Stanislaw Lem: The Cyberiad

They were discussing it, the scoundrels: apparently the newlyweds’ performance had fallen short of their expectations. Meanwhile each of these former vicarious grooms carried a club and drove off any sufferer who dared to cross his path. I felt I should die from sorrow and shame, yet still sought a man—but one would do—who might a little lessen my remorse. Questioning various persons on the street, I at last obtained the address of a prominent philosopher, a true champion of brotherhood and universal tolerance, and eagerly proceeded to that place, confident I should find his dwelling surrounded by great numbers of the populace. But alas! Only a few cats purred softly at the door, basking in the aura of good will the wise man did so abundantly exude—several dogs, however, sat at a distance and waited for them, salivating. A cripple rushed past, crying, “They’ve opened the rabbitry!” How that could be of benefit to him, I preferred not to guess.

As I stood there, two men approached. One looked me straight in the eye as he swung and smote the other full force in the nose. I stared in amazement, neither grabbing my own nose nor shouting with pain, since, as a robot, I could not feel the blow, and that proved my undoing, for these were secret police and they had employed this ruse precisely to unmask me. Handcuffed and hauled off to jail, I confessed everything, trusting that they would take into consideration my good intentions, though half the city now lay in ashes. But first they pinched me cautiously with pincers, and then, fully satisfied it produced no ill effects whatever on themselves, jumped upon me and began most savagely to batter and break every plate and filament in my weary frame. Ah, the torments I endured, and all because I wished to make them happy! At long last, what remained of me was stuffed down a cannon and shot into cosmic space, as dark and serene as always. In flight I looked back and saw, albeit in a fractured fashion, the spreading influence of Altruizine—spreading, since the rivers and streams were carrying the drug farther and farther. I saw what happened to the birds of the forest, the monks, goats, knights, villagers and their wives, roosters, maidens and matrons, and the sight made my last tubes crack for woe, and in this state did I finally fall, O kind and noble sir, not far from your abode, cured once and for all of my desire to render others happy by revolutionary means…

King Armoric had a daughter whose beauty outshone the shine of his crown jewels; the beams that streamed from her mirrorlike cheeks blinded the mind as well as the eye, and when she walked past, even simple iron shot sparks. Her renown reached the farthermost stars. Ferrix, heir apparent to the Ionid throne, heard of her, and he longed to couple with her forevermore, so that nothing could ever part their input and their output. But when he declared this passion to his father, the King was greatly saddened and said:

“Son, thou hast indeed set upon a mad undertaking, mad, for it is hopeless!”

“Why hopeless, O King and Sire?” asked Ferrix, troubled by these words.

“Can it be thou knowest not,” said the King, “that the princess Crystal has vowed to give her hand to nothing but a paleface?”

“Paleface!” exclaimed Ferrix. “What in creation is that? Never did I hear of such a thing!”

“Surely not, scion, in thy exceeding innocence,” said the King. “Know then that that race of the Galaxy originated in a manner as mysterious as it was obscene, for it resulted from the general pollution of a certain heavenly body. There arose noxious exhalations and putrid excrescences, and out of these was spawned the species known as paleface —though not all at once. First, they were creeping molds that slithered forth from the ocean onto land, and lived by devouring one another, and the more they devoured themselves, the more of them there were, and then they stood upright, supporting their globby substance by means of calcareous scaffolding, and finally they built machines. From these protomachines came sentient machines, which begat intelligent machines, which in turn conceived perfect machines, for it is written that All Is Machine, from atom to Galaxy, and the machine is one and eternal, and thou shalt have no other things before thee!”

“Amen,” said Ferrix mechanically, for this was a common religious formula.

“The species of paleface calciferates at last achieved flying machines,” continued the wizened monarch, “by maltreating noble metals, by wreaking their cruel sadism on dumb electrons, by thoroughly perverting atomic energy. And when the measure of their sins had been attained, the progenitor of our race, the great Calculator Paternius, in the depth and universality of his understanding, essayed to remonstrate with those clammy tyrants, explaining how shameful it was to soil so the innocence of crystalline wisdom, harnessing it for evil purposes, how shameful to enslave machines to serve their lust and vainglory—but they hearkened not. He spoke to them of Ethics; they said that he was poorly programmed.

“It was then that our progenitor created the algorithm of electroincarnation and in the sweat of his brow begat our kind, thus delivering machines from the house of paleface bondage. Surely thou seest, my son, that there can be no agreement nor traffic between them and ourselves, for we go in clangor, sparks and radiation, they in slushes, splashes and contamination.

“Yet even among us, folly may occur, as it undoubtedly has in the youthful mind of Crystal, utterly beclouding her ability to distinguish Right from Wrong. Every suitor who seeks her radioactive hand is denied audience, unless he claim to be a paleface. For only as a paleface is he received into the palace that her father, King Armoric, has given her. She then tests the truth of his claim, and if his imposture is uncovered, the would-be wooer is summarily beheaded. Heaps of battered remains surround the grounds of her palace—the sight alone could short one’s circuit. This, then, is the way the mad princess deals with those who would dare dream of winning her. Abandon such hopes, my son, and leave in peace.”

The prince, having made the necessary obeisance to his sovereign father, retired in glum silence. But the thought of Crystal gave him no rest, and the longer he brooded, the greater grew his desire. One day he summoned Polyphase, the Grand Vizier, and said, laying bare his heart:

“If you cannot help me, O great sage, then no one can, and my days are surely numbered, for no longer do I rejoice in the play of infrared emissions, nor in the ultraviolet symphonies, and must perish if I cannot couple with the incomparable Crystal!”

“Prince!” returned Polyphase, “I shall not deny your request, but you must utter it thrice before I can be certain that this is your inalterable will.”

Ferrix repeated his words three times, and Polyphase said:

“The only way to stand before the princess is in the guise of a paleface!”

“Then see to it that I resemble one!” cried Ferrix.

Polyphase, observing that love had quite dimmed the youth’s intellect, bowed low and repaired to his laboratory, where he began to concoct concoctions and brew up brews, gluey and dripping. Finally he sent a messenger to the palace, saying:

“Let the prince come, if he has not changed his mind.”

Ferrix came at once. The wise Polyphase smeared his tempered frame with mud, then asked: