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"I should think you-and he'd be satisfied to have that forgotten."
"No. It is important that every possible element of his life be
reconstructed and re-evaluated. Loss can be kept at a minimum that way. Your
analogue, for example, will restore all that he has ever done or thought in
connection with you, every opinion or feeling he has expressed to you or which
has been colored by your presence. Then we will call others who will
contribute their share, but yours is among the most important."
She shuddered in revulsion. "No-you can do without me. I don't
understand what you are talking about, but you can get along without me."
"We can't! Your mind holds the greatest part of the pattern we need.
David's life is within the cells of your brain."
"I can't do it-I won't. I'm afraid of all this." Her eyes scanned the
far ceiling where the webbed cables looped in ritualistic patterns. "You can't
make me -- "
"The accident-remember?"
"Some day I'll kill you," she sobbed.
A nurse assisted her in the preparations. Sick with fear, she permitted
her clothing to be exchanged for a plain smock, and then lay upon the padded
couch while the score of electrodes were carefully oriented and pasted to her
skull. The paste had a thick, nauseating smell that made her stomach contract
violently.
She was given then a gentle anaesthetic to control her voluntary
thoughts and movements and was left alone in the faintly lighted room.
While Alice was being made ready, Dr. Vixen told the technicians of the
Institute's ban on Synthesis, offering each of them the chance to leave. None
did. He wished he hadn't had to tell them, but he had no right to make the
decision for them though he felt sure of what each of them would do.
All of them were nervous and tense. As a group they were acting on
their own in a move in which David had always been there to lead. The tension
was multiplied by the fact that it was he upon whom they were operating. So
great was this tension they held almost reckless disregard for the ban of the
Institute. Yet each knew that he was gambling his whole future life and career
in this illegal step.
Dr. Vixen, watching them, sensed the nervousness that threatened the
very success they wanted so badly, but he could do nothing now to help them.
David had trained them well. They would have to rely on the excellence of that
training.
He gave the signal for the beginning of the exacting, laborious process
of transcribing the data from the mind of Alice Mantell to master molecules
which would, in turn, be used to recreate large areas of the shattered brain
of David Mantell.
From his glass observation window Dr. Vixen watched the inert form of
the woman. Even in the drugged sleep her face held the cast of bitter lines.
It was hard to remember, he thought, that she was only a sick child, a
bewildered woman who had never understood the shadow of greatness in which she
stood. It was hard to forget that she had broken the heart of David Mantell,
and in the end had tried to kill him.
Somewhere, in her youth, there must have been a tone of gentleness, a
graciousness and sweetness that David had loved. He would not have married her
if she had been so wholly without charm. What had happened to it in the years
between? Dr. Vixen did not know. He had heard David's story in snatches of
unbearable bitterness that David had sometimes found impossible to contain.
But he wondered if Alice might not have her side to the story, too.
A hurried call from one of the technicians brought an end to these
considerations. He hurried to the post from which the man called. On the
screen of the electron microscope there he saw the image of the pattern
molecule that was building, being shaped by the impulses from the mind of
Alice Mantell. It was a hundred thousand times the size of the one that would
ultimately take its place in the reconstructed brain of her husband.
"Pathological, type 72-B-4," said the technician. "We can't possibly
let that series go through! That woman's sick."
"What area are you working with now?"
"It's in her formulation of her relationship with Dr. Mantell."
Dr. Vixen gazed at the image forming before his eyes. Here was proof of
just how sick Alice really was. Ordinarily, he would have nodded without
hesitation. Such a malformation should never be allowed to reproduce. But this
was different. This was David, who knew more about the Mantell Synthesis than
any other man alive. Dr. Vixen hesitated to deliberately modify a single
factor that might alter the life and personality of his friend.
"Let it get as far as the selector banks and see what happens," he
said.
The technician opened his mouth to protest, then shut it without a
sound. He dared not utter what he thought.
But Dr. Vixen understood perfectly well what the man was thinking. They
were in an uncharted field with only a few hard-won rules to guide them. It
was foolhardy to abandon a single one that had been found to be empirically
correct.
For centuries men had stood in yearning awe before the mystery of the [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
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"I should think you-and he'd be satisfied to have that forgotten."
"No. It is important that every possible element of his life be
reconstructed and re-evaluated. Loss can be kept at a minimum that way. Your
analogue, for example, will restore all that he has ever done or thought in
connection with you, every opinion or feeling he has expressed to you or which
has been colored by your presence. Then we will call others who will
contribute their share, but yours is among the most important."
She shuddered in revulsion. "No-you can do without me. I don't
understand what you are talking about, but you can get along without me."
"We can't! Your mind holds the greatest part of the pattern we need.
David's life is within the cells of your brain."
"I can't do it-I won't. I'm afraid of all this." Her eyes scanned the
far ceiling where the webbed cables looped in ritualistic patterns. "You can't
make me -- "
"The accident-remember?"
"Some day I'll kill you," she sobbed.
A nurse assisted her in the preparations. Sick with fear, she permitted
her clothing to be exchanged for a plain smock, and then lay upon the padded
couch while the score of electrodes were carefully oriented and pasted to her
skull. The paste had a thick, nauseating smell that made her stomach contract
violently.
She was given then a gentle anaesthetic to control her voluntary
thoughts and movements and was left alone in the faintly lighted room.
While Alice was being made ready, Dr. Vixen told the technicians of the
Institute's ban on Synthesis, offering each of them the chance to leave. None
did. He wished he hadn't had to tell them, but he had no right to make the
decision for them though he felt sure of what each of them would do.
All of them were nervous and tense. As a group they were acting on
their own in a move in which David had always been there to lead. The tension
was multiplied by the fact that it was he upon whom they were operating. So
great was this tension they held almost reckless disregard for the ban of the
Institute. Yet each knew that he was gambling his whole future life and career
in this illegal step.
Dr. Vixen, watching them, sensed the nervousness that threatened the
very success they wanted so badly, but he could do nothing now to help them.
David had trained them well. They would have to rely on the excellence of that
training.
He gave the signal for the beginning of the exacting, laborious process
of transcribing the data from the mind of Alice Mantell to master molecules
which would, in turn, be used to recreate large areas of the shattered brain
of David Mantell.
From his glass observation window Dr. Vixen watched the inert form of
the woman. Even in the drugged sleep her face held the cast of bitter lines.
It was hard to remember, he thought, that she was only a sick child, a
bewildered woman who had never understood the shadow of greatness in which she
stood. It was hard to forget that she had broken the heart of David Mantell,
and in the end had tried to kill him.
Somewhere, in her youth, there must have been a tone of gentleness, a
graciousness and sweetness that David had loved. He would not have married her
if she had been so wholly without charm. What had happened to it in the years
between? Dr. Vixen did not know. He had heard David's story in snatches of
unbearable bitterness that David had sometimes found impossible to contain.
But he wondered if Alice might not have her side to the story, too.
A hurried call from one of the technicians brought an end to these
considerations. He hurried to the post from which the man called. On the
screen of the electron microscope there he saw the image of the pattern
molecule that was building, being shaped by the impulses from the mind of
Alice Mantell. It was a hundred thousand times the size of the one that would
ultimately take its place in the reconstructed brain of her husband.
"Pathological, type 72-B-4," said the technician. "We can't possibly
let that series go through! That woman's sick."
"What area are you working with now?"
"It's in her formulation of her relationship with Dr. Mantell."
Dr. Vixen gazed at the image forming before his eyes. Here was proof of
just how sick Alice really was. Ordinarily, he would have nodded without
hesitation. Such a malformation should never be allowed to reproduce. But this
was different. This was David, who knew more about the Mantell Synthesis than
any other man alive. Dr. Vixen hesitated to deliberately modify a single
factor that might alter the life and personality of his friend.
"Let it get as far as the selector banks and see what happens," he
said.
The technician opened his mouth to protest, then shut it without a
sound. He dared not utter what he thought.
But Dr. Vixen understood perfectly well what the man was thinking. They
were in an uncharted field with only a few hard-won rules to guide them. It
was foolhardy to abandon a single one that had been found to be empirically
correct.
For centuries men had stood in yearning awe before the mystery of the [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]