Lem, Stanislaw (24 page)

sooner or later would have gotten the impression that his subjects

were not real subjects at all, but puppets, marionettes. Try to

understand, there was no other way to do it! Anything that would

have destroyed in the littlest way the illusion of complete reality,

would have also destroyed the importance, the dignity of

governing, and turned it into nothing but a mechanical game. …"

"I understand, I understand all

too well!" cried Klapaucius. "Your intentions were the

noblest—you only sought to construct a kingdom as lifelike as

possible, so similar to a real kingdom, that no one, absolutely no

one, could ever tell the difference, and in this, I am afraid, you

were successful! Only hours have passed since your return, but for

them, the ones imprisoned in that box, whole centuries have gone by

—how many beings, how many lives wasted, and all to gratify and

feed the vanity of King Excelsius!"

Without another word Trurl rushed back

to his ship, but saw that his friend was coming with him. When he had

blasted off into space, pointed the bow between two great clusters of

eternal flame and opened the throttle all the way, Klapauciussaid:

"Trurl, you're hopeless. You

always act first, think later. And now what do you intend to do when

we get there?"

"I'll take the kingdom away from

him!"

"And what will you do with it?"

"Destroy it!" Trurl was

about to shout, but choked on the first syllable when he realized

what he was saying. Finally he mumbled:

"I'll hold an election. Let them

choose just rulers from among themselves."

"You programmed them all to be

feudal lords or shiftless vassals. What good would an election do?

First you'd have to undo the entire structure of the kingdom, then

assemble from scratch…"

"And where," exclaimed

Trurl, "does the changing of structures end and the tampering

with minds begin?!" Klapaucius had no answer for this, and they

flew on in gloomy silence, till the planet of Excelsius came into

view. As they circled it, preparing to land, they beheld a most

amazing sight.

The entire planet was covered with

countless signs of intelligent life. Microscopic bridges, like

tiny lines, spanned every rill and rivulet, while the puddles,

reflecting the stars, were full of microscopic boats like floating

chips… The night side of the sphere was dotted with glimmering

cities, and on the day side one could make out flourishing

metropolises, though the inhabitants themselves were much too

little to observe, even through the strongest lens. Of the king there

was not a trace, as if the earth had swallowed him up.

"He isn't here," said Trurl

in an awed whisper. "What have they done with him? Somehow they

managed to break through the walls of their box and occupy the

asteroid…"

"Look!" said Klapaucius,

pointing to a little cloud no larger than a thimble and shaped like a

mushroom; it slowly rose into the atmosphere. "They've

discovered atomic energy… And over there—you see

that bit of glass? It's the remains of the box, they've made it into

some sort of tern-pie…"

"I don't understand. It was only

a model, after all. A process with a large number of parameters, a

simulation, a mock-up for a monarch to practice on, with the

necessary feedback, variables, multistats…" muttered

Trurl, dumbfounded.

"Yes. But you made the

unforgivable mistake of over-perfecting your replica. Not wanting to

build a mere clock-like mechanism, you inadvertently—in your

punctilious way —created that which was possible, logical and

inevitable, that which became the very antithesis of a mechanism…"

"Please, no more!" cried

Trurl. And they looked out upon the asteroid in silence, when

suddenly something bumped their ship, or rather grazed it slightly.

They saw this object, for it was illumined by the thin ribbon of

flame that issued from its tail. A ship, probably, or perhaps an

artificial satellite, though remarkably similar to one of those steel

boots the tyrant Excelsius used to wear. And when the constructors

raised their eyes, they beheld a heavenly body shining high above the

tiny planet—it hadn't been there previously—and they

recognized, in that cold, pale orb, the stern features of Excelsius

himself, who had in this way become the Moon of the

Microminians.

Tale

of the Three

Storytelling Machines

of King Genius

One day to Trurl's abode there came a

stranger, and it was plain just as soon as he alighted from his

photon phaeton that here was no ordinary personage but one who hailed

from distant parts, for where all of us have arms he had only a

gentle breeze, and where there are usually legs he had nothing but a

shimmering rainbow, and in lieu of a head he sported a plumed fedora;

his voice issued forth from his center, and indeed, he was a perfect

sphere, a sphere of the most engaging appearance and girdled with an

elegant semipermeable cummerbund. Bowing low to Trurl, he revealed

that there were really two of him, the top half and the bottom; the

top was called Synchronicus, the bottom Symphonicus. To Trurl this

seemed an excellent solution to the problem of constructing

intelligent beings, and he had to confess he had never met an

individual so well turned, so precise, and with such a fine shine.

The stranger returned the compliment by praising Trurl's corpus, then

broached the purpose of his visit: a close friend and loyal servant

of the famous King Genius, he had come to place an order for three

storytelling machines.

"Our mighty lord and sovereign,"

he said, "has long refrained from all reigning and ruling,

to which total abdication he was brought by a wisdom achieved

through careful study of the ways of this and other worlds. Leaving

his kingdom, he retired to a dry and airy cave, there to give

himself up to meditation. Yet oft times sorrow comes upon him, and

self-abhorrence, and then nothing can console him but stories,

stories that are new and unusual. But alas, the few of us who have

remained faithfully at his side ran out of new stories long ago. And

so we turn to you, O constructor, to help us divert our King by means

of machines, which you do build so well."

"Yes, that's possible," said

Trurl. "But why do you need as many as three?"

"We should like," replied

Symchrophonicus, spinning slowly, "the first to tell stories

that are involved but untroubled, the second, stories that are

cunning and full of fun, and the third, stories profound and

compelling."

"In other words, to (1) exercise,

(2) entertain and (3) edify the mind," said Trurl. "I

understand. Shall we speak of payment now, or later?"

"When you have completed the

machines, rub this ring," was the reply, "and the phaeton

shall appear before you. Climb into it with your machines, and it

shall carry you at once to the cave of King Genius. There voice your

wishes; he shall do what he can to grant them."

And he bowed again, handed Trurl a

ring, gave a radiant wink and floated back to the phaeton, which was

instantly wrapped in a cloud of blinding light, and the next moment

Trurl was standing alone in front of his house, holding the ring, not

overly happy about what had just transpired.

"Do what he can," he

muttered, returning to his workshop. "Oh, how I hate it

when they say that! It means only one thing: you bring up the matter

of the fee, and that's the end of the curtsies and courtesies; all

you get for your pains is a lot of trouble, and bruises, more often

than not…"

At which the ring stirred in the palm

of his hand and said:

"The expression 'do what he can'

indicates merely that King Genius, lacking a kingdom, is a king of

limited means. He appeals to you, O constructor, as one philosopher

to another—and apparently is not mistaken in so doing, for

these words, I see, uttered though they be by a ring, do not surprise

you. Be then not surprised at His Highness' somewhat straitened

circumstances. Have no fear, you shall receive your payment as

is meet, albeit not in gold. Yet there are things more to be desired

than gold."

"Indeed, Sir Ring," observed

Trurl wryly. "Philosophy is all very well and good, but the ergs

and amps, the ions and the atoms, not to mention other odds and ends

needed in the building of machines—they cost, they cost like

the devil! So I like my contracts to be clear, everything spelled out

in articles and clauses, and with plenty of signatures and seals.

And, though I am hardly the greedy, grasping sort, I do love gold,

particularly in large quantities, and am not ashamed to admit it! Its

sparkle, its yellow hue, the sweet weight of it in the hand—these

things, when I pour a sack or two of tinkling ducats on the floor and

wallow in them, warm my heart and brighten my soul, as if someone had

kindled a little sun within. Aye, damn it, I love my gold!" he

cried, carried away by his own words.

"But why must it be the gold that

others bring? Are you not able to supply yourself with as much as you

desire?" inquired the ring, blinking with surprise.

"Well, I don't know how wise this

King Genius of yours is," Trurl retorted, "but you, I see,

are a thoroughly uneducated ring! What, you would have me make

my own gold? Whoever heard of such a thing?! Is a cobbler a cobbler

to mend his own shoes? Does a cook do his own cooking, a soldier his

own fighting? Anyway, in case you didn't know, next to gold I love to

complain. But enough of this idle chatter, there is work to be done."

And he placed the ring in an old tin

can, rolled up his sleeves and built the three machines in three

days, not once leaving his workshop. Then he considered what external

shapes to give them, wanting something that would be both simple and

functional. He tried on various casings, one after the other, while

the ring kept interfering with comments and suggestions, until he had

to close the can.

Finally Trurl painted the machines—the

first white, the second an azure blue, and the third jet black—then

rubbed the ring, loaded the phaeton which instantly appeared, climbed

in himself and waited to see what would happen next. There was a

whistling and a hissing, the dust rose, and when it fell, Trurl

looked out the window and saw that he was in a large cave, the floor

of which was covered with white sand; then he noticed several wooden

benches piled high with books and folios, and then a row of gleaming

spheres. In one of these he recognized the stranger who had ordered

the machines, and in the middle sphere, larger than the rest and

etched with the lines of old age, he guessed the King. Trurl stepped

down and gave a bow. The King greeted him kindly and said:

"There are two wisdoms: the first

inclines to action, the second to inaction. Do you not agree, worthy

Trurl, that the second is the greater? For surely, even the most

far-sighted mind cannot foresee the ultimate consequences of present

undertakings, consequences therefore so uncertain, that they render

problematical those very undertakings. And thus perfection lies in

the abstention from all action. In this then does true wisdom differ

from mere intellect."

"Your Majesty's words," said

Trurl, "can be taken in two ways. They may contain, for one, a

subtle hint intended to belittle the value of my own labor, namely

the undertaking which has as its consequence the three machines

delivered in this phaeton. Such an interpretation I find most

unpleasant, as it indicates a certain, shall we say, disinclination

regarding the matter of remuneration. Or else we have here simply a

statement of the Doctrine of Inaction, of which it may be said that

it is self-contradictory. To refrain from acting, one must first be

capable of acting. He who does not move the mountain for lack of

means, yet claims that wisdom did dictate he move it not, merely

plays the fool with his display of philosophy. Inaction is certain,

and that is all it has to recommend it. Action is uncertain, and

therein lies its fascination. As for further ramifications of the

problem, if Your Majesty so wishes, I can construct a suitable

mechanism with which he may converse on the subject."

"The matter of remuneration let

us leave to the end of this delightful occasion which has brought you

to our shore," said the King, betraying by slight revolving

motions the great amusement Trurl's peroration had afforded him. "You

are our guest, noble constructor. Come therefore and sit at our

humble table among these faithful friends and tell us of the deeds

you have performed, and also of the deeds you chose not to."

"Your Majesty is too kind,"

replied Trurl. "Yet I fear I lack the necessary eloquence.