Lem, Stanislaw by The Cyberiad

Author:The Cyberiad [v1.0] [htm] [Cyberiad, The]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2012-07-07T21:01:21+00:00

"Sure, why not? Do you have a

jug?"

"No."

"That's all right, we can do

without one/' said Trurl. "The method is simplicity itself: take

as many atoms of hydrogen as the weight of an atom of gold, namely

one hundred and ninety-six; first you shell the electrons, then knead

the protons, working the nuclear batter till the mesons appear,

and now sprinkle your electrons all around, and voila, there's the

gold. Watch!"

And Trurl began to catch atoms,

peeling their electrons and mixing their protons with such nimble

speed, that his fingers were a blur, and he stirred the subatomic

dough, stuck all the electrons back in, then on to the next

molecule. In less than five minutes he was holding a nugget of

the purest gold, which he presented to the face; it took a sniff and

said with a nod:

"Yes, that's gold, but I'm too

big to go running around like that after atoms."

"No problem, we'll give you a

suitable machine!" coaxed Trurl. "Just think, this way you

can turn anything into gold, not only hydrogen—we'll give you

the formula for other atoms, too. Why, one could make the entire

Universe gold, if only he applied himself!"

"If the Universe was gold, gold

would be worthless," observed Pugg. "No, I have no use for

your formula—I've written it down, yes, but that's not enough!

It's the wealth of knowledge that I crave."

"But what do you want to know,

for heaven's sake?!"

"Everything!"

Trurl looked at Klapaucius, Klapaucius

looked at Trurl, and the latter finally said:

"If first you will solemnly

swear, up and down and cross your heart, that you will let us go, we

will give you information, information about infinite

information, that is, we will make you your very own Demon of the

Second Kind, which is magical and thermodynamical, nonclassical and

stochastical, and from any old barrel or even a sneeze it will

extract information for you about everything that was, is, may be or

ever will be. And there is no demon beyond this Demon, for it is of

the Second Kind, and if you want it, say so now!"

The pirate with the Ph.D. was

suspicious, and didn't agree all at once to these conditions, but

finally swore the required oath, with the stipulation that the Demon

first give clear proof of its informational prowess. Which was fine

with Trurl.

"Now pay attention, big-face!"

he said. "Do you have any air knocking about? Without air the

Demon won't work."

"I have a little," said

Pugg, "but it's not too clean…"

"Stale, stagnant, polluted, it

doesn't matter, not in the least," replied the constructors.

"Lead us to it, and we'll show you something!"

So he withdrew his face and let them

leave the ship, and they followed him to his house, noticing that he

had legs like towers, shoulders like a precipice, and hadn't been

washed for centuries, nor oiled, hence creaked something awful. They

went down cellar corridors, with sacks moldering on every hand—in

these the pirate kept his stolen facts —bunches and bundles of

sacks, all tied with string, and the most important, valuable items

marked in red pencil. On the wall hung an immense catalog, fastened

to the rock by a rust-eaten chain and full of entries and headings,

beginning, of course, with A. On they went, raising muffled

echoes, and Trurl

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