Anatoly Dnieprov - The Maxwell Equations

"You're in a bad way. You've a lot to learn," he said.

"Tell me where I am wrong."

"Go on, Deinis, explain to him," they all shouted in unison.

"Very well. Listen. Life is constant circulation of coded electrochemical stimulations along the neurones of your organism."

I thought that over. Circulation of stimulations along neurones. I seemed to remember hearing something like that before.

"Well, carry on."

"All the sensations that go to make up your spiritual ego are nothing but electrochemical impulses that travel from receptors up to the brain to be processed, and then down to effectors."

"Yes, well?"

"All sensations of the outer world pass along the nerve fibres to the brain. Each sensation has its own code, frequency and speed. And these three parameters determine its quality, intensity and duration. Understand that?"

"Let's assume I do."

"Hence life is nothing more nor less than the passage of coded information along your nerve fibres. And thought is the circulation of frequency-modulated information through the neurone synapses in the central regions of the nervous system, that is, in the brain."

"I don't quite understand that," I confessed.

"It's like this. The brain is made up of close on ten thousand million neurones similar to electric relays. They are linked up into an elaborately interconnected system by fibres called axones. These conduct stimulation from neurone to neurone. It is this wandering of stimulation along the neurones that we call thought."

My premonition grew to fear.

"He won't understand a thing until he's been inside the generator or between the walls," shouted several voices at once.

"Well, let's assume you're right. What follows from that?" I said to Deinis.

"That life can be shaped at will. By means of pulse generators stimulating the corresponding codes in the neurone synapses. And that is of enormous practical importance."

"Meaning?" I asked softly, sensing that I was about to get an insight into Kraftstudt and Co.'s activities.

"That can be best explained by an example. Let us consider the stimulation of mathematical activity. Certain backward countries are at present building what are called electronic computers. The number of triggers, or relays, such machines have does not exceed five to ten thousand. The number of triggers in the mathematical areas of the human brain is in the order of one thousand million. Nobody will ever be able to build a machine with anywhere near that number."

"Well, what of it?"

"Here you are: mathematical problems can be solved much more efficiently and cheaply by a mechanism created by Mother Nature and lodged here," Deinis passed his hand across his forehead, "than by any expensive junk built for the job."

"But machines work quicker!" I exclaimed. "A neurone, as far as I remember, can be excited no more than 200 times per second, whereas an electronic trigger can take millions of pulses. That is precisely why fast-working machines are more efficient!"

The ward rocked with laughter again. Deinis alone retained his poker face.

"You're wrong there. Neurones can be made to take impulses at any speed provided the exciter has a sufficiently high frequency. For example, an electrostatic generator operating in the pulsed condition. If you place a brain in the radiation field of such a generator it can be made to work to any speed."

"So that is 'the way Kraftstudt and Co. make their money, is it!" I said, jumping up from the bed.

"He is our teacher!" they all chanted again. "Repeat it, new boy. He is our teacher!"

"Leave him," Deinis ordered suddenly. "He will understand in time that Herr Kraftstudt is our teacher. He doesn't know anything yet. Listen to this, new boy. Every sensation has its own code, its intensity and duration. The sensation of happiness-55 cycles per second with coded series of one hundred pulses each. The sensation of grief-62 cycles with a pause of 0.1 second between pulses. The sensation of joy-47 cycles with pulses increasing in intensity. The sensation of sadness-203 cycles, pain-123 cycles, love-14 cycles, poetic mood-31, anger-85, fatigue-17, sleepiness-eight, and so on. Coded pulses in these frequencies move along the neurones and thus you experience all the sensations I've mentioned. They can all be produced by a pulse generator created by our teacher. He has opened our eyes to the meaning of life."

These explanations made me giddy. I didn't know what to think. The man was either as mad as a hatter or really giving me a glimpse into mankind's future. I was still dizzy from the after-effects of the drug I'd been given in Kraftstudt's study. A wave of weariness swept over me, I lay back and closed my eyes.

"He's under frequency seven to eight cycles! He wants to sleep!" someone shouted.

"Let him have his sleep. Tomorrow he'll start learning life. They'll take him inside the generator tomorrow."

"No, he'll have his spectre recorded tomorrow. He might have abnormalities."

That was the last thing I heard. I slid into deep sleep.

The man I met the next day at first appeared to me quite pleasant and intelligent. When I was led into his study up a floor in the firm's main building he came forward to meet me, smiling broadly, hand stretched out in greeting.

"Ah, Professor Rauch. I'm indeed pleased to meet you."

Returning his greeting with restraint I inquired after his name.

"My name is Boltz, Hans Boltz. Our chief has given me an embarrassing commission-that of extending apologies to you in his name."

"Apologies? Is your chief really subject to pangs of conscience?"

"I don't know. I'm sure I don't know, Rauch. Anyway, he's extending his most sincere apologies to you for all that has happened. He lost his temper. He doesn't like being reminded of the past, you know."

I smiled wryly.

"Why, I did not come with any intention of raking in his past. My interest lay elsewhere. I wanted to meet those who so brilliantly solved-"

"Pray, be seated, Professor. That is exactly what I was going to speak to you about."

I settled in the proffered chair and studied the broadly smiling face behind the large desk. Boltz was a typical north-country German with an elongated face, fair hair and large blue eyes. His fingers were playing with a cigarette-case.

"I'm in charge of the maths department here," he said.

"You? Are you a mathematician?"

"Yes, in a way. At least I have a smattering of it."

"That means I can meet some of them through you?"

"You've already met all of them, Rauch," Boltz said.

I stared at him blank-eyed.

"You've spent a day and night with them."

I remembered the ward and its inmates with their nonsense about impulses and codes.

"Do you expect me to believe those crackpots are the brilliant mathematicians who solved my equations?"

Not waiting for a reply I broke into laughter.

"And yet they are, indeed. Your last problem was solved by a certain Deinis. As far as I know the same individual who last night gave you a lecture on neurocybernetics."

After a few moments' thought I said:

"In that case I don't understand anything. Perhaps you would explain it all to me?"

"With pleasure. Only after you've seen this." And Boltz offered me the morning paper.

I unfolded it slowly and suddenly jumped up. Looking at me from the first page was… my own face framed in black. Over it was the banner caption: "Tragic death of Dr. Rauoh."

"What's the meaning of this, Boltz? What sort of farce is this?" I expostulated.

"Please calm yourself. It's all quite sample really. Last night when crossing the bridge over the river on your way home from a walk near the lake, you were attacked by two escaped lunatics from the Wise Men's Home, killed, mutilated and thrown into the river. Early this morning a corpse was discovered at the dam. The clothes, personal belongings and papers helped to identify the corpse as yours. The police called at the Home this morning and have pieced together a complete picture of your tragic death."