“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 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.”