Self-discovery

“Someone said: no one despises the crowd more than the mediocrity who manages to climb above it. Who?” he frowned as he thought. “Wait a minute, I said that myself about someone else. Of course, about someone else, I wouldn't have said it about me….” He was disgusted. “In trampling them, I trample myself. I haven't come so far; I used to be just like them. Wait up! Does this mean that I simply want to disappear? And to keep from being terribly embarrassed and not to lose my self — respect, I'm trying to give this flight a philosophical basis? I haven't sold out anyone: everything is true; science is helpless, and that's how it should be. My God, an intellectual's mind is wondrously base and self — serving! (By the way, I've thought or said that about someone else, too; all of life's verities are nicer when applied to others.) And that intelligent one is me. All my gears are going full blast, contempt for the crowd, theoretical discursiveness…. Hmmmm!” He blushed and felt hot. “So this is where disaster can lead. Well, all right, let's see what else there is for me to do.”

Suddenly his legs were rooted to the pavement! Walking toward him with an easy stride was a young man with a backpack and a raincoat over his arm. “Adam!” Kravets felt a chill and his heart sank. It wasn't a man but a living pang of his conscience coming toward him on that street. Adam's eyes were thoughtful and angry, and the corners of his mouth drooped forbiddingly. “He's going to see me, recognize me….” Victor looked away so as not to give himself away, but curiosity won out: he stared at him. No, Adam didn't look like a “slave” now — that was a confident, strong, and decisive man. A memory floated up of a disheveled head against a background of dusky wallpaper, eyes wide with hatred, and a ten — pound iron dumbbell raised over his face.

The arrival walked on past him. “Of course, how could he recognize me?” Kravets sighed in relief. “But why is he back? What does he want?”

He watched the man disappear into the crowd. “Maybe I should catch up with him and tell him what happened? All the help that… No. Who knows why he's here.” He was overwhelmed with despair again. “This is where all outwork and experiments have led. Damn it! We're afraid of each other. Wait… that is the other variant! But will it help?” Victor bit his lip, thinking hard.

Adam had disappeared.

“Well, enough self — torture!” Kravets said, shaking his head. “This isn't my work alone. And I can't escape — the work must be saved.”

He pulled out the change from his pocket, counted it, swallowed a hungry gulp, and went into the post office.

He just had enough to pay for a short telegram: MOSCOW, MOSCOW STATE U., BIOLOGY DEPT. TO KRIVOSHEIN. FLY OUT IMMEDIATELY. VALENTIN.

He sent the telegram and went out on the street. He turned down a street that led to the Institute of Systemology. After a few steps he turned to see if anyone was following him. The street was empty, and the only person watching was the pretty woman with the bankbook in the brightly lit ad on the department store that said, “Save your money at the bank” in foot — high letters. Her eyes promised to love anyone who saved.

The sign over the administrator's window in the House of the Collective Farmer read:

Room for a man — 60 kopeks.

Room for a horse — 1 ruble 20 kopeks.

The man who had arrived from Vladivostok sighed and handed his passport through the window. “Give me a sixty — kopek room, please.”

Chapter 4

The impossible is impossible. For instance, it is impossible to move faster than the speed of light. But even if it were possible, would it be worth the trouble? After all, no one could see it to appreciate it.

— K. Prutkov — engineer, Thought 17

The next morning the officer on duty in the city department handed Investigator Onisimov the report of the policeman on guard at the sealed laboratory. It stated that during the night, approximately between 1:00 and 2:00 A.M., an unknown man in a white shirt attempted to enter the lab through a window. The policeman's shout scared him off into the park.

“I see!” Matvei Apollonovich rubbed his hands in satisfaction. “Returning to the scene of the crime….”

Yesterday he had sent notice to citizen Azarov and to citizen Kolomiets. Matvei Apollonovich wasn't really counting on the academician's showing up in his office — but the stub of the notice would be handy to have around. Elena Ivanovna Kolomiets, an engineer at a construction design bureau near the Systemology Institute, showed up promptly at ten.