But he had become the lover, the colleague, the husband of Anastasia Fyodorovna Cherpas.
Comrade Cherpas had been his rival, his antagonist, his competitor, in the struggle for scientific eminence in the daring Slav frontiers of Russian science. Russian science could never overtake the inhuman perfection of German method, the rigid intellectual and moral discipline of German teamwork, but the Russians could and did get ahead of the Germans by giving vent to their bold, fantastic imaginations. Rogov had pioneered the first rocket launchers of 1939. Cherpas had finished the job by making the best of the rockets radio-directed.
Rogov in 1942 had developed a whole new system of photo-mapping. Comrade Cherpas had applied it to color film. Rogov, sandy-haired, blue-eyed, and smiling, had recorded his criticisms of Comrade Cherpas’s naïveté and unsoundness at the top-secret meetings of Russian scientists during the black winter nights of 1943. Comrade Cherpas, her butter-yellow hair flowing down like living water to her shoulders, her unpainted face gleaming with fanaticism, intelligence, and dedication, would snarl her own defiance at him, deriding his Communist theory, pinching at his pride, hitting his intellectual hypotheses where they were weakest.
By 1944 a Rogov-Cherpas quarrel had become something worth traveling to see.
In 1945 they were married.
Their courtship was secret, their wedding a surprise, their partnership a miracle in the upper ranks of Russian science.
The emigré press had reported that the great scientist, Peter Kapitza, once remarked, “Rogov and Cherpas, there is a team. They’re Communists, good Communists; but they’re better than that! They’re Russian, Russian enough to beat the world. Look at them. That’s the future, our Russian future!” Perhaps the quotation was an exaggeration, but it did show the enormous respect in which both Rogov and Cherpas were held by their colleagues in Soviet science.
Shortly after their marriage strange things happened to them.
Rogov remained happy. Cherpas was radiant.
Nevertheless, the two of them began to have haunted expressions, as though they had seen things which words could not express, as though they had stumbled upon secrets too important to be whispered even to the most secure agents of the Soviet State Police.
In 1947 Rogov had an interview with Stalin. As he left Stalin’s office in the Kremlin, the great leader himself came to the door, his forehead wrinkled in thought, nodding, “Da, da, da.”
Even his own personal staff did not know why Stalin was saying “Yes, yes, yes,” but they did see the orders that went forth marked ONLY BY SAFE HAND, and TO BE READ AND RETURNED, NOT RETAINED, and furthermore stamped FOR AUTHORIZED EYES ONLY AND UNDER NO CIRCUMSTANCES TO BE COPIED.
Into the true and secret Soviet budget that year by the direct personal order of a noncommittal Stalin, an item was added for “Project Telescope.” Stalin tolerated no inquiry, brooked no comment.
A village which had had a name became nameless.
A forest which had been opened to the workers and peasants became military territory.
Into the central post office in Kharkov there went a new box number for the village of Ya. Ch.
Rogov and Cherpas, comrades and lovers, scientists both and Russians both, disappeared from the everyday lives of their colleagues. Their faces were no longer seen at scientific meetings. Only rarely did they emerge.
On the few times they were seen, usually going to and from Moscow at the time the All Union budget was made up each year, they seemed smiling and happy. But they did not make jokes.
What the outside world did not know was that Stalin in giving them their own project, granting them a paradise restricted to themselves, had seen to it that a snake went with them in the paradise. The snake this time was not one, but two personalities—Gausgofer and Gauck.
II
Stalin died.
Beria died too—less willingly.
The world went on.
Everything went into the forgotten village of Ya. Ch. and nothing came out.
It was rumored that Bulganin himself visited Rogov and Cherpas. It was even whispered that Bulganin said as he went to the Kharkov airport to fly back to Moscow. “It’s big, big, big. There’ll be no cold war if they do it. There won’t be any war of any kind. We’ll finish capitalism before the capitalists can ever begin to fight. If they do it. If they do it.” Bulganin was reported to have shaken his head slowly in perplexity and to have said nothing more but to have put his initials on the unmodified budget of Project Telescope when a trusted messenger next brought him an envelope from Rogov.
Anastasia Cherpas became a mother. Their first boy looked like his father. He was followed by a little girl. Then another little boy. The children didn’t stop Cherpas’s work. They had a large dacha and trained nursemaids took over the household.
Every night the four of them dined together.
Rogov. Russian, humorous, courageous, amused.
Cherpas, older, more mature, more beautiful than ever but just as biting, just as cheerful, just as sharp as she had ever been.
But then the other two, the two who sat with them across the years of all their days, the two colleagues who had been visited upon them by the all-powerful word of Stalin himself.
Gausgofer was a female: bloodless, narrow-faced, with a voice like a horse’s whinny. She was a scientist and a policewoman, and competent at both jobs. In 1917 she had reported her own mother’s whereabouts to the Bolshevik Terror Committee. In 1924 she had commanded her father’s execution. He had been a Russian German of the old Baltic nobility and he had tried to adjust his mind to the new system, but he had failed. In 1930 she had let her lover trust her a little too much. He had been a Roumanian Communist, very high in the Party, but he had whispered into her ear in the privacy of their bedroom, whispered with the tears pouring down his face; she had listened affectionately and quietly and had delivered his words to the police the next morning.
With that she had come to Stalin’s attention.
Stalin had been tough. He had addressed her brutally. “Comrade, you have some brains. I can see you know what Communism is all about. You understand loyalty. You’re going to get ahead and serve the Party and the working class, but is that all you want?” He had spat the question at her.
She had been so astonished that she gaped.
The old man had changed his expression, favoring her with leering benevolence. He had put his forefinger on her chest. “Study science, Comrade. Study science. Communism plus science equals victory. You’re too clever to stay in police work.”
Gausgofer took a reluctant pride in the fiendish program of her German namesake, the wicked old geographer who made geography itself a terrible weapon in the Nazi anti-Soviet struggle.
Gausgofer would have liked nothing better than to intrude on the marriage of Cherpas and Rogov.
Gausgofer fell in love with Rogov the moment she saw him.
Gausgofer fell in hate—and hate can be as spontaneous and miraculous as love—with Cherpas the moment she saw her.
But Stalin had guessed that too.
With the bloodless, fanatic Gausgofer he had sent a man named B. Gauck.
Gauck was solid, impassive, blank-faced. In body he was about the same height as Rogov. Where Rogov was muscular, Gauck was flabby. Where Rogov’s skin was fair and shot through with the pink and health of exercise, Gauck’s skin was like stale lard, greasy, gray-green, sickly even on the best of days.
Gauck’s eyes were black and small. His glance was as cold and sharp as death. Gauck had no friends, no enemies, no beliefs, no enthusiasm. Even Gausgofer was afraid of him.
Gauck never drank, never went out, never received mail, never sent mail, never spoke a spontaneous word. He was never rude, never kind, never friendly, never really withdrawn: he couldn’t withdraw any more than the constant withdrawal of all his life.
Rogov had turned to his wife in the secrecy of their bedroom soon after Gausgofer and Gauck came and had said, “Anastasia, is that man s
ane?”
Cherpas intertwined the fingers of her beautiful, expressive hands. She who had been the wit of a thousand scientific meetings was now at a loss for words. She looked up at her husband with a troubled expression. “I don’t know, Comrade…I just don’t know…”
Rogov smiled his amused Slavic smile. “At the least then I don’t think Gausgofer knows either.”
Cherpas snorted with laughter and picked up her hairbrush. “That she doesn’t. She really doesn’t know, does she? I’ll wager she doesn’t even know to whom he reports.”
That conversation had receded into the past. Gauck, Gausgofer, the bloodless eyes and the black eyes—they remained.
Every dinner the four sat down together.
Every morning the four met in the laboratory.
Rogov’s great courage, high sanity, and keen humor kept the work going.
Cherpas’s flashing genius fueled him whenever the routine overloaded his magnificent intellect.
Gausgofer spied and watched and smiled her bloodless smiles; sometimes, curiously enough, Gausgofer made genuinely constructive suggestions. She never understood the whole frame of reference of their work, but she knew enough of the mechanical and engineering details to be very useful on occasion.
Gauck came in, sat down quietly, said nothing, did nothing. He did not even smoke. He never fidgeted. He never went to sleep. He just watched.
The laboratory grew and with it there grew the immense configuration of the espionage machine.
III
In theory what Rogov had proposed and Cherpas seconded was imaginable. It consisted of an attempt to work out an integrated theory for all the electrical and radiation phenomena accompanying consciousness, and to duplicate the electrical functions of mind without the use of animal material.
The range of potential products was immense. The first product Stalin had asked for was a receiver, if possible, capable of tuning in the thoughts of a human mind and of translating those thoughts into either a punch-tape machine, an adapted German Hellschreiber machine, or phonetic speech. If the grids could be turned around and the brain-equivalent machine could serve not as a receiver but as a transmitter, it might be able to send out stunning forces which would paralyze or kill the process of thought.
At its best, Rogov’s machine would be designed to confuse human thought over great distances, to select human targets to be confused, and to maintain an electronic jamming system which would jam straight into the human mind without the requirement of tubes or receivers.
He had succeeded—in part. He had given himself a violent headache in the first year of work.
In the third year he had killed mice at a distance of ten kilometers. In the seventh year he had brought on mass hallucinations and a wave of suicides in a neighboring village. It was this which impressed Bulganin.
Rogov was now working on the receiver end. No one had ever explored the infinitely narrow, infinitely subtle bands of radiation which distinguished one human mind from another, but Rogov was trying, as it were, to tune in on minds far away.
He had tried to develop a telepathic helmet of some kind, but it did not work. He had then turned away from the reception of pure thought to the reception of visual and auditory images. Where the nerve ends reached the brain itself, he had managed over the years to distinguish whole pockets of micro-phenomena, and on some of these he had managed to get a fix.
With infinitely delicate tuning he had succeeded one day in picking up the eyesight of their second chauffeur and had managed, thanks to a needle thrust in just below his own right eyelid, to “see” through the other man’s eyes as the other man, all unaware, washed their Zis limousine 1,600 meters away.
Cherpas had surpassed his feat later that winter and had managed to bring in an entire family having dinner over in a nearby city. She had invited B. Gauck to have a needle inserted into his cheekbone so that he could see with the eyes of an unsuspecting spied-on stranger. Gauck had refused any kind of needles, but Gausgofer had joined in the work.
The espionage machine was beginning to take form.
Two more steps remained. The first step consisted of tuning in on some remote target, such as the White House in Washington or the NATO Headquarters outside of Paris. The machine itself could obtain perfect intelligence by eavesdropping on the living minds of people far away.
The second problem consisted of finding a method of jamming those minds at a distance, stunning them so that the subject personnel fell into tears, confusion, or sheer insanity.
Rogov had tried, but he had never gotten more than thirty kilometers from the nameless village of Ya. Ch.
One November there had been seventy cases of hysteria, most of them ending in suicide, down in the city of Kharkov several hundred kilometers away, but Rogov was not sure that his own machine was doing it.
Comrade Gausgofer dared to stroke his sleeve. Her white lips smiled and her watery eyes grew happy as she said in her high, cruel voice, “You can do it, Comrade. You can do it.”
Cherpas looked on with contempt. Gauck said nothing.
The female agent Gausgofer saw Cherpas’s eyes upon her, and for a moment an arc of living hatred leapt between the two women.
The three of them went back to work on the machine.
Gauck sat on his stool and watched them.
The laboratory workers never talked very much and the room was quiet.
IV
It was the year in which Eristratov died that the machine made a breakthrough. Eristratov died after the Soviet and People’s democracies had tried to end the cold war with the Americans.
It was May. Outside the laboratory the squirrels ran among the trees. The leftovers from the night’s rain dripped on the ground and kept the earth moist. It was comfortable to leave a few windows open and to let the smell of the forest into the workshop.
The smell of their oil-burning heaters and the stale smell of insulation, of ozone, and of the heated electronic gear was something with which all of them were much too familiar.
Rogov had found that his eyesight was beginning to suffer because he had to get the receiver needle somewhere near his optic nerve in order to obtain visual impressions from the machine. After months of experimentation with both animal and human subjects he had decided to copy one of their last experiments, successfully performed on a prisoner boy fifteen years of age, by having the needle slipped directly through the skull, up and behind the eye. Rogov had disliked using prisoners, because Gauck, speaking on behalf of security, always insisted that a prisoner used in experiments had to be destroyed in not less than five days from the beginning of the experiment. Rogov had satisfied himself that the skull-and-needle technique was safe, but he was very tired of trying to get frightened, unscientific people to carry the load of intense, scientific attentiveness required by the machine.
Rogov recapitulated the situation to his wife and to their two strange colleagues.
Somewhat ill-humored, he shouted at Gauck, “Have you ever known what this is all about? You’ve been here years. Do you know what we’re trying to do? Don’t you ever want to take part in the experiments yourself? Do you realize how many years of mathematics have gone into the making of these grids and the calculation of these wave patterns? Are you good for anything?”
Gauck said, tonelessly and without anger, “Comrade Professor, I am obeying orders. You are obeying orders, too. I’ve never impeded you.”
Rogov almost raved. “I know you never got in my way. We’re all good servants of the Soviet State. It’s not a question of loyalty, it’s a question of enthusiasm. Don’t you ever want to glimpse the science we’re making? We are a hundred years or a thousand years ahead of the capitalist Americans. Doesn’t that excite you? Aren’t you a human being? Why don’t you take part? Will you understand me when I explain it?”
Gauck said nothing: he looked at Rogov with his beady eyes. His dirty-gray face did not change expression. Gausgofer exhaled loudly in a grotesquely feminine sigh of rel
ief, but she too said nothing. Cherpas, her winning smile and her friendly eyes looking at her husband and two colleagues, said, “Go ahead, Nikolai. The comrade can follow if he wants to.” Gausgofer looked enviously at Cherpas. She seemed inclined to keep quiet, but then had to speak. She said, “Do go ahead, Comrade Professor.”
Said Rogov, “Kharosho, I’ll do what I can. The machine is now ready to receive minds over immense distances.” He wrinkled his lip in amused scorn. “We may even spy into the brain of the chief rascal himself and find out what Eisenhower is planning to do today against the Soviet people. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if our machine could stun him and leave him sitting addled at his desk?”
Gauck commented, “Don’t try it. Not without orders.”
Rogov ignored the interruption and went on. “First I receive. I don’t know what I will get, who I will get, or where they will be. All I know is that this machine will reach out across all the minds of men and beasts now living and it will bring the eyes and ears of a single mind directly into mine. With the new needle going directly into the brain it will be possible for me to get a very sharp fixation of position. The trouble with that boy last week was that even though we knew he was seeing something outside of this room, he appeared to be getting sounds in a foreign language and did not know enough English or German to realize where or what the machine had taken him to see.”
Cherpas laughed. “I’m not worried. I saw then it was safe. You go first, my husband. If our comrades don’t mind—?”
Gauck nodded.
Gausgofer lifted her bony hand breathlessly up to her skinny throat and said, “Of course, Comrade Rogov, of course. You did all the work. You must be the first.”
Rogov sat down.
A white-smocked technician brought the machine over to him. It was mounted on three rubber-tired wheels and it resembled the small X-ray units used by dentists. In place of the cone at the head of the X-ray machine there was a long, incredibly tough needle. It had been made for them by the best surgical-steel craftsmen in Prague.
The Rediscovery of Man - The Complete Short Science Fiction of Cordwainer Smith - Illustrated Page 3
