Suddenly he jumped up in terror: Onisimov was coming toward him from the window! Adam shuddered, too, and looked around in panic.

“You wouldn't have saved anything, suspect Kravets,” Onisimov said in an unpleasant voice, “if the head of your department hadn't learned a thing or two in Moscow. You'd be in the defendant's chair right now, comrade pseudo — Kravets. I've managed to put people behind bars with less evidence than this. Do you see?”

This time Krivoshein got his own face back in ten seconds; the practice was paying off.

“You mean, that was you? You let me out? Wait… how do you do that?”

“Using biology?” Adam asked.

“Biology and systemology.” Krivoshein massaged his cheeks calmly. “You see, unlike you two, I remember what it was like being part of the computer — womb.”

“Tell us how you do it,” Kravets nagged.

“I'll tell you, don't worry, all in good time. We'll set up a seminar. Now we're going to use this knowledge in conjunction with our work on the computer — womb. But applying it to life will have to be done very carefully.” He looked at his watch and turned to Kravets and Adam. “It's time. Let's go to the lab. We'll reconstruct your experiment.”

“Hah.. those crazy scientists!” the chief of police laughed and shook his head when Matvei Apollonovich reported the final clearing up of the events at the Institute of Systemology. “You mean, while you were gathering evidence and talking to the academician, the 'corpse' crawled out from under the oilcloth and went to the shower?”

“Yes, exactly. He wasn't himself after the blow to his head, comrade colonel.”

“Naturally! It can take less than that. And the skeleton right next to him. Hah! That's what comes of not studying the scene of the incident carefully enough, comrade Onisimov,” and Aleksei Ignatyevich raised his forefinger didactically. “You didn't take the specifics of the place into account. This isn't going out to see a highway accident or a drowning — it's a scientific laboratory! They've always got a hellish amount of stuff going on. That's science. You were careless, Matvei Apollonovich!”

“Should I tell him how it really was?” Onisimov thought glumly. “No, he wouldn't believe it.”

“But how did that first — aid doctor make such a mistake, declaring a live person dead?” thought the colonel aloud. “Oh, I have a feeling their rate of success isn't very high. She looked at him, saw that the man was poorly, figured he'd die in the clinic anyway, and this way their statistics would look better if he was DO A.”

“Maybe she just made a mistake, Aleksei Ignatyevich,” Onisimov defended her generously. “He was in shock, deep faint, and wounded. And so she — “

“Perhaps. Too bad that Zubato wasn't there. He always goes on the pattern of spots and marks on the body. He's never wrong. Hm… of course, it would have been nice to have called this a solved case — the end of the quarter is coming up, and it would have looked good — but to hell with the statistics. The important thing is that everyone is alive and well. Yet,” he looked at Onisimov, “there's still the discrepancy with Kravets's papers. What about that?”

“Our expert couldn't find any evidence of tampering at all, Aleksei Ignatyevich. They're papers like any papers. Maybe the Kharkov police made a mistake.”

“Well, that's a problem for the passport people, not us. The man didn't commit any crimes — and the case is closed. But what about you, Matvei Apollonovich?” Aleksei Ignatyevich wrinkled up his face merrily and leaned back in his chair. “You wanted to turn the case over to the security organizations. We would really have looked wonderful if we had! Didn't I tell you: the most seemingly confused cases are always the simplest.”

And his small wise eyes, set under heavy brows, were surrounded with a sunburst of raylike wrinkles.

They were walking through Academic Town at midday: Adam on the right, Krivoshein in the middle, Kravets on the left. The asphalt, softened by the heat, was spongy under their feet.

“Now we'll be able to work with some knowledge,” Krivoshein was saying. “We've learned quite a bit and we'll learn a lot more. And we're getting a sense of direction, too. Victor Kravets, did Adam tell you his idea?”

“He did.”

“And why are you so indifferent to it?”

“Well, it's just one more method. So what?”

Adam glowered, but said nothing.

“Why do you say that! The computer — womb introduces information into man firmly and for a long time, for his whole life, not just for the time of the session. And art information could change the personality of a man, improve it — well, the way they improved your appearance compared to mine! Of course, this is serious business, not like going to a movie. We'll give them fair warning: after being processed by us you will permanently lose your ability to lie, be petty, bully, and fabricate. Not only will you be actively kept from doing evil, but you'll even lose the ability to hold back from doing good. We can't guarantee that you will be happy in the sense of having all your needs and wants satisfied. Life will be clearer and harder. But you will be Man!”

“A joke!” Kravets said. “A way of returning lost innocence!”

“Why do you say that?” Adam and Krivoshein exclaimed in unison.

“Because, basically you are planning to simplify and strictly program man with the help of art information. Even if it's programming for good, for honesty, for self — denial, for a beautiful soul — you won't have a man; you'll have a robot! If a man doesn't lie or bite others because he doesn't know how it's done, there's no merit in his behavior. He'll live, gather additional information and he'll learn — and he'll lie. It's not hard. But if he knows how to lie and be crafty and put the squeeze on people (and we all know how it's done; we just don't admit it) and he knows that applying these little procedures will make his life simpler, and he still doesn't behave that way — not because he's afraid of being caught but because he knows that would make life for him and others less desirable — then that's a real Man!”

“Well put,” Krivoshein said, “but complicated.”

“And people are complicated, and are becoming ever more complicated — and there's no way to simplify them. Why can't you see that? There's nothing you can do. People know that evil exists in the world and they take it into account in their thoughts, words, and deeds. No matter what noble — minded information you might introduce into them and no matter how you did it, it would only make them more complex. And that's all!”

“Wait,” Adam said angrily. “You don't have to simplify people to make them better. You're right: man is no robot, and you can't limit him with a strict program of good intentions. And it shouldn't be done. But art information could instill a clear understanding of what's good in the long run, not just profitable, and what's bad.”

“But his goals will remain the same and everything will be subordinate to them. And you can't inculcate goals in a person — even good ones — otherwise you're talking about good — natured robots.” Kravets looked at the doubles and laughed. “I'm afraid sheer technology isn't the answer. Hasn't it occurred to you that our search for an absolute method comes not from the mind but from a fierce engineering faith in the ability of science and technology to do everything? Yet they can't, you know, and this approach will get us nowhere. I see a different, clear direction. A new science will develop from our research — Experimental and Theoretical Humanology. A major and necessary science, but not only a science, it will be a whole field of knowledge. It will say: here's what you are, man. And humanotechnology will arise. It must sound horrible now — a technology of synthesis and introduction of information into man. It will include everything from medicine to mathematics and from electronics to the arts, but it will still only be technology. It will say: here's what you can do, man. This is how you can change yourself. And then let each and every person think and decide on his own: what do you want, man? what do you want from yourself?”