“It's hard to get in to see you, Arkady Arkadievich.”
“You'll understand if I don't find that a substantial excuse, Valentin Vasilyevich!” Azarov frowned. “I'll admit that the procedure of getting in to see me might be offensive to you (even though all the workers at the institute have to submit to it at one time or another). But you could have telephoned me, left me a note (not necessarily a form in triplicate, either), or visited me at my apartment, you know!”
Arkady Arkadievich couldn't repress the hurt. “So… you work and work…” kept spinning through his mind. For a long time, since the days when his unsuccessful experiment with helium turned into the discovery of superfluidity in the hands of a colleague, Arkady Arkadievich had secretly hoped to see, find, and understand something new in nature and the world. He dreamed about a discovery with anticipation and trepidation, like a boy about to lose his virginity! But he had no luck. Others did, but not him! He had high — level, needed, much — valued and honored work to his credit, but no discovery — the height of comprehension.
And now in the institute that had been entrusted to him a discovery had been made without his knowledge, a discovery so huge that it dwarfed all of his work and the work of the entire institute! They managed without him. More than that! It seemed that they avoided him. “How so? Did he think I was dishonorable? What have I done to make him think that?” Academician Azarov hadn't had to experience such strong feelings in a long time.
“Hmmm. while sharing your joy for this discovery, Valentin Vasilyevich,” he went on, “I still am worried and saddened by your attitude. This may shock you, but I'm concerned not as a scientist or as your director, but as a human being: why like this? Surely you could see that my knowing about the project would do it no harm, but could only help: you would have been guaranteed direction, consultations.
If I had felt that you needed more workers or equipment, you would have had that, too. Then why, Valentin Vasilyevich? I'm not even deigning to think that you were worried about your inventor's patents….”
“But that didn't keep you from expressing the thought,” Krivoshein laughed sadly. “Well, all right. In general, I'm glad that you're distressed primarily as a human being; that gives me hope. For a while, we debated whether we should tell you about the work or not; we tried to meet with you. We couldn't make contact. And then we decided that at that stage of the project it was just as well.” He looked up at Azarov. “We didn't have much faith in you, Arkady Arkadievich. Do you know why? If for no other reason than that even now, instead of finding out more about the work, you tried to put the discovery and its credit where you thought it belonged: Weiner said…. What does Weiner's 'television' idea have to do with this? We've done it completely differently. And you know there wouldn't have been any consultations: I can't see you, an academician, displaying your ignorance in front of subordinate engineers. Another thing also: while you know very well that a researcher's value is in no way determined by his degrees or title, you nevertheless have never missed a chance to promote degreed and titled people into positions that others might have filled better. You think I didn't know from the start what my part would be in creating the new laboratory? Do you think that your warning to me after the scandal with Hilobok didn't affect my last experiment? It did. That's why I was rushing, taking risks. Do you think that my attitude toward you isn't affected by the fact that in your institute orders for exhibitions and other public relations nonsense always take precedence over things that are necessary for our work?”
“Now you're getting awfully petty, Valentin Vasilyevich!” Azarov said in irritation.
“Those were the petty things that I had to judge you by; there was nothing else. Or such a petty thing as the fact that a… a… well, that Hilobok sets the tone for the institute — whether through your disinterest or active support, I don't know. Of course, it's easy to feel intellectually superior next to Hilobok, even in a steam bath!”
Color rushed to Azarov's face: it's one thing when you realize something for yourself, and another when a subordinate tells you about it. Krivoshein realized he had gone too far and modified his tone.
“Please understand me correctly, Arkady Arkadievich. We had wanted you to participate in our work — and that's why I'm telling you this, not to insult you. There's much that we still don't understand in this discovery: man is a complicated system, and the computer that creates him is even more so. There's work here for thousands of experiments and studies. And that's our dream, to attract wise, knowledgeable, talented men to the project. But, you see, it's not enough to be a scientist for this work.”
“I hope that you will familiarize me more thoroughly with this work.” Azarov was gradually getting himself under control, and his sense of humor and superiority was returning. “Perhaps I will be of some service, as a scientist and as a human being.”
“Please God! We'll familiarize you with it… probably. I'm not alone in this, and can't make decisions on my own. But we will. We need you.”
“Valentin Vasilyevich,” the academician said, raising his shoulders, “excuse me, but are you planning to decide with your lab assistant whether or not you will allow me near your work? As far as I know, there is no one else in your lab?”
“Yes, and him too. Oh, my God!” Krivoshein sighed. “You are willing to accept the possibility that a computer can create man, but you can't accept the possibility that a lab assistant might know more about it than you! By the way, Michael Faraday was a lab assistant, too. No one remembers that any more. Arkady Arkadievich, you must prepare yourself for the fact that when you join our project — and I hope that you will! — there won't be any of that academic 'you are our fathers, we are your children' bull. We'll work, and that's it. None of us is a genius, but none of us is Hilobok, either.”
He looked at Azarov and grew pale, amazed: the academician was smiling! It wasn't one of his photogenic, only for the press, smiles and not one of the sly smiles that accompanied a witticism during a council or seminar. It was simple and broad. It wasn't very attractive because of all the wrinkles it created, but it was very nice.
“Listen,” said Azarov, “you've really shaken me up here, but… well, all right. I'm very glad that you're alive.” (The reader is reminded that this is science fiction.)
“Me, too,” was the only reply Krivoshein could muster.
“What about the police now?”
“I think that I can soothe them, even if I won't overjoy them.”