th? place of residence; place of work?);profession; a certain six-digit index. I had not been paying attention to the display until it read: KUBOTIEVA ALBINA MILANOVNA 96 BALLERINA ARKHANGELSK 001507 Then two surnames that said nothing to me, and then: KOSTENETSKY KIR 12 SCHOOLBOY PETROZAVODSK 001507 A reminder: these two are witnesses of the incident in Little Pesha, of my report No.015/99 of 7 May. Apparently, I must have lost self-control for a few seconds, because Temirkanov asked what was so amazing. I got out of it by saying that l was surprised to see Albina Kubotieva, a ballerina my parents had always talked about, being wild balletomanes; it seemed strange to see her name here; was the Great Albina a metapsychological talent, too? Temirkanov laughed and said that it wasn't ruled out. According to him, all the branches of the Institute receive a steady list of people who theoretically could be of interest to the metapsychotogists. The majority of the information comes from the terminals of clinics, hospitals, first-aid stations, and other medical establishments equipped with standard psychoanalyzers. In the Kharkov branch alone, hundreds of candidates are listed over a twenty-four-hour period, but they're almost all useless: "eccentrics" make up only one hundred-thousandth of a percent of all the candidates. In the situation at hand, I felt it was proper to change the topic. T. Glumov [End of Document 11.] WORKING PHONOGRAM Date: 10 May 99 INTERLOCUTORS: M. Kammerer, head of UE department; T. Glumov, inspector THEME: 009 "A Visit from an Old Lady" CONTENTS: Institute of Eccentrics is a possible object for theme 009. KAMMERER: Curious. You notice things, though, fellow. What an eye! But you have a theory ready, I'm sure. Go on. GLUMOV: The final conclusion or the reasoning? KAMMERER: The reasoning, please. GLUMOV: It's easiest to assume that the names of Albina and Kit were sent to Kharkov by some enthusiast of metapsychology. If he had been a witness to the event in Little Pesha, he could have been amazed by the anomalous reaction of those two, and reported his observations to competent authorities. I thought about it: at least three people could have that. Basil Neverov, the emergency-squad man. Oleg Pankratov, lecturer and former astroarchaeologist. And his wife Zosya Lyadova, artist. Of course, they weren't witnesses in the narrow meaning of the word, but in the present situation it doesn't matter... Without your permission, I did not risk talking to them, even though I consider it a possibility -- to just clear it with them, did they give information to the Institute or not... KAMMERER: There's an even simpler way... GLUMOV: Yes, the index. Ask the Institute. But that way is no good, and here's why. If it was a volunteer enthusiast, it'll be cleared up, and there won't be anything to talk about. But I'd like to look at another version. To wit: there were no volunteer informants, but there was a special observer from the Institute of Eccentrics. GLUMOV: Let's assume that there was a special observer from the Institute of Eccentrics at Little Pesha. That would mean that some psychological experiment was going on there, with the aim of sorting out, say, normal people from extraordinary people. For Instance, to then seek "eccentricity" among the extraordinary people. In that case, one of two things. Either the Institute of Eccentrics is an ordinary research center, where ordinary researchers work and set up ordinary experiments -- however dubious morally, but in the final analysis intended for the benefit of science. But then it is not clear where they get the technology that far surpasses even the prospective capabilities of our embryomechanics and our bioconstruction. (Pause) GLUMOV: Or the experiment in Little Pesha was organized not by people, as we had assumed before. Then in what light do we see the Institute of Eccentrics? (Pause) GLUMOV: Then the Institute is no institute, the eccentrics are no eccentrics at all, and the personnel is not working on metapsychology at all. KAMMERER: On what, then? What are they doing and who are they? GLUMOV: You mean you don't consider my arguments convincing again? KAMMERER: On the contrary, my boy. On the contrary! They are too convincing, your arguments. But I would like you to formulate your idea directly, dryly, and unambiguously. As if in a report. GLUMOV: All right. The so-called Institute of Eccentrics is actually a weapon of the Wanderers to sort out people according to a sign unknown to me for now. That's it. KAMMERER: And consequently, Danya Logovenko, the deputy director there, my longtime friend -- GLUMOV: (interrupting) No! That would be too fantastic. But perhaps your Danya Logovenko had been sorted out a long, long time ago. His longtime acquaintance with you doesn't guarantee against it. He's been sorted out and works with the Wanderers. Like all the personnel at the Institute, not to mention the "eccentrics."... GLUMOV: They' been sorting for a least twenty years. When they had enough sorted ones, they organized the Institute, put in their chambers of sliding frequencies, and under the excuse of searching for "eccentrics" check out ten thousand people a year... And we don't even know how many other institutions like that there are under the most varied labels. (Pause) GLUMOV: And the Wizard ran off back to Saraksh not because he was insulted or had a stomach ache. He sensed the Wanderers! Like our whales and the lemmings... "When the blind see the seeing" -that's about you and me. "Me sees the mountains and forests and doesn't see a thing" -- that's also about us, Big Bug! (Pause) GLUMOV: So we can be the first people in history to catch the Wanderers red-handed. KAMMERER: Yes. And it all began with two names which you accidentally noticed on the display. By the way, are you sure it was no accident'! (quickly) All right, all right, let's skip it. What do you suggest? GLUMOV: Me? KAMMERER: Yes, you. GLUMOV: We-ell, if you want my opinion... The first steps, I think, are obvious. First of all, we must determine if the Wanderers are there and figure out the sorted ones. Organize hidden mentoscopic observation and, if necessary, do enforced extra-deep mentoscopy on everyone there... I assume they're prepared for that and will block out memory... That's not so bad, that would be evidence... It would be worse if they know how to paint false memory... KAMMERER: All right. Enough. You're a fine boy. Congratulations, you did good work. And now, listen to my orders. Prepare for me lists on the following people. First: people with the inversion of the Penguin Syndrome, everyone registered with doctors to this day. Second: people who did not undergo fukamization -- GLUMOV: (interrupting) That's more than a million people! KAMMERER: No, I mean the people who refused the "maturity injection." That's twenty thousand people. You'll have to work, but we must be fully armed. Third: Collect all our data on people who vanished without a trace and put it all into one list. GLUMOV: Including those who returned later? KAMMERER: Especially those. Sandro is working on that; I'll put him on this with you. That's it. GLUMOV: A list of inverts, a list of refusers, and a list of the reappeared. Fine. But still, Big Bug... KAMMERER: Go on. GLUMOV: Still allow me to talk with Neverov and that couple from Little Pesha. KAMMERER: For the sake of your conscience? GLUMOV: Yes. What if it's just an ordinary volunteer enthusiast... KAMMERER: Permission granted. (after a brief pause) I wonder what you'll do if it does turn out to be an ordinary volunteer enthusiast... [End of Document 12.] I've just played that phonogram over again. My voice then was young, important, confident, the voice of a man who determined people's fates, for whom there were no mysteries in the past, the present, or the future, a man who knew what he was doing and who was right all around. Now I am simply astounded at what a marvelous actor and hypocrite I was then. Actually, I was on the last of my nerves and willpower then. I had a plan of action, I was waiting and couldn't wait for the President's sanctions, and I was trying to build up the nerve to go to Komov without the sanctions. And for all that, I remember clearly the enormous pleasure I experienced listening to Toivo Glumov and watching him. For this really was his hour of triumph. He had looked for them for E ordinary volunteer enthusiast five years -- those non-humans who had secretly invaded his Earth -- looked for them, despite constant failure, almost alone, unsupported, tormented by his beloved wife's disbelief, looked for them and found them. He was right. He was more persistent than the rest -- more patient, more serious -- than all those wise guys, those lightweight philosophers, the intellectual ostriches. Actually, I am ascribing that feeling of triumph to him. I don't think that he felt anything at that moment except pathological impatience -- to grab the enemy by the throat at last. For having proved incontrovertibly that his enemy was on Earth and acting, he still had no idea how he had proved it. But I did. And still, looking at him that morning, I was so proud of him, so delighted in him, he could have been my son. And I would have wanted a son like him. I loaded him up with work primarily because I wanted to keep him in his office at his desk. There was still no reply from the Institute, and the work on the lists had to be done anyway. REPORT COMCON-2 No.019/99 Urals-North Date: 10 May 99 FROM: T. Glumov, Inspector THEME: 009 "A Visit from an Old Lady" CONTENTS: Information on the events in Little Pesha was sent to the institute of Eccentrics by O. O. Pankratov. In accordance with your requests, I conducted conversations with B. Neverov and O. Pankratov and Z. Laydova with the object of determining if any of them sent information to the Institute of Eccentrics about the anomalous behavior of certain people during the incident at Little Pesha on the night of 6 May of this year. 1. The conversation with Basil Neverov, emergency-squad member, took place by videochannel yesterday around noon. The conversation held no operative interest. B. Neverov had certainly never heard of the Institute before I mentioned it. 2. Oleg Olegovich Pankratov and his wife, Zosya Lyadova, I met in the corridors of the regional conference of amateur astroarchaeologists in Syktyvkar. Over a casual cup of coffee, Oleg Olegovich actively and with pleasure picked up the conversation I began on the marvels of the Institute of Eccentrics and, on his own initiative, without any forcing from me, conveyed the following facts: -- For many years now he has been a steady activist of the Institute and even has his own index as a separate and steady source of information; -- It was thanks to efforts that such marvelous phenomena as Tira Glazuzskaya ("Black Eye"), Lebey Malang (psychoparamorph), and Konstantin Movzon ("Lord of the Flies V") came to the attention of the metapsychologists; -- He was very grateful to me for the information on the amazing Albina and the fantastic Kir, which t had given him so kindly that day in Little Pesha, and which he immediately sent on to the Institute; -- He had been to the Institute three times -- at the annual conferences of activists; he did not personally know Daniil Alexandrovich Logovenko, but he had great respect for him as an outstanding scientist. 3. In connection with the above, I feel that my report No.018/99 has no interest for theme 009. T. Glumov [End of Document 13.] REPORT To Head of UE Dept -- M. Kammerer From Inspector T. Glumov Please give me a leave of absence for six months because I need to accompany my wife on a long business trip to Pandora. 10/5/99 T. Glumov RESOLUTION: Permission denied. Continue your assignment. 10 May 99 M. Kammerer [End of Document 14.] DOCUMENT 15: Unusual Events Department: 11 May. DOCUMENT 16: Theme 101 "Rip Van Winkle." Mtbevari, Inspector. DOCUMENT 17: The Head of the UE Department from the President DOCUMENT 18: Charles Laboraut to Mac! DOCUMENT 19: Memorandum from 17; Interlocutors 13 May 99. DOCUMENT 20: T. Glumov: Theme 009 "A Visit from an Old Lady" UNUSUAL EVENTS DEPARTMENT. ROOM "D." 11 MAY 99 On the morning of May 11, a grim Toivo came to work and saw my resolution. He must have calmed down overnight. He did not protest or insist, but hunkered down in room D and started working on the list of inverts, soon coming up with seven, only two of whom were named, the rest given as "patient Z., servomechanic," "Theodore P., ethnolinguist," and so on. Around noon, Sandro Mtbevari showed up in room D, haggard, yellow, and frazzled. He sat down at his desk and, without any preamble or the usual jokes (when he came back from long trips), told Toivo that on Big Bug's orders he was reporting to him, but would first like to finish his report on his trip. "What's the holdup?" Toivo asked warily, rather surprised by the man's appearance. "The holdup," Sandro answered irritably, "is that something happened to him and he wasn't sure whether it should be included in the report or not, and if so, then in what light." And he began to tell him, choosing his words with difficulty, getting the details confused, and laughing convulsively at himself throughout. This morning he got out of the zero-cabin at the resort town of Rosalinda (not far from Biarritz), covered some five kilometers down an empty, rocky path through vineyards, and appeared at his goal around ten o'clock: there was the Valley of Roses. The path led down to the Bon Vent, whose pointed roof stuck out through the thick foliage below. Sandro automatically noted the time -- it was ten to ten, just as he had planned. Before starting the descent to the house, he sat down on a round black boulder and shook the pebbles from his sandals. It was already very hot, and the sun-warmed boulder burned through his shorts, and he was very thirsty. Apparently, at just that moment he felt sick. There was ringing in his ears, and the sunny day grew dark. He thought that he was going down the path, walking, without sensing his legs, past a cheery gazebo that he had not noticed from above, past a glider with an open top and a topsy-turvy engine (as if entire sections had been removed), past a huge shaggy dog that lay in the shade and indifferently watched him, its red tongue lolling. Then he went up the steps to the veranda, entwined in roses. He definitely heard the steps creaking, but he still did not feel his legs. In the depths of the veranda there stood a table covered with strange objects, and at the foot of the table leaning on widespread arms, was the man he needed. The man raised his tiny eyes, hidden beneath gray eyebrows, and a look of regret crossed his face. Sandro introduced himself and, almost not hearing his own voice, told him his cover story. But before he got out a dozen sentences, the man wrinkled up his face and said, "I can't believe it, you're really here at the wrong time!" Sandro came to his senses, surfacing from semiconsciousness, covered in sweat and holding his right sandal in his hand. He was sitting on the boulder, the hot granite was burning through his shorts, and the time was still ten to ten. Well, maybe fifteen seconds had passed, no more. He put on the sandal, wiped his sweaty bee, and then had another attack, apparently. He was going down the path again, not feeling his own legs; the world looked as if he was seeing it with a neutral filter on his eyes, and only one thought was going though his mind: "I can't believe it, how I'm really here at the wrong time!" And once again on his left was the cheery gazebo (a doll without arms and only one leg lay on the floor), and he passed the glider (a lively imp was drawn on the side), and there was a second glider, farther back, also with the hood up, and the dog had pulled in its tongue and was dozing, its heavy head on its paws. (What a strange dog; was it a dog at all?) The creaky steps. The coolness of the veranda. And once more the man looked at him from beneath his brows, wrinkled his face, and spoke in a fake threatening tone, the way you talk to a naughty child: "What did I tell you? Inconvenient! Shoo!" And Sandro woke up again. But now he wasn't on the boulder, but next to it on the dry prickly grass, and he was nauseated. What's the matter with me today? he thought with fear and sadness, and tried to get himself in hand. The world was still subdued and his ears still rang, but at the same time Sandro had himself in full control. It was almost exactly ten o'clock, and he was very thirsty; but he no longer felt weak, and he had to complete his mission. He got up and saw that the man had come out on the path and stopped, looking in Sandro's direction, and then the shaggy dog came out of the bushes and stood at the man's feet and also looked at Sandro, and Sandro realized that it wasn't a dog but a young Golovan. And Sandro raised his arm, not knowing why, either as a sign of greeting or to get their attention, but the man turned his back, and the world grew black before Sandro's eyes and went off obliquely down and to the left. When he regained consciousness yet again, he was sitting on a bench in the midst of the reset Rosalinda, next to the zero-cabin he had arrived in. He was still nauseated and thirsty, but the world was clear and welcoming. It was 10:42. Insouciant, festive people passed by, then looked at him anxiously and slowed down, and a robot waiter rolled over and brought him a beaded glass of something... Hearing him out, Toivo was silent for a while and then spoke, choosing his words carefully. "That has to be included in the report, for sure." "Let's assume so," Sandro said. "But in what accent?" "Write it the way you told me." "I told you it as if I got sick in the heat and the whole thing was a delirium." "You're not sure it was a delirium?" "How should I know? But I could have told it as if I had been hypnotized, as if it had been an induced hallucination..." "Do you think the Golovan induced the hallucination?" "I don't know. Maybe. But probably not He was too far from me -- about seventy meters, at least -- and he was too young for those tricks. And then: what for?" They were silent. Then Toivo asked: "What did Big Bug say?" "Oh, he didn't even let me open my mouth, he didn't even look at me. 'I'm busy. You're working for Glumov now.' " "Tell me," Toivo said, "are you sure that you didn't go down to the house even once?" "I'm not sure of anything. I am sure that there's something very dirty going on with these Val Winkles. I've been working on them since the beginning of the year, and nothing's clear. On the contrary, things get darker with every incident... Well, there hasn't been anything like today before, that was extra special..." Toivo spoke through gritted teeth. "But don't you see what it smells of, if it really happened?" He had a sudden thought. "Wait! How about your registrator? What does your registrator say?" Sandra replied with a look of total submission to fate: "Nothing's on my registrator. It wasn't turned on." "Really, now!" "I know. Except I remember distinctly recharging it and turning it on before I left." [End of Document 15.] No.047/99 Urals-North Date: 4 -- 11 May 99 FROM: S. Mtbevari, Inspector THEME: 101 "Rip Van Winkle" CONTENTS: Result of the inspection on "Group of 80." I received your orders on the inspection the morning of May 4. I started immediately. 4 May at 22:40. Astangov, Yuri Nikolaevich. Not at registered address. No new address left in the BVI. Questioned relatives, friends, and business associates, to no avail. General response: can't tell you anything, haven't been in contact the last few years. After his return in 95 he became even more of a hermit than before his disappearance. Checked with the cosmodrome network, the circumterrestrial zero-Ts, the system of HD enterprises (heightened danger): nothing. Suggestion: Yuri Astangov, like last time, has "secluded himself in the debris of the Amazon Basin to polish his new philosophical system." (It would be interesting to talk to someone familiar with his previous philosophical system. Doctors deny it, but I think he's a psycho.) 6 May, at 23:30 Lehair, Fernand. He saw me at his registered address at 11:05. I gave him my cover story, after which we chatted until 12:50. Lehair told me that he feels wonderful, is not experiencing any symptoms of illness, no consequences of his amnesia during the years 89-91, and therefore sees no need to be mentoscoped. He can add nothing new to what he said in 91, because he still remembers nothing. Transmantle engineering has not interested him in a long time, and for the last few yeas he has been inventing and researching multimeasure games. He spoke in a kindly but vague manner. Then he grew animated: he decided to teach me the game "snip-snap-snurre." We parted on that (I later learned that F. Lehair really has become a major specialist in multimeasure games; he's been dubbed "the joker for academicians.") Tuul, Albert Oskarovich. Not at registered address. New address in the BVI: Venusborg (Venus). Not at that address either. The data on his Venerian registration: A. Tuul never showed up on Venus. In 97, he told his mother that he wanted to work. with the Pathfinders in the Hius camp (on the planet Kala-i-Moog). Since then, she has been receiving cards from him rather regularly (the last this March). These are actually long letters with detailed and rather artistic descriptions of his searches for traces of the civilization of "werewolves." Data from Hius camp: A. Tuul was never there, but he regularly calls on the zero-communicator the grounddigger of the group, E. Kapustin, who is absolutely certain that his good pal A. Tuul is living, on Earth at his registered address. Kapustin last spoke with Tuul on January 1. Check on the cosmodrome network reveals that since 96 (the year he reappeared) he's gone into Deep Space several times, and returned from Resort the last time in October 98. Check on circumterrestrial zero-T: has visited the moon several times, also the "Greenhouses," and BOP. Check on systems of HD enterprises: since December 96 through October 97 worked at the abyssal laboratory Tuskarora-16 as a gastronome. Supposition: A. Tuul is a very lighthearted person, with a low level of civic responsibility; the incident in 89 taught him nothing, and he still does not wish to admit the importance of such a trifle as precise personal address. 8 May 99, at 22:10. Bagration, Mavrikii Amazaspovich. Not at registered address. No new address in the BVI. Due to his advanced age, he has no near living relatives with whom he is in steady contact. His business ties broke off a quarter-century ago. His two old friends, known horn the investigation of this disappearance in 81, are not at their registered addresses, and I have not yet been able to determine their whereabouts. Checks on the cosmodrome network, the circumterrestrial zero-T, and the HD enterprises systems: nothing. Data from the gerontological center: they haven't been able to catch the object of this investigation for years... Supposition: an unregistered fatal accident. I would consider it proper to find his friends and let them know. Jan, Martin. Not at registered address. New address in the BVI: Matrix base (Second, EN 7113). Sent to Matrix in January 93 by the Institute of Bioconfigurations (London) as an interpreter. At the present (since 98), has been on a long vacation; location unknown. Checks on cosmodrome network, circumterrestrial zero-T, and HD enterprises systems: nothing since December 98. A curiosity: S. Van, a neighbor of M. Jan's at the registered address, maintains that he saw Jan in March of this year; Jan appeared before his very eyes in his yard in a glider and without going into the house began taking the glider apart; he replied casually to Jan's greeting and avoided conversation; Van went off and when he returned several hours later, both Jan and the glider were gone, never to reappear. This story seems interesting, since the mystery of Jan's first disappearance was in the fact that the registrator of the cosmodrome network did not have either his departure or his arrival. Question: are there organisms whose genetic code is not perceived or registered by existing registration? TO THE HEAD OF THE UE DEPARTMENT FROM THE PRESIDENT Dear Big Bug! Can't do anything about it. They're putting me in the hospital for surgery. However, every cloud has a silver lining. G. Komov is adding my responsibilities to his own (starting tomorrow, I think). I passed your materials along to him. I won't hide the fact that he was skeptical. But he knows me, and he knows you. Now he is prepared, so that you have a chance to convince him, especially if you have been able to obtain the materials you were hoping to get. And then you will be dealing not only with the president of Secor CC-2, but also with an influential member of the World Council. I wish you success, and you wish me success, too. Athos. 11/05/99 [End of Document 17.] Mac! 1. Glumov, Toivo Alexandrovich was taken into control today. (Registered 8/05). 2. Also taken under control today: -- Kaskazi, Artek 18 student Tehran 7/05 -- Mauki, Charles 63 mari-technician Odessa 8/05 Laborant 11 May 99 [End of Document 18.] This must be strange, but I can hardly remember my feelings when I got that amazing missive from Laborant. I do remember one sensation -- like an unexpected and vile slap in the face, for no reason, for nothing, out of the blue, when you don't expect it, when you're expecting something else. A childish hurt, tearful - that's all I remember, and that's all that's left from what must have been an hour that I spent with my mouth wide open and staring straight ahead. I must have had thoughts of betrayal and treason. I must have been enraged, embittered, and disappointed because I had worked out a definite plan of action, with a part for everyone, and now there was a hole in the plan and no way of plugging it up. And bitterness, of course, there was desperate bitterness, of loss, the loss of a friend, an ally, a son. And most probably there was a temporary blackout, chaos not of feelings but of the debris of feelings. Then gradually I regained control and went back to reasoning -- coldly and methodically, the way I had to reason in my position. The wind of the gods raises storms but it also fills sails. Reasoning coldly and methodically, I found a new place for the new Toivo Glumov in my plan on that muggy morning. And that new place seemed to me then to be incomparably more important than the old one. My plan acquired a long-range prospect, and now we could attack instead of defend ourselves. On that same day, I reached Komov, and he gave me an appointment for the next day, the twelfth of May. On May 12, early in the morning he saw me in the President's office. I gave him all the materials I had gathered by then. The conversation lasted five hours. My plan was approved with insignificant changes. (I cannot maintain that I managed to fully overcome Komov's skepticism, but I did manage to interest him without any doubt.) On May 12, when I came back to my office, I sat for a few minutes with the tips of my index fingers at my temples, in the manner of Honti scouts, thinking lofty thoughts, and then called in Grisha Serosovin and gave him an assignment. At 18:05, he told me that the assignment was completed. Now all we had to do was wait. On the morning of the thirteenth, Danya Logovenko called. WORKING PHONOGRAM Date: 13 May 99 INTERLOCUTORS: M. Kammerer, head of UE Department; D. Logovenko, deputy director of the Kharkov Branch, IMI THEME X X X CONTENTS X X X LOGOVENKO: Hello, Maxim, it's me. KAMMERER: Greetings. What do you have to say? LOGOVENKO: I say that it was cleverly done. KAMMERER: I'm glad you like it. LOGOVENKO: I can't say that I like, it much, but I have to credit an old friend. (pause) I understood it all to mean that you want to meet with me and speak openly. KAMMERER: Yes. But not I. And maybe not with you. LOGOVENKO: You'll have to talk to me. But if not you, who, then? KAMMERER: Komov. LOGOVENKO: Aha! So, you've made the decision... KAMMERER: Komov is my direct boss now. LOGOVENKO: Ah, so that's it, . All right. When and where? KAMMERER: Komov wants Gorbovsky to be part of the conversation. LOGOVENKO: Leonid Andreyevich? But he's on his deathbed... KAMMERER: Precisely. Let him hear it all. From you. LOGOVENKO: (after a pause) Yes. I see the time has come to talk. KAMMERER: Tomorrow at 15:00 at Gorbovsky's. Do you know his house? Near Kraslava, on the Daugava River. LOGOVENKO: I know it. Until tomorrow. You have everything? KAMMERER: Everything. Till tomorrow. (The conversation lasted from 9:02 until 9:04.) [End of Document 19.] It's amazing that for all its pushy energetic scrupulousness, the Luden group never bothered me about Daniil Alexandrovich Logovenko. Yet Danya and I go back a long way, to the blessed Sixties, when I, a young, devilishly energetic COMCONite, was taking a special course in psychology at Kiev U.; where Danya, then a young and devilishly energetic metapsychologist, was my practicum teacher, and in the evenings we dated charming and devilishly spoiled Kiev girls. He obviously thought more of me than the other students; we became friends and saw each other regularly for years. Then our studies separated us, we saw each other less frequently, and in the Eighties stopped seeing each other completely (until the tea at my house just before these events). He was very unhappily married, and now I know why. He was unhappy in general, which I can't say about myself. In general, everyone who seriously studies the era of the Big Revelation tends to believe that he knows perfectly well who Daniil Logovenko was. What a delusion! What does someone who has read even the most complete collection of Newton's works know about Newton? Yes, Logovenko had played an extremely important role in the Big Revelation. The Logovenko Impulse, Logovenko's T-program, the Logovenko Declaration, the Logovenko Committee... But what was the fate of Logovenko's wife; do you know that? And how did he end up in the courses of higher and anomalous etology in the city of Split? And why in the year 66 did he zero in on M. Kammerer, energetic and promising COMCONite, of all his students? And what did D. Logovenko think of the Big Revelation -- not lecture, or declare, or proselytize, but think and feel in the depths of his inhuman soul? There are many such questions. I can answer some of them accurately. I can make suppositions about some. And for the rest, there are no answers and never will be. REPORT COMCON-2 No.020/99 Urals-North Date: 13 May 99 FROM: T. Glumov, Inspector THEME: 009 "A Visit from an Old Lady" CONTENTS: Comparison of the lists of people with the inversion of the Penguin Syndrome with the Theme List. On your orders I made up a list from all available sources of cases of the inversion of the Penguin Syndrome. I found only twelve cases, and I managed to identify ten. Comparison of the list of identified inverts with the T-List gave cross-reference on the following: 1. Krivoklykov, Ivan Georgievich, 65 psychiatrist, Lemba base (EN 2105). 2. Pakkala, Alf-Christian, 31 builder operator, Anchorage, Alaska. 3. Io, Nika, 48 fabric designer, Irawadi factory, Phyapown. 4. Tuul, Albert Oskarovich, 59 gastronome, whereabouts unknown. (See report No.047/99, S. Mtbevari.) The percentage of cross-references of the list seems incredibly high to me. The fact that Tuul, A.0., belongs on three lists is even more astonishing. I feel it necessary to call your attention to the full list of people with the Penguin Syndrome inversion. The list is attached. T. Glumov [End of Document 20.] DOCUMENT 21: Kraslava, Latvia "LEONID'S HOUSE" (KRASLAVA, LATVIA). 14 MAY 99. 15:00 The Daugava River near Kraslava was narrow, fast, and clean. The sandy strip of beach showed yellow near the water and led to a steep sandy slope that reached the fir forest. On the gray-and-white-checked landing square overhanging the water, multicolored flyers parked carelessly baked in the sun. All three of them were old-fashioned machines now used only by old men born in the last century. Toivo reached for the glider's door, but I said. "Don't. Wait" I was looking up to where amid the firs stood the cream-colored little house from which the stairs, made to look like silvery weathered wood, zigzagged along the cliff. Someone dressed in white was slowly descending the stairs -- a stout, almost cubic man, clearly very old, clutching the railing with his right hand, going step by step, one foot at a time, a sunspot flickering on his large smooth pate. I recognized him. It was August-Johann Bader, Paratrooper and Pathfinder. A ruin of a heroic era. "Let's wait for him to go down," I said. "I don't want to meet him." I turned away and looked in the other direction, across the river, at the other shore, and Toivo also turned away tactfully. So we sat until we could hear the heavy creak of the steps and the heavy, whistling wheeze and other inappropriate sounds; something like sobbing, and the old man passed the glider, scuffing his feet along the plastic, and appeared in my field of vision. Reluctantly, I looked at his face. Up dose, his face seemed totally unfamiliar to me. It was deformed by grief. The soft cheeks sagged and shook, the mouth hung open, and teats flowed from the puffy eyes. Hunched over, Bader approached the ancient yellow-green flyer -- the most ancient of the three, with idiotic protuberances on the hood, with ugly visor slits for the old-fashioned autopilot, with dented sides and tarnished chrome handles -- he approached, threw open the door, and with a grunt or a sob climbed in. Nothing happened for a long time. The flyer stood with the open door, and the old man was either preparing himself for a flight or weeping in there, his bald head on the chipped oval steering wheel. Then, at last, a brown hand came out of a white cuff and slammed the door. The ancient machine lifted off with unexpected lightness and in total silence and went off over the river between the cliffs. "That was Bader," I said. "Saying good-bye... Let's go." We got out of the glider and started up the stairs. I said without turning around, "No emotions. You're on your way to a report. This will be a very important business conversation. Don't. go soft." "A business conversation is wonderful," Toivo said to my back. "But I have this feeling that now is not the time for business talks." "You're wrong This is the very time. As for Bader... don't think about that now. Think about the work." "All right," Toivo said obediently. Gorbovsky's place; "Leonid's House," was a standardized house of the turn-of-the-century architecture -- the favorite of space travelers, deepwater men; and transmantle explorers who had grown nostalgic for the bucolic -- without a workroom, cattle yard, or kitchen..: but with an energy supply to serve the personal zero-installation to which Gorbovsky., as a member of the World Council, was entitled. And all around were the firs and heather, the air was redolent of warm evergreens, and bees buzzed somnolently in the still air. We reached the veranda and stepped into the house through the open doors. In the living room, where the windows were tightly shut and the only light came from a floor lamp near the couch, sat a man with his legs crossed, examining in the lamplight either a map or a mentoscheme. It was Komov. "Hello," I said, and Toivo bowed silently. "Hello, hello," Komov said impatiently. "Come in, sit down. He's sleeping. Fell asleep. That Triple-damned Bader wore him out... Are you Glumov?" "Yes," Toivo said. Komov looked at him closely, curiously. I gave a little cough, and Komov stopped. "Your mother wouldn't happen to be Maya Toivovna Glumova?" he asked. "Yes," Toivo said. "I had the honor of working with her," Komov said. "Yes?" Toivo said. "Yes. Didn't she tell you? Operation Ark --" "Yes, I know the story," Toivo said. "What is Maya Toivovna doing now?" "Xenotechnology." "Where? With whom?" "At the Sorbonne. I think with Saligny." Komov nodded. He kept looking at Toivo. His eyes were glistening. You have to realize that the sight of Maya Glumov's grown son stirred tender memories in him. I coughed again, and Komov turned to me. "Incidentally, if you need refreshing... The drinks are here in the bar. We'll have to wait. I don't want to wake him. He's smiling in his sleep. Seeing something good... Damn that Bader with his sniveling!" "What do the doctors say?" I asked. "The same thing. No desire to live. There's no medicine for that... Actually, there is, but he doesn't want to take it. He's lost interest in living -- that's the problem. We can't understand that... After all, he's over one hundred fifty... Tell me, please, Glumov, what does your father do?" "I almost never see him," Toivo said. "I think he's a hybridizer now. I think on Yayla." "And you --" Komov began, but stopped because from back in the house came a weak, hoarse voice. "Gennady! Who's there? Bring them in..." "Let's go;" Komov said, leaping up. The windows in the bedroom were wide open. Gorbovsky was lying on the couch covered with a plaid coverlet up to his armpits, and he seemed unbelievably long, thin, and pathetic. His cheeks were hollow, his famous ski nose was bony, the sunken eyes were sad and dull. They did not seem to want to see anymore, but they had to see, and see they did. "Ah, Maxie..." Gorbovsky said. "You're still the same. Handsome. Glad to see you, I am..." That wasn't true. He wasn't glad to see Maxie. He wasn't glad about anything. Probably he thought he was giving me a welcoming smile, but actually his face was in a grimace of bored courtesy. I could feel admire, condescending patience in it. As if Leonid Andreyevich were thinking: so someone else is here now... well, it can't be for long ... they'll leave, like all the rest, and give me some peace. "And who's this?" Gorbovsky inquired, overcoming his apathy with visible effort. "This is Toivo Glumov," Komov said. "COMCONite, an inspector. I told you --" "Yes, yes, yes,." Gorbovsky said wanly.. "I remember. You did. 'A Visit from an Old Lady.'... Sit down, Toivo, sit, my lad. I'm listening to you." Toivo sat down and looked questioningly at me. "Tell him your point of view," I said. "And give your reasons." Toivo began: "I am formulating a certain theory now. The formulation does not belong to me. Dr. Bromberg formulated it five years ago. Here it is, the theory. In the early Eighties, a certain supercivilization, which we call the Wanderers, to be brief, began actively progressorizing on our planet. One of the goals of that activity is selection. By various methods the Wanderers are selecting from the mass of humanity those individuals who, by certain Wanderer criteria, are suitable for... well, suitable for contact. Or for further improvement of the species. Or even for transformation into Wanderers. The Wanderers must certainly. have other goals as well, about which we cannot even guess, but it is perfectly clear to me that they are making selections, pulling us, and I will try to prove that now." Toivo stopped. Komov was staring at him. Gorbovsky seemed to be asleep, but his fingers; clasped upon his chest, kept moving, tracing complex patterns in the air. Then he suddenly asked, without opening his eyes: "Gennady, bring my guests something to drink... They must be hot." I jumped up, but Komov stopped me. "I'll get it," he mumbled, and left. "Go on, my boy," Gorbovsky said. Toivo went on. He told about the Penguin Syndrome: with the aid of a "net" the Wanderers set up on sector 41/02; they could reject people suffering from hidden cosmophobia and select latent cosmophiles. He told about the incident in Little Pesha: there with the aid of clearly non-terrestrial biotechnology the Wanderers set up an experiment in locating xenophobes and selecting xenophiles. He told of the battle for the Amendment. Apparently, fukamization either interfered in the Wanderers' selection process or threatened to extinguish in future generation qualities needed by the Wanderers, and they somehow, organized and waged a successful campaign to do away with the mandatory aspect of the procedure. Over the years, the number of the selected kept growing. It could not go unnoticed; we could not help noticing the "selected" and we did notice them. The disappearances of the Eighties... the sudden transformation of ordinary people into geniuses... the people Sandro Mtbevari just found with fantastic abilities... and finally, the so-called Institute of Eccentrics in Kharkov, the undoubted center of the Wanderer activity in discovering candidates for selection. "They're not even hiding too hard," Toivo said. "Apparently, they feel so secure now that they're not afraid of exposure. Perhaps they feel that we cannot change anything now. I don't know... Actually, I'm finished. I want to add that only a minuscule portion of the spectrum of their activity fell within our field of vision. We must bear that in mind. And I feel bound in conclusion to mention kindly Dr. Bromberg, who five years ago, with no positive information to go on, calculated the whole phenomenon that we have now discovered: the appearance of mass phobias and the sudden appearance of talent in people, and even irregularities in the behavior of animator instance, the whales." Toivo turned to me. "I'm done," he said. I nodded. Everyone was silent. "Wanderers, Wanderers." Gorbovsky almost sang the words: He was lying down with the coverlet pulled up to his nose. "What else? As long as I can remember, from my childhood, there has been talk about those Wanderers... You really dislike them for something, Toivo, my boy. Why?" "I don't like Progressors," Toivo replied coolly, and added, "Leonid Andreyevich, I used to be a Progressor myself..." "No one likes Progressors," Gorbovsky muttered, "even Progressors themselves." He sighed deeply and shut his eyes again. "To tell the truth, I don't see a problem here. It's all just clever interpretations, nothing more. If you were to pass along your materials to, say, pedagogues, they would have their own, no less clever, interpretations. Deepwater men, they have their own myths, their own Wanderers... Don't be insulted, Toivo, but the very mention of Bromberg made me wary." "Incidentally, all of Bromberg's works on the Monocosm have disappeared," Komov said softly. "He never had any works, of course!" Gorbovsky giggled weakly. "You didn't know Bromberg. He was an acidulous old man with a fantastic imagination. Maxie sent him his anxious query. Bromberg, who had never thought about the issue in his life, sat down in a comfortable chair, stared at his index finger, and sucked the hypothesis of the Monocosm out of it. That took an evening. And the next day he forgot all about it... He not only had a wild imagination, he was a specialist in forbidden arts, and he had in his head an unimaginable number of unimaginable analogies." No sooner had Gorbovsky stopped talking than Komov said: "Did I understand you correctly, Glumov? You maintain that Wanderers are on Earth right now? As creatures, I mean. As individuals..." "No," Toivo said. "I am not maintaining that." "Did I understand you correctly, Glumov, that you maintain that conscious allies of the Wanderers are living and acting on Earth? The 'selected,' as you call them!" "Yes." "Can you name names?" "Yes. With some degree of certainty." "Go on." "Albert Oskarovich Tuul. That's almost certain. Cyprian Okigbo. Martin Jan. Emile Far-Ale. Almost certain. I can name a dozen, but I'm less certain about them." "Have you talked to any of them?" "I think I have. At the Institute of Eccentrics. I think there are many of them there. But who exactly, I can't say with certainty yet." "You mean to say that you do not know the distinguishing marks" "Of course not. They don't look any different from you or me. But you can figure them out. At least, with a degree of certainty. But at the institute of Eccentrics, I'm sure that they have a special apparatus that identifies their own without error." Komov gave me a quick glance. Toivo noticed it and said in a challenging tone: "Yes! I feel that this is no time to stand on ceremony! We'll have to drop some of the achievements of higher humanism! We're dealing with Progressors, and we'll have to behave like Progressors!" "To wit?" Komov asked, leaning forward. "The entire arsenal of our operative methodics. From sending in a mole agent to forced mentoscopy, from..." Gorbovsky groaned, and we turned to him in fear, Komov even jumped to his feet. However, nothing terrible had happened to Leonid Andreyevich. He was still lying in his former pose, but now the grimace of false courtesy was replaced by a grimace of scornful irritation. "What are you planning around me?" he said in a whine. "You're grown-ups, after all, not schoolboys, not college men. Aren't you ashamed of yourselves. Really! That's why I don't like these conversations about Wanderers, and never have! They always end up with this terrified babble from detective novels! When will you realize that these things are mutually exclusive... Either the Wanderers are a supercivilization, and then they don't give a fig for us, they are creatures with a different history, different interests, they don't bother with Progressorism, and in general in the whole universe only humanity has Progressors, because our history is like that, because we weep over our past... We can't change it and we strive to at least help .others, since we managed to help ourselves in time... That's where our Progressorism comes from! And the Wanderers, even if their past did resemble ours, are so far from it now that they don't even remember it, just as we don't remember the sufferings of the first hominid struggling to turn a stone into an ax..." He was silent. "It is just as ridiculous for a supercivilization to have Progressors as it would be for us to open courses to prepare village deacons..." He stopped talking for a long time, his gaze moving from one face to another. I glanced over at Toivo. Toivo was looking away and shrugged his shoulders several times, as if to show that he had counterarguments but did not feel it proper to use them here. Komov, knitting his thick black brows, was looking off to one side. "Hmm, hmm, hmm." Gorbovsky chuckled. "I haven't convinced you. All right, then I'll try insults. If even a green boy like our Toivo managed... uh... to ferret out those Progressors, then what the hell kind of Wanderers are they? Just think about it! Don't you think a supercivilization could do their work so that you couldn't notice? And if you noticed, then what the hell kind of a supercivilization is it? The whales went crazy, so it has to be the Wanderers' fault!... Begone, let me die in peace!" We all got up. Komov reminded me in a low voice: "Wait in the living room." I nodded. Toivo bowed to Gorbovsky in confusion. The old man paid no attention. He was staring angrily at the ceiling, his gray lips moving. Toivo and I went out. I shut the door behind me and heard the soft slurp, the acoustic isolator going into action. In the living room, Toivo sat on the couch under the lamp, placed his hands on his knees, and did not move. He did not look at me. He had no time for me. This morning, I had told him: "You'll go with me. You'll speak before Komov and Gorbovsky." "Why?" he asked, stunned. "What's the matter, do you imagine we can do it without the World Council?" "But why me?" "Because I've already talked to them. It's your turn." "All right," he said, setting his lips in a tight line. He was a fighter, Toivo Glumov. He never retreated. You could only push him back. And he had been pushed back. I watched him from the corner. For some time he sat motionless. Then he flipped through the mentoschemas, marked in different colors by doctors, lying on the low table. Then he got up and paced the dark mom ham corner to comer, hands behind his back. Impenetrable silence reigned in the house. The voices from in the bedroom could not be heard, nor the sounds of the forest because the windows were shut. He could not hear his own footsteps. His eyes grew accustomed to the twilight. Leonid Andreyevich's living room had Spartan furnishings: the floor lamp (the shade was clearly homemade), the large couch, and the low table. In the far corner, several seats of non-terrestrial backsides production and meant for non-terrestrial backsides. In the other corner, either an exotic plant or an ancient hatrack. That was all the furniture. But the bar was open, and I could see that there were bottles there for every taste. And there were paintings over the bar in transparent casings, the biggest the size of an album. Toivo went over to examine them. They were children's drawings. Watercolors. Gauche. Pen and ink. Little houses and big girls, pine trees reaching to their knees. Dogs (or Golovans?). An elephant. A Takhorg... Some space thing -- either a fantastic starship or a hangar... Toivo sighed and went back to the couch. I watched him closely. There were tears in his eyes. He wasn't thinking about the lost battle anymore. Gorbovsky was dying -- an era was dying, a living legend was dying. Starpilot. Paratrooper. Discoverer of civilizations. Creator of Big COMCON. Member of the World Council. Grandpa Gorbovsky... Most of all: Grandpa Gorbovsky. Exactly. He was out of a fairy tale: always kind and therefore always right. That was his era, when kindness always won. "Of all possible choices, always pick the kindest" Not the most promising, not the most rational, not the most Progressorist, and certainly not the most effective -- the kindest! He never said those words, and he always enjoyed taking a dig at those biographers of his who credited him with those words. He certainly never thought in those words; yet the essence of his life was in those words. And of course, those words are not a recipe; not everyone is given to be kind; it is a talent just like an ear for music or clairvoyance, only rarer. And he wanted to cry, because the kindest man in the world was dying. And on the scone will be carved: "He was the kindest..." I think Toivo was thinking just that. Everything I was planing depended on Toivo's thinking just that. Forty-three minutes passed. The door flew open. It was like in a fairy tale. Or the movies. Gorbovsky, unimaginably tall in his striped pajamas, skinny, merry, stepped unsteadily into the living room, dragging the plain behind him, for the fringe had caught on one of his buttons. "Aha, you're still here!" he said in a joyous satisfaction to Toivo, who sat stunned on the couch. "Everything is ahead of us, my boy! Everything is ahead! You're right!" And having spoken those mysterious words, he hurried, reeling slightly, to the nearest window and opened the blind. It grew blindingly bright, and we squinted, and Gorbovsky turned and stared at Toivo, frozen by the lamp at attention. I looked over at Komov. Komov was openly radiant, his sugar-white teeth gleaming, smug as a cat who swallowed a goldfish. He looked like a sociable fellow who had just drank a toast to a good thing. Which was in fact the fact. "Not bad, not bad!" Gorbovsky said. "Even excellent!" Cocking his head, he moved closer to Toivo, looking him over from head to toe, moved right up to him, put his hand an his shoulder, and clenched his bony fingers. "Well, I think you'll forgive my harshness, my lad," he said. "Bur I was also right... And the harshness was from irritability. I'll tell you something, dying is a really rotten business. Don't pay any attention." Toivo was silent. Of course, he didn't understand a thing. Komov had thought it all up and arranged it. Gorbovsky knew only as much as Komov felt he should be told. I could imagine the conversation they had in the bedroom. But Toivo Glumov understood nothing. I took him by the elbow and told Gorbovsky, "Leonid Andreyevich, we're leaving." Gorbovsky nodded. "Go, of course. Thanks. You were a big help. We'll be seeing each other, and more than once." When we got out on the porch, Toivo said, "Perhaps you will explain the meaning of this?" "You see, he's changed his mind about dying," I said. "Why?" "That's a stupid question, Toivo. Forgive me, please..." Toivo paused and then said, "I am a fool. That is, I never felt like such a fool in my life... Thanks for your concern, Big Bug." I grinned. We went down the stairs to the landing square in silence. Some man was going up the stairs slowly. "All right," Toivo said. "But should I continue work on the theme?" "Of course." "But they laughed at me!" "On the contrary. You were a hit" Toivo muttered something to himself. At the first landing, we found ourselves with the man who had been going up the stairs. It was deputy director of the Kharkov branch of IMI, Daniil Alexandrovich Logovenko, rosy and very worried. "Greetings," he said. "I'm not too late?" "Not too," I replied. "He's waiting for you." And here D. A. Logovenko gave Toivo Glumov a conspiratorial wink and then hurried up the stairs, now in a rush. Toivo, squinting meanly, watched him go. [End of Document 21.] DOCUMENT 22: A Confidential Memorandum CONFIDENTIAL: FOR MEMBERS OF THE PRESIDIUM OF THE WORLD COUNCIL! No. 115 CONTENTS: Transcript of the conversation which took place at Leonid's house (Kraslava, Latvia) 14 May 99. PARTICIPANTS: L. A. Gorbovsky, member of the World Council; G. Yu. Komov, member of the World Council, Acting President of Urals-North Section of COMCON-2; D. A. Logovenko, Deputy Director, Kharkov Branch IMI. KOMOV: You mean to say that you do not differ in any way from an ordinary man? LOGOVENKO: The difference is enormous, but... Now, when I am sitting here talking to you, I differ from you only in the awareness that I am not like you. That is one of my levels... rather wearying, incidentally. It is hard to do, but I'm used to it, but the majority of us have grown accustomed to that level forever... But on this level, my differences can be discovered only with the aid of special apparatus. KOMOV: You want to say that on other levels... LOGOVENKO: Yes. On other levels, everything is different. Different consciousness, different physiology... different image, even... KOMOV: You mean, on other levels you are no longer human? LOGOVENKO: We aren't human. Don't let it confuse you that we are born human from humans... GORBOVSKY: Forgive me, Daniil Alexandrovich. Could LOGOVENKO: ... interfere. And not only because of that. We assumed that the secret should be kept first of all in your own interests, in the interests of humanity. I would like you to be fully clear on that issue. We are not people. We are Ludens. Do not fall into error. We are not the result of biological evolution. We appeared because humanity has reached a certain level of sociotechnological organization. We could have discovered the third-impulse system in the human organism even a hundred years ago, but it only became possible to initiate it at the beginning of this century, while keeping a Luden on the spiral of psychophysiological development, to lead him from level to level to the very end... that is, in your concepts, to bring up a Luden, only became possible quite recently -- GORBOVSKY: Just a minute! Does that mean that the third impulse exists in every human organism? LOGOVENKO: Unfortunately not, Leonid Andreyevich. That's the tragedy. The third impulse is found with a probability of no more than one one-hundred-thousandth. We still don't know where it came from or why. Most likely, it is the result of some ancient mutation. KOMOV: One one-hundred-thousandth... that's not so little when translated to our billions. So, it means a schism? LOGOVENKO: Yes. And that's why it was secret. Don't get me wrong. Ninety percent of Ludens are totally uninterested in the fate of humanity or in humanity. But there is a group of those like me. We do not want to forget that we are flesh of our flesh and that we have one homeland, and for many years we have been working on how to soften the consequences of the inevitable schism... For it looks as if humanity is being divided into a higher and a lower race. What could be more revolting? Of course, the analogy is superficial and at its root incorrect, but you can't avoid the feeling of humiliation at the thought that one of you has gone far beyond the limits that are impassable for a hundred thousand. And that one can never lose the guilt over it. And incidentally, the worst part is that this schism goes through families, through friendships... KOMOV: Does that mean that the metagom loses his former ties? LOGOVENKO: That varies. It's not as simple as you think. The most typical model of the Ludens' attitude toward man is the attitude of an experienced and very busy adult for a cute but terminally annoying kid. Then picture the relationship: Luden and his father, Luden and his best friend, Luden and his teacher... GORBOVSKY: Luden and his girlfriend... LOGOVENKO: It's a tragedy, Leonid Andreyevich. A real tragedy... KOMOV: I see you take the situation to heart. Then perhaps it would be easier to stop all this? After all, it's in your hands. LOGOVENKO: Doesn't it seem amoral to do that? KOMOV: Doesn't it seem amoral to subject humanity to a shock like that? To create an inferiority complex in mass psychology, to give youth knowledge of the limits of its possibilities? LOGOVENKO: That's why I came to you -- to seek a way out. KOMOV; There is only one way. You must leave Earth. LOGOVENKO: Excuse me. Who exactly is "we"? KOMOV: You metagoms. LOGOVENKO: Gennady Yurevich, I repeat: in the great majority of cases, Ludens do not live on Earth. All their interests; their lives, are beyond Earth. Damn it, you don't live in bed! Only the midwives like me and the homopsychologists have permanent ties with Earth... and a few dozen of the most miserable of us, those who cannot tear themselves away from family and loved ones! GORBOVSKY: Ah! LOGOVENKO: What did you say? GORBOVSKY: Nothing, nothing. I'm listening to you attentively. KOMOV: Then you mean to say that interests of metagoms and earthlings do not coincide? LOGOVENKO: Yes. KOMOV: Is cooperation possible? LOGOVENKO: In what area? KOMOV: That's for you to say. LOGOVENKO: I'm afraid that you cannot be of help to us. As for us... you know, there's an old joke. In our circumstances it sounds rather cruel, but I'll tell it. You can teach a bear to ride a bicycle, but will the bear derive any benefit or pleasure from it? Sorry about that. But you yourself said that our interests do not coincide. (Pause) Of course, if there were a threat to Earth and humanity, we would come to your aid without a second thought and with all our power. KOMOV: Thank you for that at least. (A long pause, with gurgling of liquid, glass tinkling against glass, gulps, sighs) GORBOVSKY: Yes, this is a serious challenge to our optimism. But if you think about it, humanity has accepted more frightening challenges. And I don't understand you, Gennady. You were such a serious adherent of vertical progress! Well, here it is, vertical progress! In the purest form! Humanity, spread out on the flowering plain beneath the clear skies, has made a surge upward. Of course, not the whole crowd, but why does that upset you so? It's always been that way. And always will, probably... Humanity always went into the future with the shoots of its best representatives. And as for what Daniil Alexandrovich tells us, that he is not a man but a Luden, that's all terminology... You're still people and, moreover, earthlings, and you can't get away from that. It's too soon. KOMOV: You, Leonid Andreyevich, sometimes astonish me with your lack of seriousness. It's schism! Understand, schism! And you're just blathering kindly, forgive me for saying so... GORBOVSKY: You're so... hot-tempered, dear fellow. Well, of course it's schism! I wonder where you've seen progress without schism? Where have you seen progress without stock, without bitterness, without humiliations? Without those who move far ahead and those who stay behind? KOMOV: Well, really! "And those who will destroy me I greet with a welcoming hymn!" GORBOVSKY: That's not quite opposite... How above: "And those who surpass me, I see off with a welcoming hymn." LOGOVENKO: Gennady Yurevich, permit me to try to console you. We have very serious reasons for supposing that this schism will not be the final one. Beside the third impulse in the human organism, we have discovered a fourth low-frequency one and a fifth -- for now unnamed. We -- even we! -- cannot imagine what the initiation of those systems could bring. And we cannot imagine how much more there is in man... And more than that, Gennady Yurevich. There is a schism beginning among us! It is inevitable. Artificial evolution is a scattered process. (Pause) What can you do? There are six scientific and technological revolutions behind us, two technological counterrevolutions, two gnoseological crises -- you come to evolution willy-nilly... GORBOVSKY: Precisely. If we sat around quietly like the Tagorians or Leonidians, we'd know no sorrow. Going into technology was our own choice. KOMOV: All right, all right. But just what is a metagom, in fact? What are his goals, Daniil Alexandrovich? His stimuli? Interest? Or is that a secret? LOGOVENKO: No secrets. (the phonogram ends here. All the rest - 34 minutes 11 seconds been erased.) 15/05/99 M. Kammerer [End of Document 22.] I'm ashamed to admit it but I spent the last few days in a state bordering on euphoria. It was as if an unbearable physical strain had ceased. Probably Sisyphus experienced something similar when the rock finally leaped out of his hands, and he had the blessed relief of sitting at the top of the mountain before starting all over. Every earthling experienced the Big Revelation in his own way. But I swear that I had it worse than anyone else. I've reread everything l had written, and I now fear that my feelings in relation to the Big Revelation could be misunderstood. It may create the impression that I was afraid for the fate of mankind. Naturally, there were fears -- for back then I knew absolutely nothing about Ludens except for the fact that they existed. So there was fear. And there were brief howls of panic: "That's it, the game is over!" And a feeling of a catastrophically sharp turn, when the wheel is going to fly out of your hands and you're going to fly off into nowhere, helpless like a savage during an earthquake. But above all this prevailed the humiliating awareness of my total professional failure. We missed the boat. Blew it. Flopped. Useless dilettantes... And then the whole wave receded. And not because Logovenko had convinced me of anything or made me believe him. It was something else. I had gotten used to the feeling of professional failure over the month and a half. ("Pangs of conscience are tolerable" is one of the small unpleasant discoveries you make with age.) The wheel wasn't being pulled out of my hands anymore -- I had handed it over to someone else. And now, with a kind of distance, I noted to myself that Komov was exaggerating and Leonid Andreyevich, as usual, was too certain of a happy ending for any cataclysm... I was back in my own place, and once more I was in the thrall of my usual cares. For instance: getting a steady flow of information to those who had to make the decisions. On the evening of the fifteenth, I received an order from Komov to act as I saw fit. On the morning of the sixteenth, I called in Toivo Glumov. Without any explanation, I let him read the record of the conversation at Leonid's House. Amazingly, I was practically certain of success. Why should I have had any doubts? DOCUMENT 23: Working Phonogram: T. Glumov and M. Kammerer DOCUMENT 24: Fear of being transformed into a Luden DOCUMENT 25. Sverdlovsk: Topol II, Apt. 9716 to M. Kammerer S. Mtbevari: The Waves Extinguish the Wind DOCUMENT 26: M. Kammerer: Theme 060 T. Glumov, Metagom WORKING PHONOGRAM Date: 16 May 99 INTERLOCUTORS: M. Kammerer, head of UE Department; T. Glumov, Inspector. THEME: X X X CONTENTS: X X X GLUMOV: What was in the gaps? KAMMERER: Bravo. What self-control you have, kid. When I realized what was what, I chewed the walls for a half-hour. GLUMOV: So what was in the gaps? KAMMERER: No one knows. GLUMOV: What do you mean no one knows? KAMMERER: Just that. Komov and Gorbovsky don't remember what was in the gaps. They didn't notice any gaps. And it's impossible to restore the phonogram. It's not simply erased, it's destroyed. The molecular structure is changed on the parts of the grid with gaps. GLUMOV: A strange manner of negotiating. KAMMERER: We'll have to get used to it. (Pause) GLUMOV: Well, and now what? KAMMERER: For now we don't know enough. In general, I see only two possibilities. Either we learn to coexist with them, or we don't. GLUMOV: There's a third possibility. KAMMERER: Don't go off half-cocked. There is no third possibility. GLUMOV: There is! They don't pussyfoot around us! KAMMERER: That's not a conclusion. GLUMOV: It is! They didn't ask permission of the World Council! They've been working secretly for many years transforming people into non-people! They're performing experiments on people! And even now, when they've been exposed, they come to negotiations and allow themselves to -- KAMMERER: (interrupting) What you want to suggest can be done either openly -- and then humanity will be witness to a totally disgusting violent act -- or secretly, vilely, behind the back of public opinion? GLUMOV: (interrupting) That's all talk! The point is that humanity should not be the incubator for non-humans and certainly not a testing field for their damned experiments! Excuse me, Big Bug, but you made a mistake. You should not have let Komov or Gorbovsky know about this. You've put them in a stupid position. This is COMCON-2 business; it's fully within our competence. I think that it's still not too late. Let's take this sin upon our souls. KAMMERER: Listen, where did you develop this xenophobia? It's not the Wanderers, not the Progressors you hate. GLUMOV: I have the feeling that they're worse than the Progressors. They're traitors. They're parasites. Like those wasps that lay their eggs in caterpillars. (Pause) KAMMERER: Go on, go on. Let it all out. GLUMOV: I won't say any more. It's useless. I've been working on this case for five years under your supervision, and I've been blundering about like a blind puppy all those years. Could you at least tell me now: where did you learn the truth? When did you realize that they're not Wanderers? Six months ago? Eight? KAMMERER: Less than two. GLUMOV: Doesn't matter... Several weeks ago. I can understand that you had your own considerations, and you did not want to let me in on the details; but how could you hide the fact that your objective had changed? How could you let me make a fool of myself? Before Gorbovsky and Komov... I get a chill whenever I think of it! KAMMERER: Can't you accept that there might have been a reason for it? GLUMOV: I can. But it doesn't make me feel any better. I don't know the reason and can't even imagine it... And I don't see that you're planning to ever tell me that reason. No, Big Bug, I've had enough. I'm not good enough to work with you. Let me go, because I'll leave anyway. (Pause) KAMMERER: I couldn't tell you the truth. At first I couldn't tell you the truth because I don't know what we could do with it. I don't know what to do with it now either, but now all the decisions are someone else's to make... GLUMOV: Don't justify yourself, Big Bug. KAMMERER: Be quiet. You won't get me mad. Do you love the truth so much? Then you'll get it. All of it. (Pause) KAMMERER: Then I sent you to the Institute of Eccentrics and had to wait some more -- GLUMOV: (interrupting) What does -- KAMMERER: (interrupting) I said be quiet! It's not easy to tell the truth, Toivo. Not cutting up the truth, the way young people like to do, but serving it up to someone like you... green, confident, all-knowing, and all-understanding. Be quiet and listen. (Pause) KAMMERER: Then I got a reply from the Institute. The answer floored me. I had thought that I was showing routine forethought, but it turned out... Listen, you just read the transcript. Didn't anything seem strange in it to you? GLUMOV: Everything is strange in it. KAMMERER: Come on, pay attention. Read it again, but carefully, from the very beginning, from the heading. Well? (Pause) GLUMOV: "Only for members of the Presidium..." What does that mean? KAMMERER: Well? Well? GLUMOV: You let me read a document that was top security... Why? KAMMERER: (slowly and almost ingratiatingly) As you have noticed, there are gaps in this document. So, I'm nurturing the hope that when your time comes, out of friendship, and for the old times' sake, you'll fill those gaps in for me. (Long pause) KAMMERER: That's how the whole truth looks. In the part of it that concerns you. As soon as I learned that they were sorting at the Institute of Eccentrics, I sent all of you there, one after the other, on various idiotic excuses. It was simply a measure of elementary caution, understand? So as not to leave the enemy the slightest chance. To be sure... no, I still wasn't sure... To know for sure: that among my staff there were only humans... (Pause) KAMMERER: They have the machine there -- allegedly for finding "eccentrics". They have all the visitors pass through it. Actually, the contraption looks for the so-called T-tooth of the mentogram, a.k.a. the Logovenko Impulse. If a person has a third-impulse system worth initiating, this three-pronged tooth appears in his mentogram. So, you have this tooth. (Long pause) GLUMOV: That's all nonsense, Big Bug. (Pause) GLUMOV: They're tricking you! (Pause) GLUMOV: It's a provocation! They're just trying to knock me out of the game! Apparently I've learned something very important, but I still don't know myself what it is, and they want to get rid of me... It's so elementary! (Pause) GLUMOV: You've known me since childhood! I've passed thousands of mentoscopies. I'm an ordinary human! Don't believe them, Big Bug! Who gives you your information?... No, I 'm not asking the name... Just think, who could know all that? He must be one of them himself... How can you believe him? (Shouts) I'm not the issue! I'm leaving anyway! But in just that way he can destroy COMCON without firing a single shot! Have you thought about that? (Pause) GLUMOV: (in a low voice) What should I do! You've probably decided what I'm to do now... KAMMERER: Listen. Don't be upset. Nothing terrible has happened yet. What are you shouting for as if they're creeping up on you with knives? After all, it's all in your hands! If you don't want it, nothing will change! GLUMOV: How do you know that? KAMMERER: I don't know anything. I know as much as you do. You've just read that thing... The third impulse is only a potential. It has to be initiated... and then that... rising from level to level begins. I'd like to see them try to do it without you wanting it! GLUMOV: Yes. (Laughs hysterically) You sure scared me, chief! KAMMERER: You simply weren't thinking. GLUMOV: I'll just run oft! Let them find me! And if they do and start bothering me... tell them I don't recommend that! KAMMERER: I doubt they'll want to talk to me. GLUMOV: What do you mean? KAMMERER: You see, we've no authority in their eyes. Now we have to get used to a totally new situation. We're not the ones who set the time for talks or the topic... We've lost control over events. The situation is unheard of! Here on Earth, among us, is a force -- not just a force, a megaforce! And we don't know anything about it. Rather, we knew only what we're permitted to know, and that, you must agree; is almost worse than total ignorance. Not very cozy, eh? Well, I can't say anything bad about these Ludens, but I don't know anything good about them either! (Pause) KAMMERER: They know everything about us and we know nothing about them. It's humiliating. Every one of us privy to the situation feels humiliated... Now we have to expose two members of the World Council to keep mentoscopy -- only to restore the conversation at the historic meeting at Leonid's House... And you realize of course that neither the members of the Council nor we want this mentoscopy. It humiliates us all, but what can we do. Even though the chances of success, as you yourself must know, are less than problematic -- GLUMOV: But you have your own agents among them! KAMMERER: Not among, near them. Among is simply a pipe dream. Mast likely unattainable... Which of them would want to help us? What for? What do they care about us? Eh? Toivo! (Long pause) GLUMOV: No. Maxim. I don't want to. I understand, but I don't want to! KAMMERER: Afraid? GLUMOV: I don't know. I just don't want to. I'm a human, and I don't want to be anything else. I don't want to look down at you I don't want people I respect and love to seem like children to me. I know that you're hoping that the human will remain in me... Maybe you even have reason for hoping. But I don't want to take the risk. I don't. (Pause) KAMMERER: Well... in the final analysis, that's even commendable. [End of Document 23.] I was certain of success. I was wrong. I didn't know you well enough, Toivo Glumov, my boy. You seemed harder, more protected, more fanatical,. if you will. And finally, a few words about the real goal of my memoir. My reader familiar with the book "Five Biographies of the Century" will have guessed that the goal is to overturn the sensational hypothesis of P. Soroka and E. Braun, that Toivo Glumov, while still a Progressor on Giganda, fell into the field of vision of the Ludens and was recognized as one of their own. Allegedly, he was transformed by them, moved up to the appropriate level, and sent to me to COMCON-2 as a disinformer and misinterpreter. Allegedly, for five years he did nothing but heat up the atmosphere in COMCON against the Wanderers, interpreting every wrong step, every miscalculation, every careless act of the Ludens as a manifestation of the activity of the hated supercivilization. For five years he led us by the nose, the entire leadership of COMCON-2, and especially his chief and patron, Maxim Kammerer. And when the Ludens were exposed nevertheless, he played out one last tearjerker scene for the trusting Big Bug and dropped out of the game. I think that any unprejudiced reader, unfamiliar with the conjectures of Soroka and Braun, who has read this far will shrug and say: "What nonsense; what a strange idea. It contradicts everything I've read." As for the prejudiced reader, the reader who knows Toivo Glumov only from Five Biographies, I can make only one recommendation: try to look. at the material dispassionately; don't sprinkle spices into the Luden problem, which has become rather bland by now. I have no argument that the story of the Big Revelation contains many blanks, but I maintain with full responsibility that the blanks have nothing to do with Toivo Glumov. And with full responsibility I maintain that all of Soroka and Braun's clever theories are simply nonsense, yet another attempt to scratch the left ear with the right hand from beneath the left knee. As for the "final tearjerker scene," there is only one thing that I regret and for which I berate myself m this day. I did not realize -- old thick-skinned rhino that I am -- I did not sense that I was seeing Toivo Glumov for the last time. [End of Document 24.] SVERDLOVSK, TOPOL II, Apt. 9716 TO M. KAMMERER Big Bug! I was visited by Logovenko today. The conversation lasted from 12:15 to 14:05. Logovenko was convincing. Essence: it's not as simple as we imagine it all. For instance: it is maintained that the period of stationary development in humanity is coming to an end, the epoch of shocks (biosocial and psychosocial) is coming, and the main goal of Ludens in retaliation to humanity is, it turns out, to be on guard (like "the catcher in the rye"). At the present time, 432 Ludens live and play on Earth and in the cosmos. I was offered the chance to become the 433rd, for which I must appear in Kharkov at the Institute of Eccentrics the day after tomorrow, May 20, at 10:00. The enemy of the human race whispers to me that only a real idiot would refuse a chance to develop superconsciousness and power over the universe. This whisper I can quell without great effort, since I am a man who is not interested in prestige, as you well know, and cannot bear elitism in any form. I won't hide that our last conversation fell deeper into my soul than I would have liked. I do not like feeling myself a deserter. I would not have hesitated in my choice for a second, but I am absolutely certain that as soon as they turn me into a Luden, nothing (nothing!) human will remain. Admit it, deep in your heart you think the same thing. I will not go to Kharkov. I have thought everything over these last few days. I will not go to Kharkov first of all because that would be a betrayal of Asya. Secondly, because I love my mother and honor her. Thirdly, because I love my comrades and my past. Transformation into a Luden would be the death of me. It is much worse than death, because for those who love me, I would remain alive, but unrecognizably different. Haughty, smug, self-confident. And on top of that, eternal, probably. Tomorrow I am going off after Asya to Pandora. Farewell, and I wish you luck. Yours, T. Glumov 18 May 99 REPORT COMCON-2 No.086/99 Urals-North Date: 14 November 99 FROM: S. Mtbevari, Inspector THEME: 081 "The Waves Extinguish the Wind" CONTENTS: Conversation with T. Glumov. According to our instructions, I am reconstructing my conversation with former inspector T. Glumov, which occurred in the middle of July of this year. Around 17 o'clock, when I was in my office, I received a videophone call, and T. Glumov's face appeared on the screen. He was merry and animated, greeting me boisterously. He had gained a little weight since the last time I had seen him. The conversation went approximately like this: GLUMOV: Where's the chief gone to? I've been trying to reach him all day, to no avail. I: The chief's away on business. He won't be back for a while. GLUMOV: That's too bad. I need him desperately. I'd really like to talk to him. I: Send a letter. They'll forward it. GLUMOV: (after some thought) It's a long story. (I remember that phrase exactly.) I: Then tell me what to tell him. Or how to reach you. I'll write it down. GLUMOV: No. It is personal. Nothing else substantial was said. Rather, I don't remember anything. I want to stress that at the time all I knew about T. Glumov was that he had quit for personal reasons and had gone to join his wife on Pandora. That was why it did not occur to me to do the most elementary things such as recording the conversation, determining the call line, letting the President know, and so on. I can only add that I had the impression that T. Glumov was in a room lit with natural sunlight. Apparently, at the time he was on Earth in the Eastern Hemisphere. Sandro Mtbevari [End of Document 25.] TO THE PRESIDENT OF SECTOR URALS-NORTH OF CC-2 Date: 23 January 101 FROM: M. Kammerer, head of UE Department THEME: 060 T. Glumov, metagom President! I have nothing to report. The meeting did not take place. I waited for him at Red Beach until dark He did not show up. Of course, it would not have been difficult to go to his house and wait for him there, but I feel that would have been a tactical error. His aim is not to harass us. He simply forgets. Let's wait some more. M. Kammerer [End of Document 26] DOCUMENT 27: A Letter from the Elusive Glumov LAST: Glumov as an "historical fact" COMCON-I TO THE CHAIRMAN OF THE METAGOM COMMISSION KOMOV, G. YU. My Captain! I'm sending over two curious texts that have a direct bearing on the subject of your new passion. TEXT I. (A note from T. Glumov to M. Kammerer) Dear Big Bug! It's all my fault. But I'm prepared to make amends. The day after tomorrow, the second, exactly at 20:00 I will definitely be home. Waiting. I guarantee good food and promise to explain everything. Even though, as I see it, there is no great urgency for that now. TEXT II. (Letter from A. Glumova, addressed to M. Kammerer along with T. Glumov's note) Dear Maxim! He asked me to send this note to you. Why didn't he send it himself? Why didn't he just call you to make a date? I don't understand a thing. Lately, I don't understand him at all, even when we're talking about seemingly simple things. But I do know that he is unhappy. Like all of them. When he is with me, he's terribly bored. When he's back home, he misses me, or he wouldn't come back. He can't go on living this way, and he'll have to make a choice. I know what he will choose. lately he's been coming back less and less. I know some of his brothers who have stopped coming back completely. There's nothing more for them on Earth. As for his invitation, naturally I will be happy to see you, but don't count on his being there. I don't. Yours, A. Glumova Naturally, Kammerer went to the meeting, and naturally, T. Glumov did not show up. They are leaving, my captain. They are leaving, the miserable ones, and leaving miserable ones behind them. Humaneness. This is serious. This is all so different from the apocalyptic pictures we painted for each other four years ago! Remember how old Gorbovsky, smiling cleverly, groaned: "The waves extinguish the wind..." We all nodded as if understanding, and you even continued the quote with a look so significant it bordered on criticism. But did we understand him then? None of us did. Your Athos 13/11/102 [End of Document 27.] Maxim! I can't do anything. They bow and scrape apologetically before me, they assure me of total respect and sympathy, but nothing changes. They've turned Toivo into a "historical fact." I know why Toivo is silent -- he doesn't care about all this, and then where is he, in which worlds? I can guess why Asya is silent -- it's horrible to say, but I think they' convinced her. But why are you silent? You loved him, I know that, and he loved you! M. Glumova 30 June 126 Ust-Narva As you see, I am no longer silent, Maya Toivovna. I have spoken. Everything that I could any and everything that I knew how to say.