Damon Knight - Orbit 20

“It’s the latest thing, John,” said Mary James to her husband. “Why, Jim and Elsie have had theirs for two weeks, and the Martins have ordered theirs. We simply must have one—and think of how much fun it will be to watch it grow.”

John James scanned the brochure his wife offered him. In large, brightly colored letters, it proclaimed the desirability of ordering “your Synergy Sculpture” today.

“I don’t understand what it does,” he said.

“Look here, silly,” said Mary, pointing to a paragraph headed “HOW IT WORKS.” “See, we tune it to our thought waves, we plug it in and then we watch it grow.” A vengeful look came into her eyes. In a moment she added a smile. “I’ll bet we can grow a better one than Jim and Elsie, even if they are two weeks ahead already.”

“Have you read this?” John asked, pointing to the brochure.

Mary nodded. “Well, it says here: ‘The Synergy Sculpture is not a toy. It is a sensitive scientific instrument designed to aid couples and groups in becoming more aware of their emotional interactions. The Synergy Sculpture measures emotional interactions among the two to ten people to whom the unit is tuned—not individual emotional states. It has been used successfully by hundreds of psychotherapists throughout the world as a monitor of the growth of couples and groups toward emotionally mature relationships!” “So?”

“So, what do we need it for? Don’t you think I’m emotionally mature enough for you?”

“Oh, that’s not the point, and you know it.”

John shrugged. “So the thing measures our vibes,” he said, “and grows.”

“Right,” said Mary enthusiastically. “And the better the vibes between us, the more complex, colorful, and beautiful it gets.”

“What happens if our vibes aren’t so good?”

“You’re always pessimistic.” She sighed. “If we fight, then it stops growing. If we continue fighting, then it starts to wilt, to die. But that won’t happen,” she added quickly. “We love each other, right? So the sculpture will pick that up, and in no time it’ll be bigger and better than anyone else’s.”

John gave in. “We might as well get one, I guess. Maybe we’ll learn something.” If they failed, they could always hide the thing in the closet.

The Synergy Sculpture arrived four days later. It was a glass case three feet square and four feet tall. The mechanism itself was encased in the bottom six inches, and this portion was opaque. On the back face were an on-off switch, the power cord, and inputs to tune the mechanism. The sculpture itself would grow in the three and a half foot volume enclosed by clear glass.

The salesman who brought the sculpture also brought the leads which he used to tune the mechanism to John and Mary. It was a simple procedure. He attached the electrodes to both for a few moments, and that was it. The sculpture was now sensitive to any interaction between John and Mary.

“That’s all there is to it,” the salesman said, as he wrapped up the leads and prepared to leave. “The sculpture should begin to form within an hour. The mechanism itself is guaranteed for five years, although it may need periodic sensitivity adjustments. If there seem to be any problems, just give me a call. The manual explains what the various shapes of sculpture mean in terms of your relationship. Remember, if you turn it off, or unplug it, the sculpture will disintegrate, and you’ll have to start all over. I hope you enjoy it. Good-bye.”

As soon as the door closed behind the salesman, Mary turned to John and flung her arms about him.

“I love you,” she said.

“Want it to get a good start, huh?” said John, laughing.

“Why not? Can you think of a better way to get it going?” She smiled coquettishly at him.

“No, I guess not.”

An hour later the sculpture had indeed begun to grow. John and Mary sat before it in dim light. On the left side five small mounds had erupted. They were reddish, and had begun to sprout small tendrils of green. On the other side a single stalk of pink had risen about two inches high. It was round and had sprouted limbs that made it look vaguely like a cactus.

“If we let anyone see this, they’ll know what it is we do all the time,” said John.

“What do you mean?”

“Well,” said John, waving his hand at it, “pink and red are the colors of passion, aren’t they?”

“They must be,” said Mary, with an exaggerated sigh. They both laughed, and cuddled even closer.

Two days later the sculpture was about eight inches tall at its highest point and was growing steadily. It was also becoming more complex. At first it had been growing mostly in treelike forms—the manual said this was a normal beginning, but primitive if it got no further. Now it was beginning to generate a wide variety of color, and was generating more complex and beautiful shapes. There were spheres and cubes and pyramids, and some of these were continuing to develop, twisting upon themselves in a complex fashion. At one point, hanging from a bent limb, a transparent green teardrop had grown stalactites and stalagmites of shimmering yellow. The central stalk of the cactuslike form had shot up to a height of six inches; then the tip of it had opened and curved outward in an unbroken film which descended to encase the entire structure. In all, it was impressive, although small compared to the volume it had to grow in.

John was the first home from work that evening. He immediately undressed and headed for the shower; it had been a long, hard day. John was a computer programmer at the university. The system had been down most of the day, and of course, he had had an extra heavy schedule as well. The result was a day of frustration at being unable to run programs, and anger at people who didn’t understand that there was nothing he could do about it, and would not leave him alone to do what he was paid for— programming.

He heard Mary come in and call hello. He pretended not to hear. After his shower, he put on his robe and slippers and joined Mary in the living room. She was examining the sculpture.

“Did you look?” she asked excitedly. Without waiting for him to answer, she turned back to the sculpture. “See? This blue globe is turning in on itself again. Now there’s the flowerlike thing within the globe within another globe. The manual says the more complex they get, like that, the more emotionally mature the relationship is.”

She looked back at John, who had collapsed into an easy chair. His eyes were closed.

“Did you hear me?” she asked, after a moment.

“I heard, I heard.”

“Well, did you see what I’m talking about?”

“No, I didn’t see what you’re talking about.” He slumped further into the chair. “And I can’t say I really care, at the moment.”

“What got into you?”

“I had a bad day.”

“So you bring it home and snap at me?”

“Where else am I supposed to bring it? I suppose it should magically go away when I step in the door?”

“Lower your voice,” she said.

“Why should I? It feels good to shout now and then.”

Mary looked back at the sculpture. The colors seemed paler. Then she noticed that the double-globed flower was changing.

“John, look.” The note of concern in her voice made him open his eyes. He went over to the sculpture and knelt beside her.

The double-globed flower was fading to a murky white color; then, while they watched, the whole thing—the two outer globes and the flower—distorted, seeming to melt like hot wax. But it didn’t drip, just melted into itself and was gone. The whole sculpture seemed to have lost some of its brightness.

“It’s so sensitive,” John said. “We destroyed it with our argument.” He turned to Mary. “I’m sorry, honey. I should have thought before I snapped at you.”