The Congolese Auguste Lomba, the present director for the CODD project and one-time student of Komatsuwara, had programmed several problems related to the prediction of the behavior of a living organism. CODD had coped with problems of invertebrate behavior determination fairly easily, and two years before, Lomba had programmed and fed to the machine a problem of extraordinary complexity.
“The problem received the title of ‘Buridan’s sheep.’ The biological code was taken from a young merino sheep, by the Casparo-Karpov method, at a moment when the sheep was between two feeding troughs full of mixed fodder. This code, along with additional data about sheep in general, was fed into CODD. The machine was required: a) to predict which trough the merino would choose, and b) to give the psychophysiological basis for this choice.”
“But what about free will?” Evgeny asked.
“That’s exactly what we want to find out about,” answered Rudak. “Perhaps it just doesn’t exist.” He was silent for a bit. “In the control experiment the sheep chose the right trough. Actually, the problem came down to the question of why. For two years the machine just thought. Then it began building models. Effector machines often solve problems through models. Like the time CODD solved a problem about earthworms—it built such a superb model that we swiped CODD’s idea and started building subterrenes. Amazing devices.”
Rudak fell into thought. Evgeny started fidgeting impatiently in his chair.
“Are you uncomfortable?” inquired Rudak.
“Not at all, it’s just that it was quite fascinating.”
“Ah, you found it fascinating too? Now then, how can I put it without breaking the spell?”
He’s covering something up, Evgeny thought. He said, “I must have seen one of those models you’re talking about. A sort of pole with a mirror. Only it could hardly be a model of a sheep. Not even one of Buridan’s.”
“That’s the point,” Rudak said with a sigh. “No one believes that it’s a model of a sheep. Papa Lomba, for instance, wouldn’t believe it. He gathered all the materials on the programming and went off to the center to verify them.” Rudak sighed again. “He’s due back this evening.”
“And what exactly is the problem?” asked Evgeny.
“The problem is that CODD is making poles on wheels and seven-legged beetles. And sometimes those sort of flat disks that don’t have legs, don’t have arms, but do have gyroscopes. And no one can see what that has to do with sheep.”
“And actually,” Evgeny said pensively, “why should a sheep have that many legs?”
Rudak looked at him suspiciously. “Precisely—why?” he said with unnatural enthusiasm.
They looked at each other silently for some time. He’s covering something up. Oh, that beard is a slippery one! Evgeny thought.
Gracefully, and without the help of his arms, Rudak stood up using only one leg. “And now let’s go, Comrade Slavin, and I’ll introduce you to the manager of the film library.”
“One more question,” Evgeny said while reloading the dictaphone. “Where is your Great CODD located?”
“You’re sitting on it. It’s underground, twenty-eight levels, six hectares. The brain, the workshops, the energy generators, everything. And now stand up and let’s go.”
CODD’s film library was at the other end of the settlement, in a low studio. On the roof of the building gleamed the gridded panels of a stereocinerama projector. Immediately beyond the studio began the savanna.
The studio smelled of ozone and sour milk. The manager of the film library sat at a table and studied through a binocular microscope a splendid photo of the hind-leg joint. The librarian was a pretty Tahitian woman of about twenty-five.
“Hello, girl,” Rudak rumbled tenderly.
The librarian tore herself away from the microscope, and a smile blossomed. “Hello, Paul,” she said.
“This is Comrade Slavin, correspondent for the European Center,” said Rudak. “Treat him with respect. Show him frames two-sixty-seven, three-fifteen, and seven-five-one-two.”
“If it wouldn’t be too much trouble, of course,” Evgeny put in gallantly.
The librarian looked very much like Sheila. “With pleasure,” said the librarian. “But is Comrade Slavin mentally prepared?”
“Uh… how about it, Comrade Slavin, are you prepared?”
“Completely,” Evgeny answered with certainty.
“Then I’ll leave you,” said Rudak. “The monsters await me.” He turned the doorknob and left. They could hear him shouting to the whole settlement, “Akitada! Did the equipment come?” The answer was not audible.
The librarian sighed and said, “Take a folding chair, Comrade Slavin, and let’s go.”
Evgeny went out, and sat down by the studio wall. The librarian efficiently estimated the height of the sun, calculated something, her lips moving and returned to the studio. “Frame two-sixty-seven,” she announced through the open window.
The sunlight disappeared. Evgeny saw a dark-violet night sky with bright, unfamiliar stars. Low strips of clouds stretched over the horizon, and the dark silhouettes of strange trees, something like palms and something like giant sprouts of cauliflower, slowly appeared. Reflections of the stars trembled in black water. Then, over the clouds, a white patch began to glow. It burned brighter and brighter; weird shadows crept along the black oily surface, and suddenly from beyond the horizon a blinding white, pulsating luminary exploded and rushed in jerks across the sky, extinguishing the stars. A gray mist began rushing between the trunks of the strange trees, irridescent sparks flashed, and then everything disappeared. Once again the sunlit savanna lay in front of Evgeny.
“After that, there’s solid static,” said the librarian. “What was it?” asked Evgeny. He expected something big. “The rising of a supernova. More than a hundred million years ago. It gave rise to the dinosaurs. Frame three-fifteen coming up. This is our pride and joy. Fifty million years later.”
Once again the savanna disappeared. Evgeny saw a gray water-covered plain. Everywhere the pulpy stalks of some sort of vegetation stuck up out of the water. A long gray animal shuffled over the plain, knee-deep in water. Evgeny could not at first make out where the animal’s head was. A wet cylindrical-shaped trunk plastered with green grass tapered evenly at both ends and merged into a long flexible neck and tail. Then Evgeny examined the tiny flat head with its lipless toadlike mouth. There was something of the chicken about the habits of the monster—with every step it ducked its head into the water, and immediately jerked it up again, quickly grinding some sort of greenery in its teeth.
“Diplodocus,” said the librarian. “Twenty-four meters long.” Then Evgeny caught sight of another monster. It was crawling alongside the first one with a snakelike motion, leaving a stripe of muddied water behind it. At one point it barely turned aside from the pillar-shaped feet of the diplodocus, and for a minute Evgeny saw an enormous, pale, tooth-filled mouth. Something’s going to happen, he thought. It was much more interesting than the flash of a supernova. The diplodocus, evidently, had no suspicion of the presence of its toothy companion, or else it simply did not consider it worthy of any attention. But the other beast, maneuvering adroitly under the diplodocus’s legs, approached closer to its head, then jumped out of the water in a jerk, instantly bit off the head, and dived,
Evgeny closed his mouth, his teeth chattering. The picture was unusually bright and distinct. The diplodocus stopped for a second, raised its decapitated neck high and… walked on, just as evenly dipping the bleeding stump into the turbid water. Only after several paces did its front legs buckle. The hind legs continued walking, and the enormous tail waved unconcernedly from side to side. The neck shot upward to the sky one last time, and then helplessly flopped down into the water. The front part of the body began to collapse on its side, but the hind part continued to move forward. Then the hind legs collapsed too, and instantly dozens of snarling toothy mouths surfaced in the turbid foaming water and darted forward.