Stanislaw Lem - Ijon Tichy 02 - Memoirs of a Space Traveler

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Memoirs of a Space Traveler

Further Reminiscences of Ijon Tichy

(the sequel to The Star Diaries)

by Stanislaw Lem

Translated by Joel Stern and Maria Swiecicka-Ziemianek

a.b.e-book v3.0 / Notes at EOF

Back Cover:

"The best science fiction writer working today in any language." -- Newsweek

In this widely acclaimed sequel to The Star Diaries, Ijon Tichy, space traveler of future centuries,

discovers that "out there" isn't very different from "down here." Especially when he finds a galactic society

over which the Plenum Moronicum presides, which appoints as ruler a ruthless Machine; the inhabitants,

docilely cooperating in their own destruction, go by the name of Phools.

Tichy seems to attract inventors of splenetic genius, such as the madman who has invented the

soul, or another who invents kitchen appliances so good at their jobs they might as well be wives or

slaves. Throughout these nine wild adventures, surprise follows witty surprise for the discerning reader of

riotously imaginative fiction.

STANISLAW LEM, who "knows science well enough to be playful about it" (Time), lives in Poland and

is the author of books translated into nearly thirty languages, including Tales of Plrx the Pilot and His

Master's Voice.

Polish-language edition published by Czytelnik, Warsaw 1971.

or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical,

including photocopy, recording, or any information storage and

retrieval system without permission in writing from the publisher.

Requests for permission to make copies of any part of the work should

be mailed to: Permissions, Harcourt Brace Jovanovich, Publishers,

757 Third Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10017.

The following originally appeared in The New Yorker: "The Eighteenth

Voyage," "The Twenty-fourth Voyage," "The Washing Machine Tragedy,"

and "Let Us Save the Universe."

Library of Congress Cataloging in Publication Data

Lem, Stanislaw.

Memoirs of a space traveler.

Translation of: Dzienniki gwiazdowe. 1971.

"A Helen and Kurt Wolff book."

Contents: The eighteenth voyage --

The twenty-fourth voyage --

Further reminiscences of Ijon Tichy -- [etc.]

I. Title.

PG7158.L39D9132 1982 891.8'537 81-47310

ISBN 0-15-658635-5 AACR2

Printed in the United States of America

First Harvest/HBJ edition 1983

A B C D E F G H I J

Publisher's Note

The pieces in this book -- the two Voyages of Ijon Tichy, his reminiscences, his open letter -- all

appeared in the 1971 Polish edition of Dzienniki gwiazdowe (The Star Diaries) but were not included in

the British and American editions titled The Star Diaries and published in 1976. The present book, in

effect, constitutes the second volume of Lem's work of that name.

Contents

The Eighteenth Voyage

The Twenty-fourth Voyage

Further Reminiscences of Ijon Tichy

III

V (The Washing Machine Tragedy)

Doctor Diagoras

Let Us Save the Universe (An Open Letter from Ijon Tichy)

The Eighteenth Voyage

The expedition I want to write about now was, in its consequences and scale, the greatest of my

life. I am well aware that no one will believe me. But, paradoxical as it may seem, the Reader's disbelief

will facilitate my task. Because I cannot claim that I achieved what I intended to achieve. To tell the truth,

the whole thing turned out rather badly. The fact that it was not I who bungled, but certain envious and

ignorant people who tried to thwart my plans, does not ease my conscience any.

So, then, the goal of this expedition was the creation of the Universe. Not some new, separate

universe, one that never before existed. No. I mean this Universe we live in. On the face of it, an absurd,

an insane statement, for how can one create what exists already and what is as ancient and irreversible as

the Universe? Could this be -- the Reader is likely to think -- a wild hypothesis stating that till now

nothing has existed except Earth, and that all the galaxies, suns, stellar clouds, and Milky Ways are only a

mirage? But that's not it at all, because I really did create everything, absolutely Everything -- and thus

Earth, too, and the rest of the Solar System, and the Metagalaxy, which would certainly be cause for

pride, if only my handiwork did not contain so many flaws. Some of these lie in the building material, but

most are in the animate matter, particularly in the human race. This has been my greatest regret. True, the

people I shall mention by name interfered in my efforts, but by no means do I consider myself thereby

absolved. I should have planned, supervised, seen to everything more carefully. Especially since there is

now no possibility for correction or improvement. Since October 20 of last year, I am to blame for all --

and I mean all -- the constructional defects in the Universe and the warps in human nature. There is no

escape from that knowledge.

It all began three years ago, when through Professor Tarantoga I met a certain physicist of Slavic

descent from Bombay. A visiting professor. This scientist, Solon Razglaz, had spent thirty years in the

study of cosmogony, that branch of astronomy that deals with the origin and early formation of the

Universe.

Razglaz reached, after a thorough study of the subject, a conclusion that stunned even him. As

we know, theories of cosmogony can be divided into two groups. One comprises those theories that

regard the Universe as eternal -- in other words, devoid of a beginning. The second holds that at one

time the Universe arose in a violent manner, from the explosion of a Proto-atom. There have always been

difficulties with both views. Regarding the first: Science possesses a growing body of evidence that the

visible Universe is from twelve to twenty billion years old. If something has a definite age, there is nothing

simpler than to calculate back to its zero moment. But an eternal Universe can have no "zero," no

beginning. Under the pressure of new information, most scientists now opt for a Universe that arose from

fifteen to eighteen billion years ago. Initially there was a substance -- call it Ylem, the Proto-atom,

whatever -- that exploded and gave rise to matter and energy, stellar clouds, spiral galaxies, and dark

and bright nebulae, all floating in rarefied gas filled with radiation. This can be precisely and neatly

determined as long as no one asks, "But where did the Proto-atom come from?" For there is no answer

to this question. There are certain evasions, yes, but no self-respecting astronomer is satisfied with them.

Professor Razglaz, before taking up cosmogony, had for a long time studied theoretical physics,

particularly the so-called elementary particles. When his interest switched to the new subject, he quickly

saw that the Universe unquestionably had a beginning. It obviously arose 18.5 billion years ago from a

single Proto-atom. At the same time, however, the Proto-atom from which it sprang could not have

existed. For who could have placed it in that emptiness? In the very beginning there was nothing. Had

there been something, that something, it is clear, would have begun developing at once, and the entire

Universe would have arisen much earlier -- infinitely earlier, to be exact! Why should a primordial

Proto-atom remain inert, waiting motionless for unknown eons? And what in God's name could have

wrenched it so, in that one moment, causing it to expand and fly apart into something so tremendous?

Learning of Razglaz's theory, I often questioned him about what led to his discovery. The origin

of great ideas has always fascinated me, and surely it would be hard to find a greater revelation than

Razglaz's cosmogonic hypothesis! The professor, a quiet and extremely modest man, told me that his

concept was, from the viewpoint of orthodox astronomy, quite outrageous. Every astronomer knows that

the atomic seed from which the Universe is supposed to have sprung is a highly problematical thing. What

do they do about this, then? They sidestep, they evade the issue, because it is inconvenient. Razglaz, on

the other hand, dared to devote all his energy to it. The more he amassed facts, and the more he

rummaged through libraries and built models, surrounding himself with a battery of the fastest computers,

the more clearly he saw that there was something not right.

At first he hoped that eventually he would succeed in diminishing the contradiction, and perhaps

even in resolving it. However, it kept increasing. Because all the data indicated that the Universe arose

from a single atom, but also that no such atom could have existed. Here an obvious explanation

suggested itself, the God hypothesis, but Razglaz set it aside as a last resort. I remember his smile when

he said, "We shouldn't pass the buck to God. Certainly an astrophysicist shouldn't. . ." Pondering the

dilemma for many months, Razglaz reviewed his previous research. Ask any physicist you know, if you

do not believe me, and he will tell you that certain phenomena on the smallest scale occur, as it were, on

credit. Mesons, those elementary particles, sometimes violate the laws of conservation, but they do this

so incredibly fast that they hardly violate them at all. What is forbidden by the laws of physics they do

with lightning speed, as though nothing could be more natural, and then they immediately submit to those

laws again. And so, on one of his morning strolls across the university campus, Razglaz asked himself:

What if the Universe were doing the same thing on a large scale? If mesons can behave impossibly for a

fraction of a second, a fraction so minuscule that a whole second would seem an eternity in comparison,

then the Universe, given its dimensions, might behave in that forbidden way for a correspondingly longer

period of time. For, say, fifteen billion years. . .

It arose, then, although it might well have not arisen, there being nothing from which to arise. The

Universe is a forbidden fluctuation. It represents a momentary aberration, but an aberration of

monumental proportions. It is no less a deviation from the laws of physics than, on the smallest scale, a

meson! Suspecting he was on the right track, the professor immediately went to his laboratory and made

some calculations, which, step by step, verified his idea. But even before he had finished, the realization

came: the solution to the riddle of the origin of the Universe revealed a threat as great as could be

imagined.

For the Universe exists on credit. It represents, with its constellations and galaxies, a monstrous

debt, a pawn ticket, as it were, a promissory note that must ultimately be paid. The Universe is an illegal

loan of matter and energy; its apparent "asset" is actually a "liability." Since the Universe is an Unlawful

Anomaly, it will, one fine day, burst like a bubble. It will fall back into the Nonexistence from which it

sprang. That moment will be a return to the Natural Order of Things!

That the Universe is so vast and that so much has taken place in it is due solely to the fact that we

are dealing with a fluke on the largest possible scale. Razglaz immediately proceeded to calculate when

the fatal term would come, that is, when matter, the Sun, the stars, the planets, and therefore Earth, along

with all of us, would plunge into nothingness as though snuffed out. He learned that it was impossible to

predict this. Of course impossible, given that the Universe was a fluke, a deviation from order! The

danger revealed by his discovery kept him awake at night. After much inner struggle, he chose not to

publish his cosmogonic research, instead acquainting a few eminent astrophysicists with it. These

scientists acknowledged the correctness of his theory and conclusions. At the same time, they felt that

publication of his findings would plunge the world into spiritual chaos and alarm, the consequences of

which could destroy civilization. What man would still desire to do anything -- to move his little finger --

knowing that at any second everything might vanish, himself included?

The matter came to a standstill. Razglaz, the greatest discoverer in all history, agreed with his

learned colleagues. He decided, albeit reluctantly, not to publish his theory. Instead, he began searching

the whole arsenal of physics for ways to assist the Universe somehow, to strengthen and maintain its

debtor's life. But his efforts came to naught. It was impossible to cancel the cosmic debt by anything done

in the present: the debt lay not within the Universe but at its origin -- at that point in time when the

Universe became the mightiest and yet most defenseless Debtor to Nothingness.

It was at this juncture that I met the professor and spent many weeks in conversations with him.

First he outlined for me the essential points of his discovery; then we worked together to find some

means of deliverance.

Ah -- I thought, returning to my hotel with fevered head and despairing heart -- if only I could

have been there, twenty billion years ago, for just a split second! That would be enough to place a single

solitary atom in the void, and the Universe could grow from it as from a planted seed, now in a totally

legitimate way, in accordance with the laws of physics and the principle of conservation of matter and

energy. But how was I to get there?

The professor, when I told him this idea, smiled sadly and explained to me that the Universe

could not have arisen from any ordinary atom; the cosmic nucleus would have had to contain the energy

of all the transformations and events that expanded to fill the metagalactic void. I saw my error, but

continued to mull over the problem. Then, one afternoon, as I rubbed oil on my legs, which were swollen

with mosquito bites, my mind wandered back to the old days, when, while flying through the spherical

cluster of Canes Venatici, I had read theoretical physics for lack of anything better to do. I had been

particularly engrossed in a volume devoted to elementary particles, and I recalled Feynman's hypothesis

that there are particles that move "upstream" against the flow of time. When an electron moves in this

manner, we perceive it then as an electron with a positive charge (a positron). I asked myself, with my

feet in a washbasin: What if we took one electron and accelerated it, accelerated it so much that it would

begin moving backward in time, faster and faster? Couldn't we give it such a tremendous impulse that it

would fly back beyond the beginning of cosmic time to that point when there was still nothing? Couldn't

the Universe arise from this accelerated positron?!

I ran to the professor as I was, my bare feet dripping wet. He immediately realized the magnitude

of my idea and without a word began to calculate. It turned out that the project was feasible: his

calculations showed that the electron, as it moved against the flow of time, would gain greater and greater

energy, so that when it reached beyond the beginning of the Universe, the force accumulated within it

would split it apart, and the exploding particle would release the energy required to cancel the debt. The

Universe then would be saved from collapse, since it would no longer exist on credit!

Now we had only to think about the practical side of the undertaking that was to legitimize the

World or, in short, to create it! As a man of integrity, Razglaz repeatedly said to Professor Tarantoga and

to all his assistants and colleagues that it was I who had originated the concept of the Creation; that

therefore it was I, and not he, who deserved the double title of Creator and Saviour of the World. I

mention this not to boast but to humble myself. Because the endless praise and appreciation that I

received at that time in Bombay, well, I'm afraid it turned my head a little and caused me to neglect my

work. I rested on my laurels, thinking that the most important part had been done -- the intellectual part

-- and that what followed now would be the purely technical details, which others could take care of.

A fatal mistake! Throughout the summer and most of the fall, Razglaz and I determined the

parameters, the characteristics and properties that were to be carried by the electron -- the cosmic seed,

or, perhaps more correctly, the constructional quantum. As for the mechanical aspect of Project Genesis,

we took a huge university synchrophasotron and rebuilt it into a cannon aimed at the beginning of time.

All its power, concentrated and focused in a single particle -- the constructional quantum -- was to be

released on October 20. Professor Razglaz insisted that I, the author of the idea, fire the world-forming

shot from the Chronocannon. Because, you see, this was a unique historical opportunity. Our machine,

our mortar, was to shoot not just any random electron, but a particle suitably remade, reshaped, and

remodeled to bring forth a much more orderly and solid Universe than the one that existed at present.

And we paid particular attention to the intermediate and late stages of Cosmocreation -- the human race!

Of course, to program and pack such an ungodly wealth of information into one electron was no

easy task. I must confess that I did not do everything myself. Razglaz and I shared the work; I thought up

the improvements and corrections, and he translated these into the precise language of the parameters of

physics, the theory of vacuums, the theory of electrons, positrons, and sundry other trons. We also set up

a kind of incubator where we kept test particles in strict isolation. We would choose from among them

the most successful particle, which, as I said, was to give birth to the Universe on October 20.

What good, what wonderful things I planned during those hectic days! How often did I work late

into the night poring over books on physics, ethics, and zoology in order to gather, combine, and

concentrate the most valuable information, which the professor, starting at dawn, fashioned into the

electron, the cosmic nucleus! We wanted, among other things, to have the Universe develop

harmoniously, not as before; to prevent supernovas from jolting it too much; to eliminate the senseless

waste of quasar and pulsar energy; to keep stars from sparking and smoking like damp candlewicks; and

to shorten interstellar distances, which would facilitate space travel and thus bring together and unify

sentient races. It would take volumes to tell of all the corrections I managed to plan in a relatively short

time. But these were not the most important thing. I need not explain why I concentrated on the human

race; to improve it, I changed the principle of natural evolution.

Evolution, as we know, is either the wholesale devouring of the weaker by the stronger

(zoocide), or the conspiracy of the weaker, who attack the stronger from within (parasitism). Only green

plants are moral, living as they do at their own expense, on solar energy. I therefore provided for the

chlorophyllization of all living things; in particular, I devised the Foliated Man. Since this meant the

stomach had to go, I transferred to its location a suitably enlarged nerve center. I did not do all this

directly, of course, having at my disposal only one electron. I simply established, in cooperation with the

professor, that the fundamental law of evolution in the new, debt-free Universe would be the rule of

decent behavior of every life form toward every other. I also designed a much more aesthetic body, a

more refined sexuality, and numerous other improvements I will not even mention, for my heart bleeds at

the recollection of them. Suffice it to say that by the end of September we had completed the

World-creating Cannon and its electron bullet. There were still some highly complicated calculations to

make; these were done by the professor and his assistants, because aiming for a target in time (or, in this

case, before time) was an operation requiring the utmost precision.

I should have stayed on the premises and watched over everything, in view of my tremendous

responsibility. But no, I wanted to unwind. . . and went to a small resort. Actually -- to tell the truth -- I

was all swollen with mosquito bites, and that was why I longed for a dip in the cool ocean. If it hadn't

been for those damned mosquitoes. . . But I'm not going to put the blame on anything or anyone: it was

all my fault. Just before I left, I had a quarrel with one of the professor's colleagues, a certain Aloysius

Bunch. Actually, he was not even a colleague, only a lab assistant, but a fellow countryman of Razglaz's.

This individual, whose job it was to monitor the equipment, demanded -- out of the blue -- that he be

included in the list of Creators. Because -- he said -- if it weren't for him, the cryotron wouldn't work,

and if the cryotron didn't work, the electron wouldn't act properly. . . etc. I laughed at him, naturally, and

he appeared to back down, but actually the man began to make his own plans in secret. He could do

nothing intelligent himself, but he formed a conspiracy with two acquaintances, types who hung around

the Nuclear Research Institute in Bombay in hopes of finding a sinecure. They were the German Ast A.

Roth and the American Lou Cipher.

As was shown by the inquiry conducted after the event, Bunch let them into the lab at night, and

the rest was owing to the carelessness of Professor Razglaz's junior assistant, a doctoral candidate

named Sarpint. Sarpint had left the keys to the safe on a desk, which made the intruders' task all the

easier. He later pleaded illness and presented medical evidence, but the whole institute knew that the jerk

was involved with a certain married woman, one Eve Addams, and was so busy groveling at her feet that

he neglected his official duties. Bunch led his accomplices to the cryotron; they removed the Dewar

vessel from the cryotron, extracted from the vessel the box containing the priceless bullet, and made their

infamous parametric "adjustments," the results of which anyone can see. All you have to do is look

around you. Afterward they pleaded, each upstaging the others, that they had had the "best intentions,"

and had also hoped for glory (!!), especially since there were three of them.

A fine Trinity! As they admitted under the weight of evidence and under the fire of

cross-examination, they had divided up the work. Herr Roth, a former student at Gottingen (but

Heisenberg himself had booted him out for putting pornographic pictures in the Aston Spectograph),

handled the physical side of Creation and made a royal mess of it. It is because of him that the so-called

weak interactions do not correspond to the strong, and that the symmetry of the laws of conservation is

imperfect. Any physicist will immediately know what I mean. This same Roth, who made a mistake in

simple addition, is responsible for the fact that the electron charge, when it is calculated now, gains an

infinite value. It is also thanks to this blockhead that one cannot find quarks anywhere, although in theory

they exist! The ignoramus forgot to make a correction in the dispersion formula! He also deserves

"credit" for the fact that interfering electrons blatantly contradict logic. And to think that the dilemma over

which Heisenberg racked his brains his whole life long was caused by his worst and dullest student!

But he committed a far more serious crime. My Creation Plan provided for nuclear reactions, for

without them there would be no radiant energy of stars, but I eliminated the elements of the uranium

group, so that mankind would be unable to produce atom bombs in the mid-twentieth century -- that is,

prematurely. Mankind was to harness nuclear energy only as the synthesis of the hydrogen nuclei into the

helium, and since that is more difficult, the discovery could not be expected before the twenty-first

century. Roth, however, brought the uranides back into the project. Unfortunately, I was unable to prove

that he had been put up to this by agents of a certain imperialist intelligence agency in connection with

plans of military supremacy. . . The man ought to have been tried for genocide; but for him the Japanese

cities would not have been bombed in World War II.

The second "expert" in this select trio, Cipher, had finished medical school, but his license to

practice was revoked for numerous violations. Cipher handled the biological side and made suitable

"improvements" in it. My own reasoning had gone as follows. The world is the way it is, and mankind

behaves the way it does, because everything arose by chance, that is, haphazardly, through the initial

violation of fundamental laws. One has but to reflect a moment to see that under such conditions things

could be worse! The determining factor, after all, was randomness -- the "Creator" being the fluctuational

caprice of Nothingness, which contracted a monstrous and nightmarish debt by inflating, without rhyme

or reason, the metagalactic bubble!

I recognized, to be sure, that certain features of the Universe could be left as they were, with a

little touching up and correction, so I filled in what was needed. But as far as Man went, ah, there I

became radical. I crossed out all his vileness with one stroke. The foliation I mentioned above, which

replaced body hair, would have helped establish a new ethics, but Mr. Cipher thought hair more

important. He "missed" it, you see. One could make such nice fringes, whiskers, and other fancy things

with it. On the one hand, my morality of fellowship and humanism; on the other, the value system of a

hairdresser! I assure you, you would not know yourselves if it hadn't been for Lou Cipher, who copied

back into the electron from a cassette all the hideous features that you behold in the mirror.

Finally, as for Lab Assistant Bunch, though he was not capable of doing anything himself, he

demanded that his cronies immortalize his part in the Creation of the World. He wanted -- and I shudder

as I write this -- he wanted his name to be visible from every corner of the firmament. When Roth

explained to him that stars cannot form permanent monograms or letters, because of their movements,

Bunch desired that they at least be grouped in large clusters, or bunches. This, too, was done.

On October 20, when I placed my finger on the button of the console, I had no idea what I was

actually creating. It came to light a couple of days later, when we were checking the tapes and

discovered what had been recorded, by the vile trio, in our positron. The professor was crushed. As for

me, I did not know whether to blow out my brains or someone else's. Eventually reason prevailed over

anger and despair, because I knew that nothing could be changed now. I did not even take part in the

interrogation of the miscreants who had befouled the world I created. Professor Tarantoga told me about

half a year later that the three intruders had played in the Creation a role that religion usually assigned to

Satan. I shrugged. What sort of Satan did those three asses make? But the blame is mine; I was careless

and left my post. If I wanted to look for excuses, I could say the culprit was the Bombay pharmacist who

sold me, instead of decent mosquito repellent, an oil that attracted them as honey does bees. But in this

way you could blame God-knows-whom for the flaws in existence. I do not intend to defend myself thus:

I am responsible for the world as it is and for all human failing, since it was in my power to make both

better.

The Twenty-fourth Voyage

On day 1,006, having left the local system of the Nereid Nebula, I noticed a spot on the screen

and tried rubbing it off with a chamois cloth. There was nothing else to do, so I spent four hours rubbing

before I realized that the spot was a planet and rapidly growing larger. Circling this heavenly body, I was

not a little surprised to find that its vast continents were covered with regular patterns and geometric

configurations. I landed with due caution in the middle of an open desert. It was covered with small disks,

perhaps half a meter in diameter; hard and shiny, as if turned on a lathe, they ran in long rows in various

directions, forming the designs I had noticed from a high altitude. After making a few tests, I went cruising

just above the ground seeking an answer to the riddle of the disks, which intrigued me enormously.

During a two-hour flight I discovered, one after the other, three immense and beautiful cities; I touched

down in a square in one of them. But the city was completely deserted; houses, towers, squares,

everything was dead; no sign of life anywhere, or any trace of violence or natural disaster. More amazed

and bewildered than ever, I flew on. Around noon I found myself above a vast plateau. Catching sight of

a shiny building near which there was some sort of movement, I immediately landed. A palace rose from

the rocky plain, sparkling as though cut from a single diamond. A wide marble staircase led up to its

gilded portal. At the foot of the staircase several unfamiliar beings were milling about. I looked at them

close up. If my eyes did not deceive me, they were alive and, moreover, resembled humans so much

(especially from a distance) that I dubbed them "hominiformicans." I was prepared with this name

because I had spent time during my voyage thinking up nomenclature, in order to have terms handy for

such occasions. "Hominiformicans" fit the bill, for these beings walked upon two legs and had hands,

heads, eyes, ears, and lips. True, the lips were in the middle of the forehead, the ears under the chin (a

pair on each side), and the eyes -- ten in all -- were arranged like rosary beads across their cheeks. But

to a traveler like me, who has encountered the most bizarre creatures in the course of his expeditions,

they were the spit and image of humans.

I approached them, keeping a safe distance, and asked what they were doing. They made no

reply, but continued peering into the diamond mirrors that rose from the lowest step of the staircase. I

tried to interrupt them once, twice, three times, but seeing that this had not the slightest effect, in my

impatience I shook one vigorously by the shoulder. Then they all turned in my direction and seemed to

notice me for the first time. After regarding me and my rocket with some astonishment, they asked me

several questions, to which I willingly replied. But because they kept breaking off the conversation to

gaze into the diamond mirrors, I was afraid I would not be able to question them properly. Finally,

however, I managed to persuade one to satisfy my curiosity. This Phool (for, as he told me, they are

called Phools) sat down with me on a rock not far from the stairs. My interlocutor fortunately possessed

considerable intelligence, which showed in the gleam of the ten eyes on his cheeks. He threw his ears

over his shoulders and described the history of the Phools, as follows:

"Alien voyager! You must know that we are a people with a long and splendid past. The

population of this planet has been divided from time immemorial into Spiritors, Eminents, and

Drudgelings. The Spiritors were absorbed in the contemplation of the nature of the Great Phoo, who in a

deliberate creative act brought the Phools into being, settled them on this globe, and in His inscrutable

mercy surrounded it with stars to illumine the night and also fashioned the Solar Fire to light our days and

send us beneficent warmth. The Eminents levied taxes, interpreted the meaning of state laws, and

supervised the factories, in which the Drudgelings modestly toiled. Thus everyone worked together for

the public good. We dwelt in peace and harmony; our civilization reached great heights. Through the ages

inventors built machines that simplified work, and where in ancient times a hundred Drudgelings had bent

their sweating backs, centuries later a few stood by a machine. Our scientists improved the machines,

and the people rejoiced at this, but subsequent events showed how cruelly premature was that rejoicing.

A certain learned constructor built the New Machines, devices so excellent that they could work quite

independently, without supervision. And that was the beginning of the catastrophe. When the New

Machines appeared in the factories, hordes of Drudgelings lost their jobs; and, receiving no salary, they

faced starvation. . ."

"Excuse me, Phool," I asked, "but what became of the profits the factories made?"

"The profits," he replied, "went to the rightful owners, of course. Now, then, as I was saying, the

threat of annihilation hung. . ."

"But what are you saying, worthy Phool!" I cried. "All that had to be done was to make the

factories common property, and the New Machines would have become a blessing to you!"

The minute I said this the Phool trembled, blinked his ten eyes nervously, and cupped his ears to

ascertain whether any of his companions milling about the stairs had overheard my remark.

"By the Ten Noses of the Phoo, I implore you, O stranger, do not utter such vile heresy, which

attacks the very foundation of our freedom! Our supreme law, the principle of Civic Initiative, states that

no one can be compelled, constrained, or even coaxed to do what he does not wish. Who, then, would

dare expropriate the Eminents' factories, it being their will to enjoy possession of same? That would be

the most horrible violation of liberty imaginable. Now, then, to continue, the New Machines produced an

abundance of extremely cheap goods and excellent food, but the Drudgelings bought nothing, for they

had not the wherewithal. . ."

"But, my dear Phool!" I cried. "Surely you do not claim that the Drudgelings did this voluntarily?

Where was your liberty, your civic freedom?!"

"Ah, worthy stranger," sighed the Phool, "the laws were still observed, but they say only that the

citizen is free to do whatever he wants with his property and money; they do not say where he is to

obtain them. No one oppressed the Drudgelings, no one forced them to do anything; they were

completely free and could do what they pleased, yet instead of rejoicing at such freedom they died off

like flies. . . The situation worsened; in the factory warehouses, mountains of unpurchased goods rose

skyward, while swarms of wraithlike, emaciated Drudgelings roamed the streets. The Plenum

Moronicum, the venerable assembly of Spiritors and Eminents that governed the state, conferred all year

round on ways to remedy the evil. Its members gave long speeches and frantically sought a way out of

the predicament, but to no avail. At the very beginning of the deliberations, one member of the Plenum,

the author of a famous work on the nature of Phoolian freedoms, demanded that the constructor of the

New Machines be stripped of his golden laurel wreath and that, on the contrary, his ten eyes be plucked

out. This was opposed by the Spiritors, who begged mercy for the inventor in the name of the Great

Phoo. The Plenum Moronicum spent four months determining whether or not the constructor had

violated the laws of the realm by inventing the New Machines. The assembly split into two camps. The

dispute was, finally, ended by a fire in the archives that destroyed the minutes of the proceedings; since

none of the august members of the Plenum could recall what position they had taken on the issue, the

whole matter was dropped. It was then proposed that the Eminents, who owned the factories, be

requested to cease building the New Machines; the Plenum appointed a committee for this purpose, but

the committee's entreaties had not the slightest effect. The Eminents declared that it was their fondest

wish to continue to produce in this way, for the New Machines worked more cheaply and more swiftly

than did the Drudgelings. The Plenum Moronicum resumed deliberations. A law was drawn up stipulating

that the factory owners give a fixed percentage of their profits to the Drudgelings, but that proposal fell

through, too, for, as Archspiritor Nolab rightly pointed out, such handouts would have corrupted and

degraded the souls of the latter. Meanwhile, the mountains of manufactured goods kept rising, until finally

they began to spill out over the walls of the factories, whereupon mobs of starving Drudgelings rushed up

with threatening cries. In vain did the Spiritors attempt to explain to them, with the greatest kindness, that

they were defying sovereign laws and daring to oppose the Phoo's inscrutable decrees; that they should

endure their lot meekly, for through mortification of the flesh the soul is elevated and gains the certainty of

heavenly reward. The Drudgelings, however, turned a deaf ear to this wisdom, and armed guards were

needed to curb their seditious activity.

"Then the Plenum Moronicum summoned the constructor of the New Machines before Its

August Presence and addressed him as follows:

" 'Learned man! Great danger threatens our state, for rebellious, criminal ideas are arising among

the masses of Drudgelings. They strive to abolish our splendid freedoms and the law of Civic Initiative!

We must make every effort to defend our liberty. After careful consideration of the whole problem, we

have reached the conclusion that we are unequal to the task. Even the most virtuous, capable, and model

Phool can be swayed by feelings, and is often vacillating, biased, and fallible, and thus unfit to reach a

decision in so complicated and important a matter. Therefore, within six months you are to build us a

purely rational, strictly logical, and completely objective Governing Machine that does not know the

hesitation, emotion, and fear that befuddle living minds. Let this machine be as impartial as the light of the

Sun and stars. When you have built and activated it, we shall hand over to it the burden of power, which

grows too heavy for our weary shoulders.'

" 'So be it,' said the constructor, 'but what is to be the machine's basic motivation?'

" 'Obviously, the freedom of Civic Initiative. The machine must not command or forbid the

citizens anything; it may, of course, change the conditions of our existence, but it must do so always in the

form of a proposal, leaving us alternatives between which we can freely choose.'

" 'So be it,' replied the constructor, 'but this injunction concerns mainly the mode of operation.

What of the ultimate goal? What is this machine's purpose?'

" 'Our state is threatened by chaos; disorder and disregard for the law are spreading. Let the

Machine bring supreme harmony to the planet, let it institute, consolidate, and establish perfect and

absolute order.'

" 'Let it be as you have said!' replied the constructor. 'Within six months I shall build the

Voluntary Universalizer of Absolute Order. With this task ahead of me, I bid you farewell. . .'

" 'Wait!' said one of the Eminents. 'The Machine you create should operate not only in a perfect

but also in a pleasant manner; that is, its activity should produce an agreeable impression, one that would

satisfy the most refined aesthetic sensibility. . .'

"The constructor bowed and left in silence. Working arduously and aided by a troop of nimble

assistants, he erected the Governing Machine -- the very one you see on the horizon as a small dark

spot, alien traveler. It is a conglomeration of iron cylinders in which something constantly shakes and

burns. The day it was switched on was a great state holiday; the eldest Archspiritor blessed it solemnly,

and the Plenum Moronicum gave it complete power over the country. Then the Voluntary Universalizer

of Absolute Order emitted a long whistle and set to work.

"For six days the Machine labored, around the clock; in the daytime clouds of smoke hung over

it, and at night it was surrounded by a bright glow. The ground shook for a radius of one hundred and

sixty miles. Then the double doors of its cylinders opened, and out spilled hosts of small black robots,

which, waddling like ducks, scattered over the whole planet, even to its remotest corners. Wherever they

went, they assembled by the factory warehouses and, speaking in a charming and lucid manner,

requested various items, for which they paid at once. Within a week the warehouses were empty, and the

Eminent factory owners sighed with relief: 'Truly the constructor has built us a splendid machine!' Indeed,

it was marvelous to see the robots use the objects they had purchased: they dressed in brocades and

satins, oiled their axles with cosmetics, smoked tobacco, read books -- shedding synthetic tears over the

sad ones; they even managed to consume the most varied delicacies (with no benefit to themselves, of

course, since they ran on electricity, but to the great benefit of the manufacturers). It was only the masses

who were not satisfied; on the contrary, they murmured more and more among themselves. The

Eminents, however, hopefully awaited the Machine's next move, which was not long in coming.

"It assembled large quantities of marble, alabaster, granite, rock crystal, and copper; sacks of

gold and silver, and slabs of jasper; after which, making a terrible din, it raised an edifice no Phoolian eye

had ever beheld -- this Rainbow Palace, traveler, which stands before you!"

I looked. The sun had just emerged from behind a cloud and its beams played on the polished

walls, splitting into flames of sapphire and ruby red; rainbow stripes shimmered around the angle towers

and bastions; the roof, adorned with slender turrets and covered with gold leaf, was all aglow. I feasted

my eye on this magnificence while the Phool went on:

"News of the wondrous building spread over the whole planet. Veritable pilgrimages began

arriving here from the most distant lands. When crowds had filled the commons, the Machine parted its

metal lips and spoke thus:

" 'On the first day of the month of Huskings I shall throw open the jasper portal of the Rainbow

Palace, and then any Phool, be he famous or obscure, will be able to go inside and enjoy what awaits

him there. Until then, restrain your curiosity, for you will satisfy it amply later on.'

"And, verily, on the morning of the first day of Huskings there was a sounding of silver trumpets,

and the palace portal opened with a dull groan. The crowds began to pour inside in a torrent three times

wider than the highway that connects our two capitals, Debilia and Cretinia. All day long, masses of

Phools streamed in, but their numbers on the commons did not diminish, for new ones arrived continually

from the interior of the country. The Machine extended hospitality to all: the black robots distributed

refreshing beverages and hearty food. This went on for a fortnight. Thousands, tens of thousands, finally

millions of Phools had thronged into the Rainbow Palace, but of those who entered, not one returned.

"Some wondered about this and asked where such great numbers of people were disappearing,

but these solitary voices were drowned out by the blaring rhythm of marching bands. Robots scurried

here and there feeding the hungry and thirsty; the silver clocks on the palace towers chimed; and when

night fell, the crystal windows shone with many lights. Finally, as several hundred persons were patiently

waiting their turn on the marble staircase, a shrill cry rang out over the lively beat of the drums;

'Treachery! Listen! The palace is a diabolical trap! Run for your lives! All is lost!'

" 'All is lost!" the crowd on the staircase cried back, then turned and scattered. No one tried to

stop them.

"The following night, several bold Drudgelings stole up to the palace. When they returned, they

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MemoirsofaSpaceTravelerFurtherReminiscencesofIjonTichy(thesequeltoTheStarDiaries)byStanislawLemTranslatedbyJoelSternandMariaSwiecicka-Ziemianeka.b.e-bookv3.0/NotesatEOFBackCover:"Thebestsciencefictionwriterworkingtodayinanylanguage."--NewsweekInthiswidelyacclaimedsequeltoTheStarDiaries,IjonTichy,spa...

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Stanislaw Lem - Ijon Tichy 02 - Memoirs of a Space Traveler

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