"We need new mathematicians, Professor Rauch. Either we get them or we'll very soon be on the rocks."
I stared at the man who did not seem to me half as pleasant now as he'd done before. I seemed to discern traits of innate bestiality in him, faint, but coming to the fore now.
"Well, what if I refuse?" I asked. "That would be just too bad. I'm afraid you'd have to join our-er-computer force then." "Is that so bad?" I asked.
"It is," Boltz said firmly, standing up. "That would mean you'd finish your days in the Wise Men's Home."
Pacing up and down the room, Boltz began to speak in the tones of a lecturer addressing an audience:
"The computing abilities of the human brain are several hundred thousand times those of an electronic computer. A thousand million mathematical nerve cells plus the aids-memory, inhibition, logic, intuition, etc.-place the brain high above any conceivable machine. Yet the machine has one essential advantage."
"Which?" I asked, still not understanding what Boltz was driving at.
"If, say, a trigger or a group of triggers is out of order in an electronic machine, you can replace the valves, resistors or capacitors and the machine will work again. But if a nerve cell or a group of nerve cells in the computing area is out of order, replacement, alas, is impossible. Unfortunately we are obliged to make brain triggers work at an increased tempo here. As a result, wear and tear, if I may call it so, is greatly accelerated. The living computers are soon used up arid then-"
"What then?"
"Then the computer gets into the Home."
"But that's inhuman-and criminal," I said hotly.
Boltz stopped in front of me, placed a hand on my shoulder and, with a broad smile, said:
"Rauch, you've got to forget all those words and notions here. If you won't forget them yourself we'll have to erase them from your memory for you."
"You will never be able to do that!" I shouted, brushing away his hand.
"Deinis's lecture was wasted on you, I see. Pity. He spoke sense. Incidentally, d'you know what memory is?"
"What has that to do with our subject? Why the hell are you all buffooning here? Why-?"
"Memory, Professor Rauch, is prolonged stimulation in a group of neurones due to a positive reverse connection. In other words, memory is the electrochemical stimulation that circulates in a given group of nerve cells in your head. You, as a physicist interested in electromagnetic processes in complex media, must realise that by placing your head in the appropriate electromagnetic field we can stop that circulation in any group of neurones. Nothing could be simpler! We can not only make you forget what you know, but make you recall what you have never known. However it's not in our interests to resort to these-er- artificial means. We hope your common sense will prevail. The firm will be making over to you a sizeable share of its dividends."
"For what services?"
"I've already told you-for teaching mathematics. We sign up classes of twenty to thirty people with an aptitude for maths-this country has an abundance of unemployed, fortunately. Then we teach them higher mathematics in the course of two to three months-"
"But that's impossible," I said, "absolutely impossible. In such a short time, I mean…"
"It's not impossible, Rauch. Don't forget you'll be dealing with a very bright audience, uncommonly intelligent and possessing a wonderful memory for figures. We will see to that. That is in our power."
"Also by artificial means? By means of the pulse generator?" I asked.
Boltz nodded.
'Well, do you agree?"
I shut my eyes tightly and thought hard. So Deinis and the others in the ward were normal people and had been telling me the truth yesterday. So Kraftstudt and Go. had really developed a technique of commercialising human thought, will-power and emotions by means of electromagnetic fields. I sensed Boltz's searching glance on me and knew I must hurry with my decision. It was devilishly hard to make. If I agreed I'd be speeding my students on their way to the Wise Men's Home. If I refused I'd do the same to myself.
"Do you agree?" Boltz repeated, touching me on the shoulder.
"No," I said, my mind made up. "No. I can be no accomplice to such abomination."
"As you wish," he said with a sigh. "I'm very sorry, though."
After a minute's silence he stood up briskly, went over to the door and, opening it, called out:
"Eider, Schrank, come in here!"
"What are you going to do to me?" I asked, also getting up.
"To begin with we'll record the pulse-code spectre of your nervous system."
"Which means?"
"Which means we'll record the form, intensity and frequency of the pulses responsible for your every emotional and intellectual state and make them into a chart."
"But I won't let you. I will protest. I-"
"Show the Professor the way to the test laboratory," Boltz cut in indifferently and turned his back on me to look out of the window.
As I entered the test laboratory I had already formed the decision which was to play a crucial role in the events that followed. My line of reasoning was this. They are going to subject me to a test that will give Kraftstudt and his gang complete information on my inner self. They need this to know what electromagnetic influence to bring to bear on my nervous system to produce any emotion or sensation they want. If they are fully successful I'll be in their power beyond hope of escape. If they are not I'll retain a certain amount of free play. Which I might soon badly need. So the only hope for me is to try to fool those gangsters as much as possible. That I can' do so to a degree I deduced from what a slave of Kraftstudt's said yesterday about pulse-code characteristics being individual, except where mathematical thought is concerned.
I was led into a large room cluttered up with bulky instrumentation, the whole looking like the control room of a power station. The middle of the laboratory was taken up by a control console with instrument panels and dials. To its left, behind a screen of wire mesh, towered a transformer, several generator lamps glowing red in white porcelain panels. Fixed to the wire mesh which served as a screen-grid for the generator were a voltmeter and an ammeter. Their readings were used, apparently, to measure the generator's output. Close by the control console stood a cylindrical booth made up of two metallic parts, top and bottom.
As I was led up to the booth two men rose from behind the console. One of them was the same doctor who had taken me to Kraftstudt the day before, the other-a wizened old man whom I didn't know, with sparse hair disciplined into perfect smoothness on a yellow crane.
"Failed to persuade him," the doctor said. "I knew as much. I could see at once that Rauch belonged to the strong type. You will come to a bad end, Rauch," he said to me.
"So will you," I said.
"That's as may be, but with you it's definite."
I shrugged.
"Will you go through it voluntarily or do you want us to force you?" he then asked, looking me over insolently.
"Voluntarily. As a physicist I'm even interested."
"Splendid. In that case remove your shoes and strip to the waist. I must examine you first and take your blood pressure."
I did as I was told. The first part of "registering the spectre" looked like an ordinary medical check-up-breathe, stop breathing and the rest of it.
When the examination was over the doctor said:
"Now step into the booth. You've got a mike there. Answer all my questions. I must warn you that one of the frequencies will make you feel an intense pain. But it will go as soon as you yell out."
In my bare feet I stepped on to the porcelain floor. An electric bulb flashed on overhead. The generator droned. It was operating in the low-frequency band. The tension of the field was obviously very high. I felt this by the way waves of warmth swelled and ebbed slowly through my body. Each electromagnetic pulse brought with it a strange tickling in the joints. Then my muscles began contracting and relaxing in time to the pulses.