins?
I'm a man, not an experimental subject and not somebody's double!"
     "How about the work?"
     "And who says  I'm planning to  drop the work?  The  chamber  is almost
ready, and you can run the experiments yourself. There's little for me to do
here. I'll go away and study  the problem of man  and machine from the other
end."
     He told me his  plan.  He was going to Moscow  to  enter  the  graduate
biology department  of  MSU. The work was dividing up  into  two  streams: I
would study  the computer-womb  and  determine  its possibilities;  he would
study  man  and  his possibilities.  Then-different by  then, with different
experiences and ideas-we'd put the work together.
     "But why biology?  Why  not philosophy, sociology, psychology, or  life
studies, or fine arts? They all deal with man and human society. Why?"
     He looked at me thoughtfully.
     "Do you believe in intuition?"
     "Well, maybe."
     "My intuition tells me that if we overlook biological research, we will
lose  something  very important. I don't know  yet just  what. I'll  try  to
explain in a year."
     "But why doesn't my intuition say any such thing?"
     "Damned  if  I know!"  he sighed with his  old expressiveness. His good
mood was returning. "Maybe you're just a dumb jackass."
     "Sure, sure. And you're brilliant  and sensitive-like the dog that  can
feel everything but can't express any of it!"
     In a word, we had a talk.
     Everything was clear:  he had  to  gather  individual  information,  to
become his own person. And I accepted the  fact that in order to do  that he
had  to  be  away  from me,  somewhere on his own. To  tell  the truth,  our
"double" situation  was beginning  to  wear  on  me,  too. But  that biology
stuff-I really didn't understand that at all....
     The graduate  student  leaned back  in his  chair  and  stretched. "And
couldn't  understand it." he said aloud. In those days he didn't  understand
himself.



        Chapter 13


     In Lieu of an Epigraph
     "The theme of today's  lecture is: why does the student sweat at exams?
Quiet, comrades! I suggest you take notes-the material is on the subject....
Thus, let us examine the physiological aspects of the situation that all  of
you present have had to experience. The oral exam is on. The student through
various  contractions  of  the  lungs,  thorax, and tongue  is  creating air
vibrations-answering his question. His visual analyzers control the accuracy
of his response  by the notes in his hand and by the nods of  the examiners.
Let us sketch the reflex chain: the executive apparatus of the second signal
system utters a phrase-the visual organs register  a reinforcing stimulus, a
nod-and the signal is passed to the brain  and  supports the  stimulation of
nerve cells in the proper part of the cortex. A new phrase... a  nod...  and
so on. This is often accompanied by a secondary reflex reaction: the student
gesticulates, which makes his answer all the more convincing.
     Meanwhile  the  unconditioned  reflex  chains  operate  on  their  own,
inexorably and  unconstrainedly. The trapezoid bone and broad muscles of the
back support the student's body in an  upright sitting  position-as  natural
for  us  as  the position of walking was for our predecessors. The chest and
intercostal muscles  maintain  rhythmic breathing. Other muscles  are tensed
just  enough to counteract gravity. The heart beats evenly;  the sympathetic
nervous  system has stopped the digestive process so as not to distract  the
student. . . and everything is in order.
     But now the student registers a new aural stimulus through his eardrums
and membranes  of the ears: the examiner  has asked him a  question. I never
tire of observing what follows-and I assure you, there is no sadism in this.
It's simply pleasant to watch  how quickly and clearly,  taking the millions
of years experience of our ancestors into account, our nervous system reacts
to the slightest hint of danger! Look: new air vibrations first bring on the
end of the previous activity of the unconditioned reflexes-the student stops
talking, often in mid-word. Then the  signals  from the hearing cells  reach
the medulla, excite the nerve cells of the rear  tubers of the lamina  tecti
which  commands the unconditioned reflex  of caution:  the student turns his
head in  the direction  of the  examiner! Simultaneously  the signals of the
aural stimulus  branch off into the  diencephalon,  and  from there into the
temporal lobes of the cortex, where a hurried meaning analysis is undertaken
of the air vibrations.
     I want to direct your  attention to the high  expediency level  of  the
location  of  the  analyzers  of  aural  stimuli in the cortex-right next to
theears. Evolution naturally took into account that a sound in the air moves
very  slowly:  some  300 meters a  second,  almost the same  as the speed of
signals traveling along  nerve  fiber. Yet a sound could be the rustle of  a
lurking tiger, the hissing of  a  snake, or-in our times-the noise of  a car
careening around the corner. You can't lose even a fraction  of a  second to
transmit the sound through the brain!
     But in the present situation the student recognized not the rustle of a
tiger but a question posed in a quiet, polite voice. Hah, I think some would
prefer  the tiger! I  assume  that  I  don't have to explain that a question
asked during an oral exam is taken as a signal of danger. After all, broadly
speaking,  danger  is  an  obstacle  in the path  toward a  given  goal.  In
ourwell-ordered times there are few dangers that threaten the basic goals of
a living being  which are  protection of life and health, propagation of the
species,  and  satisfaction  of  hunger  and  thirst.  That's  why secondary
dangers-the protection of dignity, respect, scholarships, the opportunity to
study and then have an interesting job and so on-take on primary prominence.
Thus,  the  student's  unconditioned  reflex  reaction   to   danger  worked
beautifully. Let's see how he reflects it.
     In biochemistry lectures you have been familiarized with the properties
of ribonucleic acid, which is found in all the brain cells. Under the action
of electrical nervous signals RNA changes the continous distribution of  its
bases: thymine, uracil, cytosine, and guanine. These bases are  the  letters
of our  memory; we can write down any information in the cortex of the brain
using combinations  of them.  And  so, this  is the  picture:  the question,
understood in  the temporal sites of  the cortex leads to  the excitation of
nerve  cells  that  take care of abstract  knowledge in the student's brain.
Weak  response impulses arise  in neighboring areas of the  cortex:  "Aha, I
read something  about that!" So the  stimulation  concentrates  in the  most
hopeful of  these areas, takes it over, and-oh  horrors!-there with the help
of thymine, uracil, cytosine,  and guanine there is recorded God  only knows
what in long molecules of RNA, for instance: "Drop your studying,  Alex!  We
need a fourth!" Quiet down, comrades, don't be distracted.
     And  then  a quiet  panic  in the  brain sets  in-or,  less  colorfully
speaking, a total irradiation of stimulation. The  nerve impulses arouse the
areas of logical analysis (maybe I'll  figure something  out!) and the cells
of visual memory (maybe I've seen it?). Vision,  hearing, and sense of smell
sharpen. The  student sees with amazing  acuity the ink  spot on the edge of
the desk and  a bunch of  scribbles,  hears the  leaves rustling outside the
window, someone's footsteps in the hall, and even the whisper:  "Guys,  Alex
is in trouble!" But that's not it. And so  stimulation passes to greater and
newer parts  of the brain-danger, danger-spilling  over the motor centers in
the frontal convolution,  penetrating  into the  midbrain, the medulla,  and
finally, into  the  spinal cord.  And  here I want  to  move away  from  the
dramatic  situation to sing  the praises  of  the soft grayish white  growth
about  a  half meter in  length that  penetrates our  spine to the waist-the
spinal cord.
     The spinal cord ...oh,  we are greatly mistaken  if we think that it is
nothing more  than an intermediary between the brain and  the body's nerves,
that  it  is subjugated to  the  brain  and  can only control  a few  simple
reflexes  of  natural functions! It's  still  a  moot point  as to which  is
subordinate to which! The spinal cord is an older and more venerable process
than the  brain. It saved man in those  days when his brain wasn't developed
enough, when in fact he wasn't yet  man. Our spinal cord guards memories  of
the  Paleozoic, when our distant ancestors, the lizards,  wandered, crawled,
and flew among  giant ferns; of the Cenozoic, the period when the first apes
appeared.  It  has  sorted  and  stored  synapses and  reflexes  proven over
millions  of years to be effective in  the struggle for survival. The spinal
cord, if you will, is our inner seat of rational conservatism.
     Of course  nowadays,  that  old  cord  of man, which can  react to  the
complex  stimulation of  contemporary  reality  in only two positions-saving
life and propagating the species-can't  help us  out all the time, as it did
in the Mesozoic Era. But it still has influence on many things! For example,
I would  posit that it is the spinal cord that often determines our literary
and cinematic tastes. What? No, the spinal cord is not literate and does not
contain  any  special  reflexes  for  viewing film. But, tell me,  why do we
soften prefer  detective movies and  novels,  no  matter how poorly they are
made  or  written? Why  do so many of  us like love  stories-everything from
jokes and  gossip to the  Decameron? Because  it's interesting? Interesting?
Why is it interesting? Because  the  firmly engrained instincts for survival
and  propagation   encoded  in  our   spinal  cords  force  us   to   gather
information-what can  you die of?-so that  we  can  save ourselves  in  that
situation. How  and why does happy  and true  love come about, the kind that
results in offspring? What destroys it?-so that you  don't blow it yourself.
And  it doesn't matter that  such a dangerous situation may never come up in
your safe, comfortable lives. And  it doesn't matter that  there is love and
more  descendants  than you  know what to do with-the  spinal cord  tows its
line. I'm not going to call these desires in the viewer and reader base,  as
so  many  critics  do. Why? These are healthy,  natural  desires,  admirable
desires. If cows in their evolution ever learn  to read, then  they'll  also
begin with mysteries and romances.
     But  let us return to the student whose brain failed him  in responding
to  the  examiner's question. "Ah, you greenhorn," the spinal  cord seems to
say to its colleague  as it receives the panic signals and goes into action.
First, it sends signals to the motor  nerves of the entire body; the muscles
tense  into  a  position  of  readiness.  The  primary  sources of  muscular
energy-adenosine triphosphate and phosphocreatine-break  down in tissue into
adenosine diphosphate and creatine, releasing phosphoric acid  and the first
amounts of heat and energy. And I want to direct your attention once more to
the biological expediency of raising  muscle tone. After  all, danger in the
old  days  required quick  energetic movement,  to leap away,  strike, bend,
climb a tree. And since it is not yet clear  which way you will have to jump
or strike, all the muscles are brought into readiness.
     Simultaneously, the  sympathetic nervous system  is also stimulated and
begins to command the whole kitchen array of metabolism in the organism. Its
signals  reach  the  adrenal  gland, which throws adrenaline into the blood,
stimulating  everything. The liver  and  spleen, like sponges,  squeeze  out
several  liters of  extra  blood into the circulatory system.  Blood vessels
expand in the  muscles,  lungs,  and brain. The  heart beats faster, pumping
blood into all the organs, and with it, oxygen  and glucose. The spinal cord
and the autonomous nervous system prepare thestudent's bodyforheavy, fierce,
and long fighting for life or death!
     But the examiner cannot be stunned with  a cudgel or even with a marble
inkwell. And  you  can't run away from him either.  The  examiner  won't  be
satisfied  even if the student, overflowing with muscular energy, performs a
handstand on  the  desk instead  of  answering the question. That's why  the
secret,  stormy activity of the student's organism ends in a useless burning
up of  glucose in the muscles  and heat  generation.  The thermoreceptors in
different  parts of the body send hysterical  signals  of overheating to the
brain  and spinal cord. And  the brain  responds in the only way it knows-by
expanding the vessels of the  skin. Blood rushes to the  skin (incidentally,
also causing the student to blush) and heats up the air between the body and
the clothes. The  sweat  glands open up to help the student with evaporation
of moisture. The reflex chain, stimulated by the question, is finally over.
     I'm sure you will make your own conclusions about the role of knowledge
in the correct regulation of the  human organism in our complex environment,
and about  its role  in the regulation of the student organism at  our  next
session..."
     From  a lecture by Professor V. A. Androsiashvili  in his course, Human
Physiology.


     Yes, he was leaving  in order to become himself, and not the Krivoshein
who lived and worked in Dneprovsk. He threw the apartment key which Val  had
tucked into his  pocket out of the  train  window. He  crossed  out all  the
addresses and phone numbers of Moscow acquaintances from his book, including
his  Aunt  Lapanalda. He  had no friends, no  relatives,  no  past-only  the
present, from the moment he entered the biology department,  and the future.
He  knew a simple but dependable way of  establishing himself in the future;
the method had never let him down. It was work.
     And he had more than that.
     Once upon a time physicists had perfected  the methods of measuring the
speed of light, just so that they could achieve the greatest accuracy.  They
did.  And they  determined  a scandalous fact: the speed  of light  did  not
depend  on  the  speed  of  motion of  the light  source.  "Impossible!  The
equipment  is  wrong!  The  results  contradict classical  mechanics!"  They
checked. They measured the speed of light another way-with the same results.
And   the  almost  completed,  logically  perfect  universe  rising  in  the
scaffolding of  right-angled coordinates, crumbled, raising an awful  lot of
dust. The "crisis of physics" began.
     The human mind often  strives for a reconciliation of all  the facts in
the world rather  than for a  deeper knowledge of those facts: the important
thing  is  for everything to  become simpler and more logical. And then some
sneaky  little fact floats  out, irreconcilable with the neat  theories, and
you have to start all over again....
     They had  also  created a simple and  understandable  picture in  their
minds  of  how  a  computer creates a  man from information  about  man. The
computer-womb was playing children's games  with blocks. In a  liquid medium
via  electrical impulse  it combined molecules  into  molecular chains,  the
molecular  chains  into  cells,  and the  cells  into  tissue-with  the sole
difference that there were  untold  billions of  "informational blocks." The
fact that  the result of  the game was not a monster or even another person,
but  Krivoshein's  informational  double,  proves  that there  was  only one
solution to  the puzzle.  Well, naturally,  it couldn't have been  any other
way: blocks can only fit into  a picture that exists  in their surfaces. The
variants (a fragmented  Lena, a fragmented father, the "delirium of memory,"
the eyes and feelers) were merely informational garbage that could not exist
independent of the computer.
     This concept was not incorrect, merely superficial. It suited them,  as
long as the facts supported  the theory that they were  the same  externally
and  in  thoughts and  deeds. But when irreconcilable differences came up on
the use of biology in their work, this concept turned out to be inadequate.
     Yes, it  was their inability  to  understand  each other,  and  not the
interest in biology (which might have passed in Krivoshein-2 with no harmful
effects), that became to  his  discovery  what the constancy of the speed of
light was to the  theory of relativity. A man never knows what's banal about
him and  what's original;  that only  comes  in comparsion  with others. And
unlike  other people, Krivoshein-2 could compare  himself  to  not  only his
acquaintances, but to "himself" as well.
     Now  it became very  clear  to  graduate  student Krivoshein  what  the
difference  between  them  was:  their  ways  of  appearing were  different.
Valentin  Krivoshein  appeared over three decades ago the  way every  living
thing  did-from an  embryo,  in which a program for building  a human  being
developed  over thousands of  centuries  and  in which  generations had been
encoded by a specific arrangement of protein and DNA. But the computer-womb,
even though it was working from individual Krivoshein information, was still
dealing  with  random information;  it  had  to  seek out the principles  of
formation and all the  details of the biological information system. And the
computer found a way different from nature's: a biochemical assembly instead
of embryonic development.
     Yes,  now there was much that  he understood.  In a year he had  passed
from sensations  to knowledge  and from knowledge to mastery of himself. And
then... then it had merely  been a powerful attraction to  biology  and  the
inexpressible certainty that this  was where he had to seek his answers.  He
couldn't even explain  it  well to Krivoshein. He came to  Moscow  with  the
vague feeling that something was wrong with him. He wasn't sick or imagining
things, but he had to figure himself out, to make  sure that his feeling was
reality and not an idee fixe or a hypochondriacal hallucination.
     He worked so hard that he  could look back on the days at the institute
in Dneprovsk as if they had been a vacation. Lectures, lab work, the anatomy
theater,  the library, lectures, seminars, lab work, lectures,  the  clinic,
the library, lab  work.... He never left the Lenin Hills  campus  during the
first semester; he would  walk down to the parapet before going  to bed,  to
look  down  at  the Moscow River, smoke,  enjoy  the  lights  glimmering and
blending with the stars on the horizon.
     A gray-eyed, second-year student  who resembled Lena always sat next to
him in Androsiashvili's class, which he attended. Once she asked: "You're so
solid, so serious-were you  in the  Army?" "In prison," he replied,  jutting
out his jaw. The girl lost interest in him. It had to be. Girls take  up too
much time.
     And he was convinced by every experiment, every calculation. Yes, in  a
cross section  of  a nerve bundle that goes from  the brain to the pituitary
gland,  under a microscope you  can  actually count approximately a  hundred
thousand fibers-and that  means that the pituitary is  closely  monitored by
the brain. Yes,  if you  add beta-active calcium to a  lab  monkey's diet of
bananas and then use a Geiger counter on  its excretions, it  really is true
that bone tissue renews itself approximately twice a year. Yes, if you stick
electrode needles into muscle tissue  and  conduct sound into earphones, you
can  really hear  a rhythmic  quacking or  a fragmented pulse  of  the nerve
signals,  and these sounds corresponded with what  he was feeling! Yes, skin
cells actually do move up toward the surface, changing structure,  dying, so
that they can slough off and make room for new ones.
     He  studied  his own body. He took blood samples and lymphatic samples;
he got a piece of muscle tissue from his right hip and  examined it under an
optical microscope and then an electronic one; he calumnied himself to get a
Wassermann  at the  school clinic. And he determined that  everything in him
was normal. Even the amount and distribution of nerves in the tissue was the
same as in the bodies they dissected in anatomy class. The nerves went up to
the  brain,  but  he  couldn't  get in  there  with  the  use  of laboratory
technology. He would have to  implant too many electrodes into his skull and
plug into too many oscilloscopes to understand the  secrets of his self. And
would  he  understand  them then?  Or  would  he come up with  "streptocidal
striptease"-not  in   binary  alphabet,  but  in  the  jagged  lines  of  an
electroencephalogram?
     The situation-a  living  person studying his  own organism  can't  even
breech the mysteries of his body with  laboratory equipment-was paradoxical.
After all, this wasn't a  question  of discovering invisible "radiostars" or
synthesizing  antiparticles.  All  the  information  was  in  man. All  that
remained  was  to  translate  the code of the  molecules,  cells,  and nerve
impulses into the code of the secondary signal system-words and sentences.
     Words and  phrases are  necessary  (but  not  always)  for  one  man to
understand another. But are they necessary to understand oneself? Krivoshein
didn't know. That's why  he tried everything:  analysis, imagination, books,
monitoring the sensations of his body, conversations with Androsiashvili and
other teachers, observation of patients at the clinic, autopsies....
     Everything  that  Vano  Aleksandrovich  had  argued in  that  memorable
December conversation was  right,  since  it was defined by Androsiashvili's
knowledge  of the  world and  his faith in the  indisputable  expediency  of
everything created by nature.
     But the professor did not  know one thing: that  he was conversing with
an artificial man.
     Even Vano Aleksandrovich's  doubts  about the success of his plan  were
solidly  based,  because Krivoshein's  starting  point  was  an  engineering
computer solution.  That  December  he began planning  an  "electropotential
inductor"-a continuation of the idea of Monomakh's Crown. A hundred thousand
microscopic electrode needles,  connected to the matrices of a self-learning
automated machine (in the lab the bionics people modeled  reflex actions  on
it),  were  supposed  to  supply  the  brain  cells  with auxiliary charges,
bringing artificial biowaves through  the  skull, and thereby connecting the
thinking centers of the cortex with the autonomous nervous system.
     Krivoshein laughed. How  silly to  think that such primitive  apparatus
could  have  punched up  his  organism!  At  least  he  hadn't  dropped  his
physiology  studies  for  that  project.  When  he  performed an autopsy, he
mentally  revived  the  corpse:  he imagined  that  he himself  lay  on  the
dissecting table, that  it  was  his white nerve  fibers running through the
muscles  and  cartilage  to  the purple, yellow fat-encrusted heart, to  the
watery clusters of  salivary glands under  the  chin,  to  the gray rags  of
collapsed lungs. Other fibers  wove into white cords of nerves that went  to
the  pelvis, the spinal  cord  and  up, through  the  neck, under the skull.
Signal  commands ran along them from there: contract  the  muscles, speed up
the heart, squeeze out saliva!
     In the student cafeteria he followed the movement of every gulp of food
to  his  stomach, trying to  imagine and  feel how, in  the darkness, it was
slowly kneaded  by  the smooth muscles, broken down by hydrochloric acid and
enzymes,  how  the dull yellow  mash was  absorbed  into  the  walls  of the
intestine. Sometimes he spent two hours sitting over a cold cutlet.
     Actually, he was  remembering.  Nine-tenths of his discoveries were due
to the fact that he remembered and understood how it had happened.
     The computer-womb  had no reason to  begin with a fetus; it  had enough
material  to assemble an adult.  Krivoshein, the original, had made sure  of
that.  At  first the  vague  biological mixture in the  tank contained  only
"wandering"  currents and "floating" potentials from external circuits-these
colorful terms from theoretical electronics were quite literal in this case.
Then the  transparent nerve fibers and cells  appeared-a continuation of the
electronic   circuits  of  the  computer.  The  search   for   informational
equilibrium  continued.  The  nervous  system  was  becoming  more and  more
voluminous and complex, and the layers of nerve cells turned into the cortex
and subcortex.  That's when his brain appeared, and  from that moment on, he
existed.
     At  first his brain was also a continuation of the computer's circuits.
But now  he received impulses of  external information,  sifted it and tried
combinations,  and  looked for  a  way  to  realize  the  information  in  a
biological  medium. He was  assembling  himself! In  the  vat  a  system  of
nerves-for now still random-spread. Muscle tissue, vessels, bones, and inner
organs began  appearing around the  nerves-in that practically liquid  state
when they could dissolve, blend, change structure under orders of the  nerve
impulses.  No, this  wasn't an intelligent  assembly  of a body  following a
blueprint, since there was no  blueprint. The building block game continued,
a sifting through many variants and choosing of the only one among them that
reflected the information on Krivoshein. But  now,  like the computer  which
evaluated  every variant of the solution with  binary signals, his  computer
brain evaluated the synthesis of a body with a binary code of sensation: Yes
meant it felt good, No, that it  hurt.  Unsuccessful  combinations of cells,
the incorrect distribution of organs were transmitted to the brain as a dull
or sharp pain; the successful and correct one, as delicious satisfaction.
     And the memory of the search, the memory of the sensations of  the body
under construction remained within him.
     Life  creates  people  who  differ  little in  the  properties  of  the
organism,  but  are  very  different   in   their  psychology,  personality,
knowledge, and spiritual refinement  or crudity. The computer-womb acted  in
the  opposite  manner. The  graduate  student  Krivoshein  was identical  to
Krivoshein  in psychology and intellect,  but that was understandable. Those
qualities in  a person develop through the same process of random  retrieval
and  choice.  The  computer merely  repeated the retrieval. But biologically
they differed  the way  a  book differs from  its rough draft.  Not just one
draft, but  all the drafts and sketches  that went into  creating a finished
and polished work. Of  course, the contents were the  same,  but the  drafts
retain  the  path   of  finding  and  choosing  the  right  words  in  their
corrections, additions, and deletions.
     "Actually,  that  comparison is imperfect, too," the  frowning  student
mused. "The drafts of books appear before the books,  not afterwards. And if
you show a scribbler all the drafts of War and Peace  would that make him  a
genius? Well,  I guess they would  teach him something.... No, I guess  it's
better to leave comparisons out of this!" Man  recalls what he knows in only
two  situations:  when  he must  recall  it-goal  recollection-and  when  he
encounters something that even remotely  resembles  the code  in his  brain.
This  is called associative recall. The biology books  were  the  hint  that
stimulated his  memory. But  the difficulty lay in the fact  that he did not
remember  words  or  even  images, but only sensations. Even now he couldn't
convey it all in words-and probably would never be able to.
     Of  course, that's  not the  important thing. What is important is  the
fact  that  such information  exists. Because  "knowledge in sensation" gave
birth to a clear, thought-out idea in him to control his own metabolism.
     It happened the first  time on the evening of January 28  in the forms.
It turned out just like Pavlov's dogs-artificial salivation. But  he  wasn't
thinking  about  food (he had had a dinner of kefir  and sausage), but about
the nerve regulation of  the salivary glands. As usual he tried to visualize
the entire path of the nerve impulses from the taste receptors in the tongue
through the brain to the salivary glands and suddenly felt his mouth fill up
with saliva!
     Still  only fully  aware of how it had  happened, he concentrated  on a
frightened protest-"No!"-and his mouth went dry instantly!
     That evening he repeated  the mental  orders  "Saliva!" and "no!" until
his mouth convulsed.
     He spent  the  rest of  the week in his  room-luckily it  was a  school
vacation,  and he didn't have  to be distracted  by lectures and labs. Other
organs listened to  his mental orders.  At first he could only command  them
crudely. Streams of tears poured from his eyes; sweat appeared in  profusion
all over his skin or  immediately dried up; his heart either quieted down to
a  near comatose  rate  or  else  beat wildly  at a  hundred forty  beats  a
minute-there was no middle ground, And when he commanded his stomach to stop
excreting hydrochloric acid he had such intense  diarrhea that he barely had
time to  get  to the bathroom. But gradually he learned to  control external
excretions gently  and  locally;  once  he even  managed to  spell out "IT'S
WORKING!" on his back with beads of sweat, like a tattoo.
     Then he moved his experiments to the lab and first of  all repeated the
effect  of the sugar injection made famous by Claude  Bernard.  But  now  he
didn't  have to open the skull and  inject the midbrain. The amount of sugar
in his blood increased as a result of a mental command.
     But  in  general  it  was  much  more  complex  dealing  with  internal
secretion.  The  results  were not so apparent or so fast.  He made puncture
marks  all over  his fingers  and  muscles checking whether the glands  were
obeying his  commands to secrete  adrenaline, insulin, glucose, or hormones.
He irritated his gullet with probes trying  to determine the reaction to his
commands on changing acidity. Everything was working-and everything was very
difficult.
     Then  he caught on. He should give  his organism a specific goal, to do
this and that, produce certain changes. And really when he walked, he didn't
command   the   muscles:   "Right  rectus-contract...   biceps-now...   left
gastrocnemius...." He didn't have  time for that. The conscious  mind sets a
specific goal:  go  faster or  slower, go around  the  post, turn  into  the
driveway. And the nerve centers of  the brain take care  of the muscles. And
that's how it should be with  this. It wasn't his  business which glands and
vessels would  produce individual  reactions,  as  long as they did  what he
wanted!
     Words and  images got in the way. He  was overexplaining.  He  told the
liver  how to synthesive glycogen from amino acids  and fats, break down the
glycogen into glucose, and excrete it into the blood; he told the thyroid to
contract and squeeze out  drops  of thyroxin  into  the blood;  he told  the
circulatory system to  expand the capillaries in the large chest muscles and
to contract the  other  vessels-and nothing happened,  his pectorals  didn't
grow  bigger.  After all, the liver  didn't know it was the  liver, and  the
thyroid  didn't  have  the slightest  idea what  thyroxin was  and  couldn't
picture a  drop  of it. Krivoshein cursed himself for excessive attention at
his lectures and in the library. The result of all this exertion was only  a
headache.
     The problem was that in  order to control metabolism within himself, he
had to avoid numbers, terms, and even images, and  think only in sensations.
The problem came down to changing  "knowledge in  sensation" into a tertiary
signal system of controlling internal secretions with the aid of sensations.
     The funniest part  was that he  didn't  need  lab  apparatus or control
circuits. All he had to do was lie in a  darkened room, eyes closed and ears
plugged