I'll keep trying….
July 6. Life cannot be stopped. That must be it. Any interruption of life is death. But death is only an instant, after which begins the process of decay or in this case, dissolution. And I'm synthesizing living systems. And the computer — womb itself is a living organism. That's why nothing can freeze in it. Too bad, it would have been very convenient…. The first offspring of an artificial male and regular female appeared today — eight white bunnies. That must be an important fact. But I have plenty of rabbits without that.
Damn it, but the machine must obey orders more complex than “You may!” and “No!” I must control the synthesis process, otherwise all my ideas fly out the window.
July 7. So that's how you work, computer — womb! And it's so simple.
Today I ordered the machine to re — create Albino Vaska one more time. When it appeared as a translucent apparition in the middle of the vat, I concentrated on its tail and imagine that it was no longer. No changes followed. That wasn't it. And I thought sadly, “That's not it.. ” — and everything began changing in the rabbit. The body's contour wavered in a slow rhythm: the body, ears, and feet and tail either grew longer and fatter or shorter and thinner; the internal organs pulsed in the same rhythm. Even the color of the blood changed color from dark cherry to light red and back again.
I jumped up from my chair. The rabbit was still being “shaken!” Its shape kept changing, being distorted and caricatured; the trembling became more frequent and wild. Finally the albino dissolved into a purplish gray cloud and dissolved.
At first I was scared: the picture reminded me of the computer's old delirium. Except for the rhythm. All the fluctuations of size and shade were amazingly coordinated.
And then I understood. I figured it out myself, I might add, damn it!
The computer's original information on the rabbit was concrete and definite. It combined all the informational details, searching for the precise variation; but search or not, you can only re — create what's recorded. You can't make a vacuum cleaner from motorcycle parts.
And then the computer receives the signal “That's not it” — neither confirming nor negating — a signal of doubt. It disrupts the informational stability of the synthesis of the rabbit; to put it bluntly, it throws the computer off the track. And it begins searching — what is “it” — through the simple method of trial and error (a little more, a little less so as not to destroy the system…. But the computer doesn't know what “it” is, and it doesn't get confirmation from me. Complete disruption of the system and dissolution follow.
And then (this is what's good about a researcher's job: if you hit the right vein you can do in a day, with the aid of one or two ideas, what would ordinarily take years and years!) I put on Monomakh's Crown and told the computer “You may!” Now I knew what I would do with the rabbit double. It appeared. I concentrated on the tail (the connection chain: the bioimpulses from my retinas with the image of the rabbit tail went into the brain, into the crown, into the computer, and there — comparison and selection of information — the computer fixed my attention) and I even frowned, to make it more expressive: “That's not it.” A powerful unbalancing impulse went into the computer. The tail got shorter. A tiny bit…. “That's not it!”
The tail quivered, and got longer…, “That's it; that's it!”
The tail froze. “That's not it!” It got even longer. “That's it!” It froze. “That's it! That's not it! It! Not it!” — and things got moving. The hardest part was to catch the fluctuation in the right direction. Later I no longer gave the computer the elemental commands “It — not it,” but simple silent approval. The tail got longer; a chain of small vertebrae grew in it, they were covered with muscle tissue, pink skin, white fur… and in ten minutes Vaska the double was whipping his sides with his tail like an irritated tiger.
And I sat in a chair wearing Monomakh's Crown, and an unbelievable swirl of “well, well, well, now we're cooking. Oh, boy! Phew!” went through my mind, the way it does when you can't express it in words yet, but you know that you've understood, and you're not going to lose it now! And my face probably reflected that extreme state of bliss that is usually seen only in drooling idiots.
That was it. No mysticism. The computer — womb was working on the same “yes — no” system that regular computers do.
“That's right,” nodded the graduate student. “But that's rather crude control. Of course, for a machine. What am I quibbling about? That's a fine job!”
Damn it, this is terrific! At my commands of “yes,” “not it,” and “no” the computer forms cells, tissue, bone. Only living organisms can do that, and much more slowly.
Well, baby, I'm going to squeeze everything I can out of you!
July 15. Now the machine and I are working well together. More accurately, it's learned to receive, decipher, and execute commands from my brain that are not broken down into “it” and “not it.” The essential feedback and content of the commands remained the same, except that it all took place very quickly. I imagine what has to be changed in the developing double and how. As if I were drawing or sculpting the rabbit.
The computer is now my electronic biochemical hand. It's marvelous and luxurious to mold different kinds of rabbit freaks with my mind. With six legs, with three tails, two heads, without ears, or with long floppy mutt ears. Dr. Moreau with his scalpel and carbolic acid was an amateur! My only tool was Monomakh's Crown. I didn't even have to twirl dials.
The most amusing part was that the monsters continue to live. They scratch with four legs and stuff carrots into two mouths…
“Easy work,” muttered the graduate student with envy. “Just like in the movies: sit back and watch. Nothing hurts, nothing to be afraid of. No violent passions — only engineering work.”
He sighed, remembering his suffering. He got used to the various autovivisections rather quickly. When you know that the pain will pass and the wound will heal, then pain becomes another irritant, like bright light or loud noise — unpleasant but not terrible. When you know…. In his planned experiments he knew it. He also began any new change on a small scale. He checked to see how the organism put up with the changes; he always had medicine on hand: ampules of neutralizers and antibiotics, and the phone to call emergency. But there had been one unplanned experiment, in which he had almost died. Actually, it wasn't even an experiment.
There was a department seminar in radiobiology. The third — year students surrounded the uranium reactor and watched the dark cellular cylinder in its depths respectfully. It gave off a green, calm light in the water, illuminating the wires, the nickel — plated bars, levers, and wheels of the control board above it.
“That beautiful light, the color of young grass, around the body of the reactor,” said Professor Valerno in his rich deep baritone, “is called the Cherenkovsky glow. It is caused by the movement of superfast electrons in the water, which are created, in turn, by the division of nuclei of uranium — 235.”
Krivoshein assisted; that is, he sat around, bored, and waited for the professor to ask him to run the demonstration. Actually, Valerno could have easily done the experiment himself, or asked a student to do it, but his scholarly rank rated a qualified assistant. “So just sit there,” Krivoshein thought gloomily. Then he got the idea that he hadn't tried out radiation sickness on himself. He sat up and started planning how to go about it. “Take a flask of water from the reactor and for starters give myself a slight radiation burn. This was serious stuff!”
“The presence of intense Cherenkovsky glow in the water is evidence of intense radiation in the body of the reactor,” Valerno droned on, “which is not surprising. It's a chain reaction. The growth in the brightness of the light is evidence of the growth of the intensity of the radiation, and a dimming — of the opposite. Here, please look.” He turned the wheel on the panel to the left and the right. The green light in the tank blinked.