Free The Star Diaries by Stanislaw Lem Page B

Crampfousse, and if I add that the list contained, moreover, such entries as The Perfect Crime, The Black Corpse Mystery and The ABC Murders of Agatha Christie, then you can well imagine, gentlemen, what terrible influence this must have had on the otherwise innocent mind of the Computer.
    “For indeed, we seek as much as possible to keep our electrobrains in ignorance about this dreadful side to human nature. But now that the regions of Procyon are inhabited by the metallic brood of a machine filled with the history of Earth’s degeneracy, perversion and crime, I must confess—alas—that mechanical psychiatry is in this particular instance absolutely helpless. I have nothing more to say.”
    And the broken old man left the podium and tottered to his seat, accompanied by a deathly silence. I raised my hand. The chairman looked at me with surprise, but after a moment’s hesitation gave me the floor.
    “Gentlemen!” I said, rising to my feet. “The matter, I see, is grave. Its full ramifications I was able to appreciate only upon listening to the cogent words of Professor Gargarragh. And therefore I should like to submit to this respected assembly the following proposal. I am prepared to set off, alone, for Procyon, in order to take stock of the situation there, solve the mystery of the disappearance of thousands of your people, and in the process do what I can to bring about a peaceful settlement to the growing conflict. I am fully aware that this task is far more difficult than any I have ever undertaken, but there are times, gentlemen, when one must act without regard to the chances of success or the risks involved. And so, gentlemen…”
    My words were lost in a burst of applause. I shall pass over what transpired afterwards in the course of the meeting, since it would sound too much like a mass ovation in my honor. The commission and the assembly conferred upon me every conceivable sort of power. The following day I met with the director of the Procyon division and the chief of Cosmic Reconnaissance, both in the person of a Counselor Malingraut.
    “You’re leaving today?" he said. “Wonderful. But not in your own rocket, Tichy. That’s out of the question. In such missions we employ special rockets.”
    “Why?” I asked. “Mine is perfectly adequate.”
    “I don’t doubt its capability,” he replied, “but this is a matter of camouflage. You’ll go in a rocket that on the outside looks like anything but a rocket. It will be—but you’ll see for yourself. Also, you must land at night…”
    “At night?” I said. “The flame from the exhaust will give me away…”
    “We’ve always used that tactic,” he said, clearly troubled.
    “Well, I’ll keep an eye out when I get there,” I said. “I have to go in disguise?”
    “Yes. It’s necessary. Our experts will take care of you. They’re waiting now. This way, if you don’t mind…”
    I was led through a secret corridor to a place that resembled a small operating room. Here four people began to work on me. After an hour they brought me before a mirror—I couldn’t recognize myself. Encased in iron, with square shoulders and an equally square head, and glass apertures instead of eyes, I looked like a perfectly average robot.
    “Mr. Tichy,” said the make-up man in charge, “there are a few important things you must remember. The first is, not to breathe.”
    “You must be mad,” I said. “How can I not breathe? I’ll suffocate!”
    “A misunderstanding. Obviously you are allowed to breathe, but do it quietly. No sighs, no panting or puffing, no deep inhalation—keep everything inaudible, and for the love of God don’t sneeze. That would be the end of you.”
    “Right, what else?” I asked.
    “For the trip you'll receive a complete set of back issues of both the Electron Courier and the opposition newspaper, The Outer Space Gazette.”
    “They have an opposition?”
    “Yes, but it’s also run by the Computer. Professor Urp