A narrow specialist has a lousy life. Well — fed, secure, but lousy. All his interests are concentrated on elements of passive memory, say, and not on any old elements but only on cryotron elements, and only on film cryotrons and only on those made of lead — tin films. The worker, the farmer, the technician, the broad — based engineer, the teacher, and even the office worker can apply his knowledge and skills to many activities, enterprises, and companies, but there are only two or three institutes in the whole Soviet Union studying those damned cryotrons. What can poor Fedya do? He has to sit there and not make waves. In effect, a narrow speciality is a means of self — enslavement.
That's why it's rare among us specialists to find all for one (unless the one is Azarov). All against one is the more usual picture; that's easier. That's why passions flare up at the first sign of insubordination. “Anyone could be failed like that!” yelped Voltampernov — and it went on and on.
All right, I'll bear it. I can take it. The important thing is that it's done. I knew what I was getting into. But it's repulsive. It's unbelievably disgusting.
Onisimov put out his cigarette and stared at the computer. Something had changed slowly and imperceptibly in the distribution of the hoses. They seemed to be tensed. A shudder of contractions traveled through some of them. And — Onisimov jumped — the first drop fell loudly from the left gray hose into the tank.
Onisimov moved the stairs over to the tank and climbed up. He put his hand under the hose. In a minute it was full of the golden liquid. The lines in his skin were visible through it, as if under a magnifying glass. He concentrated, and the skin disappeared, revealing the red muscles, the white bones, the tendons…. “Ah, if they had only known how to do this,” he sighed. “The experiment wouldn't have gone like this. They didn't know. And it had an effect.”
He let the liquid splash into the tank, got back down to the floor, and washed his hand in the sink. The patter of drops from all the hoses rang merrily and springlike in the lab.
“Work! You're strong, computer,” Onisimov — Krivoshein said respectfully. “As strong as life.”
He obviously didn't want to leave the laboratory. But he glanced at his watch, put on his jacket, and hurried.
“Good morning, Matvei Apollonovich!” Hilobok greeted him rapturously. “Working already? I've been waiting for you. I wanted to report something,” he whispered, bringing his mustache close to Onisimov's ear, “Yesterday that. woman of his, Elena Ivanovna Kolomiets, came to his apartment, took something, and left. And there was someone else in there, too. The light was on all night.”
“I see. You did the right thing in telling me. As they say, jurisprudence will not forget you.”
“Oh, any time, it's my duty!”
“Duty aside,” Onisimov said in a stern voice, “aren't you motivated by other, stronger motives, comrade Hilobok?”
“What motives?”
“For instance the fact that Krivoshein ruined your doctoral dissertation defense.”
Harry Haritonovich's face sagged for a moment and then quickly took on a look of injury at the hands of humanity.
“Some people! Someone already had time to report that to you. What kind of people work here, I ask you, tsk, tsk? Don't be silly, Matvei Apollonovich. How could you doubt the sincerity of my motives! Krivoshein didn't have as tremendous an influence at the defense as you might have been told. There were more serious experts there than him, and many approved of it, but he, obviously, was jealous, and well, they suggested I make some changes, nothing terrible. I'll be up for it again soon. But, of course, if you suspect me, that's up to you. Then check things out for yourself. It was my duty to tell you, but now… good day!”
“Good day.”
Harry Haritonovich left furious: Krivoshein was getting him from the other world, too!
“You really let him have it, comrade captain!” the guard said approvingly.
Onisimov didn't hear. He was watching Hilobok leave.
It leads to one thing. But the question that comes up willy — nilly is “Is it worth it?”
Be straight, Krivoshein: you can kick the bucket in this experiment. It's that simple, based on your own statistics of success and failure in your experiments. Science and methodology aside, things never work the way they should the first time — that's the old law. And a mistake in this experiment is more than a spoiled sample.
I mean basically I'm climbing into the tank as a narrow specialist in this work. That's my speciality, like cryotron film is for Fenya Zagrebnyak. But I don't have to get in there — nobody's forcing me. Funny, I have to get into a medium that easily dissolves live organisms simply because my specialty worked out badly!
For people? The hell with them! Do I need more than the rest? I'll just live quietly for myself. And it'll be good.
