Self-discovery

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And the Lord saw that it was good….”

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

Chapter 16

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

— K. Prutkov — engineer, Thought 59

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

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

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

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

“What's the matter?”

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

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