Prometheus was Invented Afterward - 2

Chapter 5

On the day of the experiment, all were deliberately quiet, like, and it was nothing special, work, all our investigations are large-scale. Though, of course, not. And all understood that, and Sam Samych came and too tried not to give out his excitement, not to jerk others. But all were waiting for a miracle. Edik was in a good mood, as always, but today he exceedingly rejoiced. He didn't doubt that the Universe would answer — who wouldn't want to talk to such a wonderful guy, like Edik?

Since yesterday, the equipment has been adjusted a check, a check again. Project participants are vigorous and attentive, it's important too, the group has a "bench" if someone is failed by creativity, and before the experiment, someone will spend forces for a muse, on some development — it happens, you know, a splash of adrenaline and endorphins, and a brain wants to create, but without a rest — that person would be replaced on the day of an experiment with another specialist who was working on the investigation also but didn't enter the leading group. Our spares, during the experiment, are observers. They only watch. And so, if someone comes tired, then she or she will look, and the honor to caress buttons and screens of the equipment will get to a substitute of the group. The measure was adequate, the level of self-responsibility increased.

So, that's it. The request is sent. Wait and fix. I decided to allow forty-five minutes on the expectation. If there is no answer, we leave, and the observers wait and fix changes. Forty-five minutes is the natural time for the hard work of a brain; further, it'll involuntarily relax. Therefore if you tensely work on something, take a break in forty-five minutes; otherwise, the brain will take a break for you. You, maybe, won't even notice, but later, about ten-fifteen minutes will pass for nothing for your brain and your task. Then continue. And repeat, how many times you need. Then, surely let the brain have a rest for several hours – don't load it with new information which needs considering, let it three-four hours work in the scattered mode, make something with your hands or legs, sort old things, files on the computer, take a walk. If you comply with this simple rule, your efficiency will be higher, your health better, life more brightly and longer.

So, we were waiting. Minutes crept slowly, and nothing occurred. The concentration of tension in the room seemed to be perceived. I looked at the colleagues, at their fanatically sparkling eyes directed on the screen. Some met my look and happily smiled. All hoped. Did you ever see hope? I did. A hot girl. It's clear why some people so desperately cling to her and try to hold and save at any cost. There was no answer. It was passed only three minutes. And it seemed it was longer than eternity. Of course, I was interested too, I was also very much worried, but I, you know, didn't believe that something would work. It was too much data there, and yes, all of them were considered in the experiment even if any answer would be recorded. Other requests would confirm the investigation, and it would be necessary to analyze — what the answer is, how independent it is, whether it's not just some electric background garbage. And I should work, try to understand whether there is an alive psychological drawing of the personality in this garbage. Some jokes about the electromagnetic field, whether it's a personality who answers or an accidental set of signals similar to information.

So I was engaged in the essential work studying the psychological background of colleagues. Read mind, as they say at the narrow-minded level. Perhaps it also gave me up. I heard their expectations, sure and shy, happy and disturbing. As a confident young predator, I saw how Eric was located among observers. What's he doing there? Oh, well, the brother dragged him. How often having been confused, I didn't stay my eyes long on him, in the dark ink eyes something shone and whether the sun or another star flittered, and he looked at me. He didn't smile, but it seemed to me that I saw a smile on the accurate lips. I began to think about the experiment. And how, in general, their God should answer so that all would be delighted? What do you feel? With what feeling should they answer: "yes"? With joy that someone asked? With essential grief from the divine loneliness? But it contradicts religious history; Elohim is a plural; God is never lonely, in any confession. I imagine an almighty being who hears our rhythm. And how they answer with a thoughtful expectation of the solution of some task. Yes, probably, so.

A velvet "Yes" from Shimedzhi Akhor, the mathematical linguist, sank in the cheers of colleagues. The reciprocal rhythm is beautifully curled on the screen. Of course, it means nothing. Everyone understood that too.

The next request. Expectation. I continued to "look" in the Universe. That's also my primary work; what difference is from whom to read out the psychological drawing — from colleagues or a hypothetical god?

Again, the same velvet "Yes."

The request again. The answer again.

It was already attractive. I paid attention to the screen, began to listen, and waited with everyone. On the subsequent request, there was no answer. Very long. But all continued to wait without releasing the joy of the previous luck. Perhaps a question was terrible, they carelessly thought. Let's wait and would set a new one. I took offense at thoughts I'd attributed to colleagues and which they maybe didn't even think. Why a wrong question? Any decent god could answer!

There is "Yes" from Shimedzhi.

Well, readers already guessed, of course. You read a neat story, and I didn't know yet that it was the story. Of course, the equipment reacted to my thoughts. But we were in the room which extinguished electromagnetic signals. And clamps of the answer stood not in this room where we all were. Of course, we considered that we could influence the response; of course, we eliminated the influence. If devices also fixed my answers, then they caught them outside my electromagnetic corporal (including the brain! — a friendly reminder) manifestations. But it's impossible. The only logical explanation that I read was precisely the psychological drawing of the one who answered us. Or, there was a quantum explanation – the Universe is reasonable when someone observes it. God exists only when someone watches them. Ah yes, you have there now religious wars, feelings, and I tell dangerous things. Dangerous to the writer who writes down for me, obscurantists of the past cannot do much harm to me in any way; all of you are already dead, together with your ideas, when I live. But now I will conciliate you – God can exist separately from his observers. Still, in the reality of observers, he begins to exist, be shown, only when he is observed, when he's being believed in, in other words.

And my colleagues rejoiced. The Universe talked to them; it answered all the series of questions and the test series. But only if I responded. If I was silent – also, the Universe was silent.

I didn't go the holiday though I had to, I had to listen to what people thought about it. But I couldn't, told I was tired and that I would go to prepare a series of experiments. It's only in cinema and the invented books, after the successful experiment, all rejoice and bear these results to represent the whole world. In life, each attendant of science knows that there will still be a set of checks, experiments, checking, and disproving experiments. So far, the phenomenon won't become the phenomenon, that is, reproduced. And only then can this phenomenon begin to be studied.

I worked in two directions. Prepared the main series of experiments and considered my position in it. If I am far? If that's not me who represents the answers, and, for example, a rhythmic record of solutions, whether it'll be read out by a clamp?





Chapter 6

We spent months on it. It's quick, of course, we could spend years. But at our development of science, a year was enough for such large-scale research. And with each experiment, it became more apparent that the Universe, for some reason, decided to obey me. I even entered another point in a series of experiments on electromagnetic noise; I gave answers to an assistant, trained him to "observe God," and myself thought up other answers at this time. But the clamp persistently noted my answers. I gave a task to the group to make questions without me, without knowing them. And then the Universe was silent. I didn't hear questions. I couldn't answer. But if I knew that there was an experiment and answered inattentively – the clamp showed my wrong answers. I left far, even out of Firokami, but the clamp heard me. I spent experiment time insulating cameras, but the clamp, all the same, listened to my answers. I decided that we had a quantum complexity with the device and requested another clamp. But also, it "heard" me.

I didn't become proud; I toiled. The Universe didn't hear us. All this was me. There was no mind there, and somehow I would need to admit it. I have to become a learning object myself. I didn't want it. But scientific honesty would induce me to do it.

Therefore I've decided if I study myself. If I understand why it occurs, I will be able to leave an experiment. We'll begin to prepare a new request; it isn't a big deal. Nobody demands a prompt reply from us, and the main thing is the work is being done.

And I began to request answers from myself. I did the first experiments from memory, asked about something that I had heard but didn't remember anything concrete, and waited for an answer. And the answer came. I checked – very exact answer. Then I began to wonder about the future, about the simple end, about things which I couldn't know – whether the wind would blow when I turned to the yard of Institute, of what form there would be a cloud in the sky, how many choux pastries would remain on a tray in our dining room when I came. Concrete, very exact questions, answers to which cannot be counted. But somehow, I did it. Answers came, and they were accurate. I began to ask more critical questions and a more substantial scale that would answer me and how Samych would respond to some words. And I heard the accurate answers, as well. Everything came true; I knew the future.

I complicated the experiments. I began to ask – what it's necessary to make to receive a particular result. And through time heard an algorithm of actions. I tried differently — both to carry out and to break it. If I broke it — the was no result, if I carried out if — I received what I had requested.

And every time, asking a question, brightly, in front of a mind's eye, or it's not clear, a background, I saw that silhouette of "God" which had imagined in the first experiment.

At last, I asked "them" a question, if they tackled to answer — "who are you?". But I thought it was me, my imagination, and he responded so. I remembered the old quantum theory about the observer of the second level. It was at least some logical and scientific explanation. In approach, there were weak points, in the quantum system of a multiverse, of infinite observers of the first level, the author entered an endless number of observers. It contradicts the principle of sufficiency, the psychological principle of causality, and even the multiverse branches. It doesn't branch with no purpose but only considers the choice options. And their infinity is the only potential; it's limited with the options possible at the made a choice. But for an observer of the first level, there are so many of them, and the choice is made so often that it seems infinite. There has to be a motivation, a reason that there would be an action. Not an impulse but a basis for inspiration.

I found the previous research on a subject in the network. Yes, for you, it's an undeveloped sphere, but what I write about came many centuries later, from the moment you read it.

The last article was by Derek Lamborn. I adore this physicist! He doesn't work for us, but he is an honorable friend of the Institute. It means that he has access to our developments and permission to use them in his works. He doesn't work on orders, conducts his research, and does the inventive activity. However, he generously gives inventions to development, and the study to which loses interest to other researchers or us.

Derek stopped on the observer of the second level as sufficient. Very logical. Lamborn said that we are accurate observers of the second level who observe the multiverse and our manifestations — observers of the first level. Us to which we got used. We don't notice that we change at every moment of our choice. Observations of similar data in the different worlds force us to think that we are still the same. I pondered.

The science calmed. Possibly, I somehow managed to connect myself from the level above, which chooses what to observe. Therefore the Universe obeys me.

I needed to see Aristarkh. I had nobody anymore to ask. Well, me, as well. No way.





Chapter 7

Aristarkh pottered with the flowers, having seen me, grinned. And I somehow understood he knew everything. Not about the results of an experiment, about it, all gossiped in the town, but about me. That it was me.

"Aristarkh, you were right," I began with a psychological trick.

Gromulin grinned shook the earth off the hands.

"Come in, and I'm coming. My violet is up. It was already dying, but we fixed it, placed it to young ones — and it recovered. Began to pass on the experience."

I nodded. What a big deal — a violet recovered. On a table, there are the used-up sheets of paper. Who writes on writing now? Gromulin and his pupils. Sam wrote by hand, then dictated, transferring to the electronic form — his pupils did the same. Though in it existed no practical sense. "Paper" sent it to an electronic document, to the specified computer the processed text. Gromulin said that the brain developed more slowly than the technical progress. Small motility is necessary to provide consciousness with a working tool; therefore, it's required to write by hand when you think. And the recording of the thoughts aloud allows one to hear mistakes and understand how it sounds from outside. I darted a glance at the text. Sam was so clever that even an accidentally snatched out a sentence from a treasury of his thoughts could help solve some complex problem.

Gromulin was writing a work about psychological ecosystems. If to bring up plants, as people, then the well-mannered colony could work for the City's benefit, infinitely long, programming genetically young growth. I threw up eyebrows — Gromulin was engaged in the psychology of plants? I wish everyone knew how to deal with people.

Aristarkh approached the table, removed sheets on a window sill, put a teapot and cups, vacuum containers with gingerbreads and marshmallows, and sat down opposite to me.

"Found the Higher Reason?" he smiled.

"And you?" I looked at him directly in the eyes.

"Yes, long ago," the great psychologist said indifferently.

"And who is he?"

"Why wouldn't you ask yourself?" Aristarkh shrugged the shoulders, took a sip of currant tea, and leaned back on a flexible elastic back of a chair with pleasure.

"He does not answer who he is."

"But he does."

I rubbed my eyes.

"It's me, huh? The observer of the second level?"

Aristarkh slowly, confidently nodded.

"And you?.."

He nodded again.

"And everyone can do this? I mean, everyone is like that?"

Aristarkh radiantly smiled.

"And there is no Highest observer for all of us?"

Aristarkh smiled again.

"And what to tell at Institute?"

"That Firokami can respond to any request. Or nothing. Or the truth."

"And who will respond to these requests? Me? You?"

"The one who is capable of hearing a question," shrugged his shoulders Aristarkh. "Elohim is a plural."

I shuddered; it was my thought; with the edge of consciousness, I noticed a silhouette of "God" and suddenly saw one more shape near him. A radiant one. Aristarkh?

"I told you, leave someone instead of yourself. You'll now have a time of other experiments." Aristarkh smiled.



Chapter 8

I felt ill at ease. I didn’t know how to tell all of them. And what to tell them? What we are gods ourselves? That Aristarkh and I can respond to any request? Without understanding from where we know what we know? How to know that we don’t lie? From where God knows that he isn’t mistaken? Whom does he ask? I rolled on a bed and looked in a ceiling … in space. And somewhere further. I saw it "further", behind the ceiling. How it’s supposed — the ceiling, the sky, usual space (as you imagine it there), and behind it — the life. Then rose and walked about the room, being afraid to fall out of the usual world into … where? Aha, in my God's hall, possibly. It seemed that the world at any time could break up to thin leaflets, together with this your space, and I would appear in the middle of nothing. Everything would break, and I would see nobody from acquaintances. I was afraid that all my acquaintances were just prints on thin leaflets. I don’t understand why I imagine leaflets. But I was afraid that if I imagined it so, the world could meanly act this way! It decided to obey me for some reason! I have to leave. I wouldn’t be able to stay. There was no novelty and objectivity for me. Aristarkh, what he told there? Time of other experiments? No, for some time I had enough of experiments.

At the door knocked. I shuddered. Exhausted with misunderstanding what to do with the new knowledge, I was afraid now that behind the door God, the World, the Universe, all three, came to learn what I wanted from them. And to take away me in … why I stumble, trying to call this place? I precisely know that it’s a false vacuum! The datum calmed me a little, and I resolutely opened the door. Behind the door was neither God, nor the World, nor even the Universe. But it wasn’t much better. Perhaps it would be better if it were these three. At least, from them I knew what to expect. Eric. He smiled and showed me a bottle of wine.

“Hi.” He entered my house. For some reason, it seemed to me that space broke, but I had nerves and imagination played such leapfrog, I could dream not about just that. Some thought, among others, new, important, strange, sparkled as a supernew and failed in a black hole. Yes, I know that stars do on the contrary. “It is possible to drink with God?”

From where did he learn, this damned boy? I suggested Eric to sit with a gesture.

“Of course,” I gave up, looked at "the other experiment", “why not.”