asks Stig, a bit unnerved by what he has seen.
‘Yes, and there were some who did in the beginning. But in the
long run it got them nowhere in their sports and what have you. And
by the way, it’s more convenient to imagine your way around than to
walk here, there and everywhere.’
‘Have you shifted me around in time?’, asks Stig, feeling very
uneasy.
‘What? Oh, that nonsense of yours about time machines. You folks
ought to understand that it isn’t possible to make time machines. A
person can’t shift around in time that way, either into the future or
the past.’
‘But according to the theory of evolution, you would exist quite a
while after I had been on the scene. And yet both of us are here now
at the same time, aren’t we?’
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‘Yes, but now you must try to keep your wits about you. We Brains
are carrying out various kinds of experiments. We do a good deal of
research, because after all we must try to become a little wiser.’
Krr smiles apologetically.
‘We have human beings more or less like you, as well as the
ingredients of human beings, preserved in—well, let’s call them test
tubes. And round about us we have a sea of planets at our disposal.
You see, there are quite a number of points about our past that have
not been explained. And so our historians are setting up worlds—
staging them, you might say. They simply take a planet of suitable
size, proper climate and so on. And then they populate it with an
adequate number of our test-tube people completely endowed, both
physically and psychically, as mankind was at a specific period in the
course of history. They are brought together, assigned the proper roles
in relation to each other, and then turned loose. And they immedi-
ately begin to put on a play for us that is altogether authentic from a
historical standpoint. These people, of course, simply believe they are
living a real life.’
‘Are you trying to tell me that I come from a test tube?’, Stig shouts.
In his rage he wants to strike out at the sphere but finds himself
unable to do so.
‘We let our research worlds go on for a long time. Your planet may
very well have been started at some particular time during the iron
age and then allowed to develop until your own era. Or it may have
been started a short while ago. It is only a question of furnishing you
and the others in your world with a suitable number of remnants
from earlier times. Then you can attribute a long past to yourselves.’
‘That can’t be so’, Stig says quietly. ‘You’re the ones who come
from another place. My world can’t be unreal.’
‘No, it’s really not unreal. Reproductions also are real, you know.’
‘Put me down on earth again this instant. I don’t like the feeling of
uncertainty that you’re trying to arouse in me. And by the way, how
does it happen that you’re able to carry on a conversation with me? If
the rubbish you’ve been giving me were true, you wouldn’t be able to
understand my language at all.’
‘I’m a paleopsychologist, and my speciality is your era. Wouldn’t
you like to meet a few of my colleagues?’
‘Are there many of you Brains?’
‘Yes, all in all a fairly large number of us are scattered about here
and there. But there may be a considerable distance between us.’
‘Do you have many planets going?’
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73
‘Yes, you might consider it an appalling number. We think there
are too few. But starting a new world is quite a long and complicated
business, and sometimes it is hard to get the necessary appropriations.
At present we have in operation three worlds that are alternatives to
yours. Three, that is, which are in the same stage of development and
which were started at the same historical base period as yours. But
naturally all four—yours and the other three—each developed its
own distinctive characteristics, even though they bear a strong
resemblance to each other. You wouldn’t have any difficulty feeling
just as much at home on any of the other three as you do on the one I
brought you from.’
Stig sees two spheres come bouncing toward them like two balls on
an invisible tabletop. When they come to a halt in front of him they
both begin to assume facial features, as Krr already has done.
One is a little taller and chubbier than Krr. It gives Stig a broad smile.
‘How do you do?’, it says. ‘My name is Fffh. I’ve overheard most of
your conversation. I’m a paleopsychologist, and for the time being I’m
investigating a planet in the same stage of development as yours, just
as the other two are doing. I’m glad to meet you.’
By this time the third sphere has managed to straighten out its face.
It has obviously gone to more trouble than the others, for it has
provided itself with a slight wrinkle across the forehead and little
crow’s-feet at the corners of the eyes and mouth.
‘My name is Sst-Sst. Excuse me for not shaking hands. What an
attractive body you have.’
Stig looks down at himself to determine whether the sphere is
making fun of him, and to his surprise finds that he is very well
satisfied with what he sees.
‘Thank you—how do you do?’, he replies. ‘Tell me, how does one
pass the time when he hasn’t got a body?’
‘We go in for sports—mental gymnastics’, Fffh explains.
‘Fffh has taken part in a rather famous guessing match’, Sst-Sst adds.
‘But without too much luck’, says Krr.
‘Why am I here?’, Stig asks suddenly.
‘Because you put on my ring’, Krr explains.
‘What’s going to happen to me? Will I be put into a test tube?’
‘Not at all. Nothing bad is going to happen to you. Just take it easy.
And speak up if something doesn’t suit you.’
Stig notices that various parts of the balls are lighting up now and
then.
‘We’re only communicating with each other’, Sst-Sst explains.
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‘You’re limited to thinking in one direction—ahead, and one thought
at a time. We think spatially. It would take too long if we were to
explain all our thoughts to you. It would be as if you had to explore a
big, pitch-dark house with nothing but the light from a match—some
place where you knew you’d quickly get a view of everything in
daylight.’
‘Before I believe you I’d like to see some of your other worlds. If
you won’t show me other planets I’ll know that mine is the only real
world’, Stig exclaims with firmness.
‘We’ll let you see three other planets that are in the same stage of
development as the one you come from’, says Fffh. ‘Things there are
so closely in accord with your thought processes that you’ll be able to
understand them. What you would see on the others would be
beyond your comprehension anyhow.’
&nbs
p; Stig begins to get uneasy when the three Brains apparently take his
wish seriously. In front of him appears something that suggests a
mirror. In it he sees unclearly a flickering image of three orbs
swarming with life. He strains his eyes, trying to distinguish one
from the other, but has to give it up.
‘No, not all at the same time’, he says. ‘I can’t see them all at once.’
‘Well, just a moment’, says Krr.
The planets disappear. Instead he sees in the mirror—or perhaps it
is a door that the thing reminds him of—three persons, all of whom
are hardly distinguishable from himself, although one seems a little
more cheerful, the second a bit stouter, while the third has a few
more wrinkles in his forehead. Stig nods his head in astonishment,
and at the same time the other three nod to him.
‘Have a good trip’, says one of the Brains.
*
*
*
*
*
Stig is ploughing. The birds sing. He glances toward the sun and
decides that he may as well go on working a little longer. He gazes
happily at the handsome ring.
A little later he chooses to stop while the weather is still good. He
sets out for home filled with contentment. He steps lightly and with
every step feels the good earth beneath his feet.
‘Is this me, or isn’t it me?’, he mutters to himself as he looks down
at his strong, brown arms.
He decides to sing, and finds a stick with which he rhythmically
taps the ground as he walks.
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75
‘Yes, it’s me, because I want to be me’, he sings, using a home-made
melody that goes nicely with the sound of the birds. ‘I’m happy
because I want to be happy.’
Within shouting distance of the house he comes to a halt.
‘Karen’, he calls out. ‘I’ve decided to stop now.’
In the doorway appears a pretty, cheerful woman. They run to
meet each other. He reaches her first and seizes her in an embrace.
At the edge of a ditch they tumble to the ground. He holds her hand
in his.
‘I’ve chosen the prettiest woman as my own.’
She presses something soft against his lips and whispers: ‘You’re
talking nonsense. It was I who chose you.’
Everything is completely serene as he feels the soft fullness of her
body against his own.
‘Just imagine!’, says Karen. ‘We’ve been permitted to live in the
world that we ourselves prefer to live in. And allowed to arrange
things exactly as we would like to have them.’
She gazes gratefully into space.
Hand in hand they walk toward the house.
‘Should we have something to eat?’, says Stig.
‘Yes’, she says. ‘That’s a good idea. Shall we eat outdoors?’
He nods and feels a deep satisfaction at having chosen to do what
he wanted to do.
‘I feel that the Brain is looking down at me’, says Karen, who has
gone into the house. ‘It is nodding its head because I made the right
choice.’
She depicts a circle in front of her face.
Suddenly a thought whirls through Stig’s mind.
‘Since we’re only living in a world that we ourselves have chosen,
how can we be sure that we made the right choice?’, he says
gravely. ‘How do we know that we couldn’t have done better? We
could have arranged everything differently, you know, and in one
way or another it might have been better. At any rate, we can’t be
sure.’
Karen looks at him in alarm. ‘What are you talking about? If we
had wanted the world to be different than it is, we would, of course,
have chosen to have it different. Why do you say things like that? You
never used to behave this way.’
‘I’m not quite myself’, Stig admits.
Together they carry the table out.
Stig fetches the chairs himself. He picks up a stool, but as he is going
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out he stumbles. As he falls the ring scrapes the ground. It begins to
grow larger.
*
*
*
*
*
Stig rides his easy chair over to the service panel. He satisfies himself that the automatic plough is stopped.
‘That’s that’, he says to Karen, who is lying on the autoerotic carpet.
He looks at the ring on his finger which the soil-purifying apparatus
has just separated out and brought in to him.
‘Please tune in for perivision, now that you’re over there’, says
Karen. ‘And set for three.’
Stig grunts and presses several buttons on the panel. The table is set
for three. The announcer steps forth from the television screen and
seats himself beside them in the chair that stands ready for him.
Karen joins them.
The announcer greets them and takes a sip from his cup. Then he
says: ‘As you know, an event of major importance took place when it
was discovered that preservatives could be incorporated into explo-
sives. When the bomb is dropped on an area everything in it rigidifies
and sets like cement, and the extent of the area depends, of course, on
the force of the bomb. Afterward, as you know—and as you no doubt
already have turned to your advantage—afterward it is possible to
in the most lifelike postures, urinating and doing other piquant
things. Furthermore, in taking over such an area you naturally
extend help to the belligerent nation, so that its soldiers can get
things cleaned up without wading around in corpses and doing other
messy jobs of that sort. That’s why we all have one or more bomb sites
situated here and there to serve as ornaments. I like to draw a
comparison with the ancient Egyptians, who kept their mummies—’
Stig switches off the sound.
‘This wine—well, the label and the year are all right, but don’t we
have one made from grapes that were picked a little later in the day? I
prefer those picked in the evening, you know.’
‘Find out about that yourself, if you don’t mind. And turn it on
again. I’d like to hear it, but see if you can’t get him to speak a little more dramatically.’
Stig again presses several buttons.
‘. . . and what is far more interesting, far superior to the old static
battlefields, a bomb that does not fossilize the area but allows it to
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77
carry on as usual. This bomb bears the same relationship to the old
ones as motion pictures do to still photographs. You can buy such a
living, animated war-stricken area. Did I say animated? Yes, not only
do the people move but, I might add, you yourself will be moved. You
can, of course, determine for yourself the size of the area you want.
And I promise you will come to feel a strong attachment to your area.
I am not exaggerating when I say that you will feel the closest ties to
them. It will be like seeing your own relatives, your dearest friends,
struck down by misfortune. Just think—an
animated war-stricken
area, not only life-like, not only automatic, but authentic. How
thrilling, how different, how instructive! You can witness at closest
range everything that goes on—see, for example, how a primitive
native-born woman behaves—and all with a lifelike faithfulness on a
par with the most subtle neoplastic-realistic novels. Your own war
documentary. You have not lived until you have tried seeing death in
this way. On the other hand, the price is just as high as we have been
able to set it—17 debits.’
The announcer than alters his tone of voice completely and
proceeds to comment on a toothpaste that confers new growing
power on the teeth. Stig turns off the set, and the announcer
vanishes.
Karen gets up and stretches. ‘When are we going to get one of
those?’
Stig sits toying with the duplicator. ‘In any case, you’ll have to do
something first’, he says, teasing her.
He adjusts the apparatus. In front of him stand two identical
women. One Karen begins to undress. The other follows her example.
Stig starts the duplicator again and lets it run until three other
women materialize, all exactly like the first two.
Together the five figures begin to pull off Stig’s clothing. After he
has been stripped naked he again presses a button on the device.
‘No more’, the six women beg. ‘That’s enough now.’
With a teasing smile he makes the apparatus produce two more
women.
The eight bodies mill around him. Sixteen identical hands caress
him here, there, and everywhere, sixteen cool, slender hands gently
stroking his body.
For some time he lets the eight women minister to him while one
tries to outdo the other in inventiveness.
When he tires of the sport he sets the device going in reverse, an
soon there is but one Karen beside him.
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With no need for discussion, she goes over to the multiplier and has
herself transformed to twice her normal size. Stig moves closer to the
giantess and with some effort pushes his way up into her. His head is
in the familiar, dark, hot, pulsating surroundings. With a series of
slithering manoeuvres he moves his head in and out several times.
For a little while he wallows in her juices.
He lets himself slip out of her and moves on to her head, which is
twice as large as a normal head.