Self-discovery

Should I exhibit the computer — womb to shock the academic world? Create two — headed and six — footed rabbits as part of the demonstration, at the rate of two an hour? That would create a stir.

No, brother. This machine makes man. And there's no way of getting around that.

Chapter 17

Every action carries obligations. Inaction doesn't oblige you to anything.

— K. Prutkov — engineer

October 11. I'm repeating the experiments in controlled synthesis of rabbits — just so that the mechanism doesn't sit around for nothing. I'm filming it all. I'll have a documentary. “Citizens, present your documentaries!”

October 13. I've invented a method of destroying biological information in the computer — womb quickly and dependably. You can call it an “electric eraser.” I use tension from the noise generator as input for the crystal unit and TsVM — 12 and 15–20 minutes later the computer forgets everything about the rabbits. If I had had this method earlier instead of the order “No!” I would have destroyed Adam each time irreversibly and fundamentally.

I just don't know if he would have liked that any better.

Time is making the leaves fall and the sky grow cold. And my work isn't moving. I can't undertake serious work now. I don't have the stomach for it. I'm lost.

Here, Krivoshein! You can now take it as conclusively demonstrated that you are neither God nor the hub of the earth. Thus, you should seek help from others. You must go to Arkady Arkadievich….

“Aha,” graduate student Krivoshein exclaimed.

I must follow procedure; he is my superior. Actually, that's not the point. He's smart, knowledgeable, influential, and a marvelous methodologist. He knows how to formulate any problem. And, “A formulated problem,” as it says in his Introduction to Systemology, “is the solution to the problem written in hidden form.” And that's just what I need. And he supported my topic at the scientific council. Of course, he's overly officious and conceited, but we'll manage. He's a smart man, after all. He'll understand that glory is not the point of this work.

Wait! Good intentions are one thing, but reasonable care can't hurt. To let Azarov in on the deep, dark secret that the computer — womb can synthesize live systems — no, that can't be allowed. I have to start with something simpler, and then we'll see, as he likes to say.

I have to synthesize electronic circuits in the computer. That was what old Voltampernov had attacked, and by the way, that's my official topic for the next year and half.

“You must, Valentin Vasilyevich, you must!”

Here's the plan. We place six wires into the liquid: two are feeders; two, the control oscillograph; and two, the impulse generator. I give the computer the parameters of the circuits and the approximate sizes through Monomakh's Crown. I definitely know what's “it” and “not it” in this — it's familiar ground.

October 15. Rounded brown squares are appearing in the tank. They look like laminated insulation. Metal lines of the circuits settle on top of the squares, then layers of insulation, condensers, strips of resistors, and diodes and transistors…. It looks a lot like film technology, which is being developed in microelectronics, but without the vacuum, electrical discharge, and other pyrotechnics.

And how pleasant it is after all the headaches and nightmares to click the switches, adjust the brightness and contrast of the beam on the oscilloscope, and count off the microsecond impulses! Everything is clear, precise, understandable. It's like coming home from distant shores. The devil lured me onto those shores, into the dark jungles called “man” without a guide or compass. But who is a guide and what's a compass?

All right. The parameters of the circuits agree, project 154 is half done. Won't Ippolit Illarionovich be glad!

I'll go to see Azarov. I'll show him the samples, explain a few things and hint at future prospects. I'll go there tomorrow and say:

“Arkady Arkadievich, I come to you as one smart man to another….”

October 16. I went… flying into open arms.

So, in the morning I thought through our conversation, took along the samples, and headed for the old building. The autumn sun shed light on the ornate walls, granite steps, and me, walking up them.

My depression began at the front door. Those governmental three — meter — wide doors made out of carved oak, with curved handles and tight pneumatic springs! They seem to be created especially for beefy young bureaucrats with hands as big as skillets for a dozen eggs. The young bucks open the doors with a light tug and go handle important papers. Once through the doors I began thinking that a conversation with Azarov should not begin with a shocking opening (“I come to you as one smart man to another….”); instead I should kowtow — he's an academician and I'm an engineer.