4. The moon seems to be falling onto my probe. A freakish fireball shot by on a parallel course with the probe. The probe has now outdistanced it.
5. The probe is progressing with sharp jolts. Strange forces are twisting its trajectory, throwing it into pockets and causing it to seriously overheat, although we must be surrounded by the ether.
6. The jolts are intensifying. I am sensing motion. The instruments buzz from the shaking. The landscape of the Universe resembles the painting by Churlionis—“The Call of the Stars” from the Cosmic Ocean.
7. The pitching continues. Stars literally ring as they speed along their courses. Naturally their motion disturbs the electromagnetic field, and my universal receiver transforms the waves into songs. Announce that I am at the source of earthly poetry: someone on Earth guessed the existence of the Star symphonies and, inspired, wrote poems. Report that the Astral Song physically exists. Also report: this is a symphony and not a cacophony. Launch as many human beings as possible into space on interplanetary craft—it is frightening, disturbing, yet everything becomes clear. Invent receivers for this astral sound.
8. The flight is now smooth—no jarring. One half of space is taken up by violet rays that flow like mist. What this is I don’t know.
9. I have discovered an electromagnetic ocean.
10. There is no hope of returning to Earth, I am flying through a blue dawn. The dials indicate the electrical charge of the surrounding medium to be 800, 000 volts.
11. The moon is approaching. The charge is 2, 000, 000 volts. Darkness.
12. An abyss of electricity. My dials no longer function. Fantastic happenings. The Sun roars and small comets shriek as they speed by. You see and hear nothing through the mica of the atmosphere.
13. Meteor clouds. Judging by their brightness and electromagnetic attractivity meteors are metallic. Larger meteors are flickering like candles or lamps; I see nothing here that would cause it.
14. The electromagnetic waves among which I find myself have the property of arousing in me powerful, irrepressible, uncontrolled thoughts. I cannot deal with these promptings. I am no longer in control of my brain, although I resist it with all my strength, pouring with sweat. I am unable to think what I wish or about what I wish. I incessantly think about things I do not know; I constantly recall events—exploding nebulae, a bursting sun—all remembered as actual and real, but which I have never experienced. I am thinking of two distinct selves who await me on a stern knoll on which stand two rotten trunks, and on these there is frozen milk. I am invariably thirsty and steadfastly want to conserve my supplies. I eat a minnow, but want to eat a shark. I will attempt to conquer these thoughts which are engendered by electricity and which eat into my brain as lice do a sleeping body.
15. I have just returned from the perpendicular mountains where I saw the world of mummies lying in the careless grass … (The signals are incomprehensible. Academician Lesuren’s notes.) All is clear: the moon is 100 kilometers away. Its influence on the brain is terrifying—I think not my thoughts, but those induced by the Moon. The foregoing is not to be considered sane. I am lying here like a pale corpse: the Moon incessantly nourishes me with white-hot intellect. It seems to me that my craft is an entity aware of itself, and that the radio is muttering to itself.
16. The Moon is passing by at a distance of 40 kilometers: wasteland, dead mineral and platinum twilight. I am passing by slowly, at no more than 50 kilometers per hour by visual reckoning.
17. The Moon has hundreds of surface chinks. From the chinks is emanating a sparse blue or green gas … I have mastered myself and become accustomed to this.
18. From some of the lunar chinks the gas emerges in the form of a whirlwind: is this a chemical element or the thought processes of a living being? … Thought processes, certainly; the Moon is a self-contained and monstrous brain.
19. I cannot determine the cause of the gaseous emissions: I believe I will open the hatch of my probe and jump out, it will be easier for me. I will go blind in the darkness of this probe, I am weary of seeing the unfolding universe only through the eyes of my dials.
20. I am heading into the gaseous clouds of the lunar emissions. Millennia have passed since the moment I was severed from Earth. Are you alive, you to whom I signal these words, do you hear me? (19 hours have passed since the moment of Kreizkopf’s departure. Academician Lesuren’s Notes)
21. The Moon is beneath me. My probe is descending. The surface chinks are radiating gas. I no longer hear the astral progression.
22. Tell them, tell everyone, that humans are very much mistaken. The world does not correspond to their knowledge. Do you or don’t you see the catastrophe on the Milky Way: a transverse blue stream is roaring. This is not a nebula and not an asterism.
23. The probe is descending. I am opening the hatch to find myself a way out. Farewell.
(1926)
III. From the ETHER CHANNEL
[The Kirpichnikovs’ quest]
Mikhail Yeremeevich Kirpichnikov was an electrical engineer and research associate in the Department of Electron Biology, established after the death of Professor F. K. Popov and based on his achievements. Ten years had passed since the death of Popov, but before Kirpichnikov could truly devote his time to the continuation of Popov’s research, he had to deal with more immediate tasks. This time he was sent to the Nizhnekolymsky tundra—as a project supervisor on the construction of a vertical tunnel. The purpose of the installation was to capture the heat energy of the Earth’s interior.
Kirpichnikov’s family remained in Moscow, and he set out alone. The vertical thermal tunnel was an experimental project of the Yakutsk governmental council. If the results were successful, they proposed to cover the entire Arctic region of the Asian continent with a network of such tunnels; the loss of heat-energy from the tunnels would be prevented with an electrical transmission, bringing culture, productivity and a human population to the shores of the Arctic Ocean at the end of a power cord.
But the chief motive behind the tunnel works was the fact that on the plains of the tundra had been found the remains of marvelous unknown cultures and countries. The soil and subsoil of the tundra were not of continental or paleo-geological origin, but were in fact alluvial. Moreover, these alluvial deposits had covered over and entombed an entire succession of ancient human cultures. But thanks to the fact that this funereal shroud laid over the corpses of mysterious civilizations consisted of a band of permafrost, those interred and the structures they had built were preserved like provisions in a can—intact, fresh and unharmed.
Even the little that had been discovered by chance in spots where the surface of the tundra had collapsed presented material of unprecedented significance and timeless value. The corpses of four men and two women had been found there. The women’s rosy cheeks and the light fragrance of their long hygienic garments had been preserved. One of the men had a book in his pocket—it was small, embellished with an elegant script; its contents were assumed to be an outline of the principles of individual immortality in a precise scientific light. The book described experiments in preventing the death of some sort of small creature with a life-span of four days. This creature’s biosphere (its own food, air, body, etc.) had been subjected to the sustained influence of electromagnetic waves; moreover, each type of wave had been calibrated to destroy a particular kind of harmful microbe in the creature’s body. Maintaining the experimental creature in an electromagnetically sterilized field, it was thus possible to achieve a hundred-fold increase in its life-span.
Somewhat later they uncovered a pyramidal column of an unidentifiable stone. The perfection of its form was reminiscent of a lathe-turned artifact, but the column was forty meters high with a circumference of ten meters at the base.
The human corpses had swarthy complexions, rosy lips, low but broad foreheads. They were of small stature and barrel-chested, and each face bore a calm, peaceful, almost smiling grimace. Clearly either death had come upon them suddenly or, which wa
s more likely, death for them was a sensation and a happening completely different from what we normally experience.
These discoveries inflamed the scientific passions of the entire world, and popular opinion demanded the cultivation of the tundra, with the goal of fully restoring the ancient world that lay beneath the soil of the frozen wasteland and perhaps extended out onto the floor of the Arctic Ocean.
The passion for knowledge became a new organic sense for man, just as demanding, incisive, and rich as the faculty of sight, or love. This sense sometimes superseded the immutable laws of economics and aspirations to the material well-being of society.
Here was the real reason for the installation of the first vertical thermal tunnel in the tundra.
A system of such tunnels was to lay the foundation of the tundra’s culture and economy, and thereafter serve as the key to open subterranean gates leading to an unknown but harmonious land, the discovery of which would be more significant than the invention of the first machine or Montblanc’s discovery of radium.
Many scholars thus saw within the bowels of the tundra the model anticipating the scientific, cultural and industrial growth for the next one or two hundred years in an already perfected form. All that remained was to remove the layer of permafrost, and history would leap a century or two into the future, and then resume its own tempo. Imagine the savings in labor and time which would result from this free gift of two centuries! No philanthropy in the history of mankind could compare with it! It was well worth digging a two-kilometer hole in the Earth for the sake of this accomplishment.
Kirpichnikov set out for the tundra, his fists clenched in joyful anticipation, feeling the goal that had been set for him would be a global victory, a marriage of the ancient world and the present.
It was certainly not simple to construct such a fabulous shaft and sink it into the tundra—a man tortures himself and others, errs and causes others to err, perishes and is reborn—all this on account of the fact that he is scaling the wall of History and of Nature. Yet, the tunnel was built; [it followed Kirpichnikov’s new design, which involved electromagnetic wave energy, and within eighteen months the inner-core heat of the Earth began to seep into the soil of tundra, melting tundra’s ice …]. < … >
* * *
[On the heels of the successful completion of his tundra project (ed.)] one thing continued to challenge Kirpichnikov and propel him into agitated searches everywhere—in books, among people, and others’ scientific studies—a thirst to complete the late Popov’s work on artificial multiplication of electron microbes and to find the technological implementation for his ether channel idea, so that one could provide ethereal feed to the microbe’s maw and accelerate thereby its life to a frenzied pace.
“The solution is simple—an electromagnetic channel …” Kirpichnikov muttered the last words of Popov’s unfinished work from time to time, and sought in vain that phenomenon or someone else’s idea which would enable him to solve the “ether channel” riddle. Kirpichnikov knew what such a channel could offer people: using ether, any natural body could be grown to any size. For example, one could take a one cubic centimeter bit of iron, hook it up to the channel, and lo and behold, this bit would grow before one’s eyes to the size of Mount Ararat, as the electrons within the iron would multiply.
Despite his diligence and his attachment to this one accursed idea for years, its solution continued to escape Kirpichnikov. While working on a thermal tunnel out in the tundra, he thought of nothing else all through the long, restless, troubling polar night. One other unsolved riddle in Popov’s works confused him: what made up the positive charge in the atom nucleus of the matter?
If microbes or all living bodies consist of pure negative electrons, what then is the material, and moreover positively charged, which is at the core of the tiny nucleus in the atom?
No one knew the answer. There were vague pointers to the answer and hundreds of hypotheses in scientific studies, but none of these satisfied Kirpichnikov. He was looking for a practical solution, the objective truth, and not the subjective satisfaction of the first, perhaps even brilliant, conjecture that came to hand—but one that did not fully accord with the structure of nature.
[One person possibly able to help him in his quest was Isaac Mathiessen, a friend and an engineer like himself, whom he hasn’t seen since their student days. Mathiessen lives in the village of Kochubary, fortuitously close to Voloshino in the Voronezh region, his wife’s beloved former place of residence and early work as a teacher. Having a good excuse for a leave after his eighteen-months absence from family in the tundra, Kirpichnikov decides to take his wife, Maria Alexandrovna, and their children to Voloshino, intending also to arrange a meeting with Mathiessen (ed.)] < … >
They reached Voloshino in just five days. The house where the Kirpichnikovs stayed had a cherry orchard, already bursting with buds, but not yet clothed in its white, indescribably touching attire. It continued warm. The days glowed so peacefully and happily, as if they were the morning of mankind’s millennial felicity.
The next day Kirpichnikov drove to see Mathiessen. Isaac was not at all surprised to see him arrive. Understanding his puzzlement over the indifferent reception, Mathiessen explained, “I observe far newer and more original phenomena every day.”
An hour later Mathiessen softened:
“Married, hell! You’ve gotten used to sentimentality. As for me, brother, work is a more lasting legacy than children! …” And Mathiessen burst out laughing, but so violently that wrinkles appeared across his bald skull. Clearly, his laughter was just as frequent as a solar eclipse.
“So, show and tell, how are you making a living, what are you doing, who are you in love with!” smiled Kirpichnikov.
“Aha, you’re curious! I approve and I salute you! … But listen, I’ll show you only the main work I’m doing, because I believe it’s completed. I won’t talk about the other studies—and don’t ask! …”
“Listen, Isaac!” said Kirpichnikov, “your work on machineless technology would interest me, remember? Or have you already forgotten the problem and gotten disenchanted with it?”
Mathiessen screwed up his eyes; he wanted to needle and surprise his friend, but forgetting all this, he sighed in futility, wrinkled his face, which was accustomed to immobility, and simply answered:
“I’ll show you right away, colleague Kirpichnikov!”
They crossed plantations, came out into the narrow valley of a small river, and stopped. Mathiessen straightened up, lifted his face to the horizon, as if surveying a million listeners on the slope of the hill, and declared to Kirpichnikov:
“I will tell you briefly, but you will understand: you’re an electrical engineer, and this is right up your alley! Only don’t interrupt: we’re both in a hurry—you to your wife (Mathiessen gave his laugh again—his bald spot was roiled with wrinkles and his jaws stood open—the rest of his face did not move), and I—to the soil.”
Kirpichnikov held his peace, and asked his question:
“But, Mathiessen, where is your equipment? You know I’m not here to listen to a lecture—I want to see your experiments!”
“You’ll have both, Kirpichnikov, both! And all the equipment is right here. If you don’t see it, it means you won’t hear and you won’t understand!”
“I am listening, Mathiessen!” Kirpichnikov hurried him on curtly.
“So, you’re listening. Then I’m talking.” Mathiessen picked up a little stone, flung it forcefully over the river, and began: “It is visible even to the naked eye that every body emits electromagnetic energy if that body is subjected to convulsive movement or to alteration. That’s right, isn’t it? And the radiation of a bundle of electromagnetic waves of such and such wavelength and such and such period corresponds—precisely, uniquely, individually—to each alteration. In a word, the radiation depends on the degree of alteration, of reorganization of the experimental body. Going on … Thought, being a process that reorganizes the brain, forces the
brain to emit electromagnetic waves into space. But thought depends on what a person has concretely in mind—the nature and the degree of change in the structure of the brain also depends on that. The waves themselves depend in turn on the alteration of the brain structure. The thinking, disintegrating brain creates electromagnetic waves, and creates them distinctly in each case: depending on what thought has reorganized the brain. Everything clear, Kirpichnikov?”
“Certainly,” confirmed Kirpichnikov. “Go on!”
Mathiessen sat down on a hillock, rubbed his tired eyes, and continued:
“I have found experimentally that one strictly determinate thought corresponds to each kind of wave. Of course, I’m generalizing and schematizing somewhat to facilitate your understanding. In fact it’s all much more complicated. In this way. I have built a universal receiver—a resonator that picks up and records waves of any length and any period. But I will tell you that even a single, extremely insignificant and brief thought elicits an entire extremely complex system of waves.
“But nevertheless, an already known, experimentally established system of waves corresponds to an idea, for instance the “accursed power” (do you remember this pre revolutionary term?). This system will differ little from person to person.
“And so I connected my resonator-receiver with a system of relays (which open the circuit to a strong current, but which are themselves turned on by a weak current) and expediting apparatuses and mechanisms, technically complex but simple and unitary in design. But this system needs further fine-tuning and improvement. Eventually it should be distributed throughout the world for universal use. So far I’ve been working on a small area and for a specific range of thoughts.
“Now take a look! See, I’ve planted a cabbage bed over there on the other bank. You can see it’s already dried up from the lack of rain. Now watch: I’m thinking clearly and even talking out loud, though talking isn’t obligatory: i-r-r-i-g-a-t-e! Look at the other bank, chief! …”
Worlds Apart Page 83
