Science Fiction - Daily Short Stories

Man-Made - Albert R Teichner

Listen Ad Free https://www.solgood.org - Listen to hundreds of audiobooks, thousands of short stories, and meditative sounds.

Duration:: 27m
Broadcast on:: 10 Sep 2024
Audio Format:: mp3

When you need meal time inspiration, it's worth shopping King Supers for thousands of appetizing ingredients that inspire countless mouth-watering meals. And no matter what tasty choice you make, you'll enjoy our everyday low prices, plus extra ways to save, like digital coupons worth over $600 each week and up to $1 off per gallon at the pump with points. So you can get big flavors and big savings, King Supers, fresh for everyone, fuel restrictions apply. What if you could have a career where the opportunities are as fast as our nation, where it's not about mission statements but a shared mission? At US Customs and Border Protection, we go beyond to protect more than borders, from ship to shore, air to ground, cities to local communities. CBP agents and officers are keeping people safe. Join US Customs and Border Protection and go beyond for something far greater than yourself. Learn more at CBP.gov/careers. Man Made by Albert R. Teitner. A story that comes to grips with an age-old question. What is soul and where? And postulates an age-new answer. If I listed every trouble I've accumulated in a mere 200-odd years, you might be inclined to laugh. When a tale of woe piles up too many details, it looks ridiculous, unreal. So here, at the outset, I want to say my life has not been a tragic one. Whose life is in this day of advanced techniques and universal goodwill? But that, on the contrary, I have enjoyed this Earth and Solar System and all the abundant interests that it has offered me. If, lying here beneath these great lights, I could only be as sure of joy in the future. My name is Treb Hawley. As far back as I can remember in my childhood, I was always interested in astronautics. From the age of 10, I specialized in that subject, never for a moment regretting the choice. When I was still a child of 24, I took part in the ninth Jupiter expedition, and after that, there were many more. I had a precocious marriage at 30, and my boys, Robert and Neil, were born within a few years after Marla and I wed. It was fortunate that I fought for government permission that early. After the accident, despite my high rating, I would have been denied the rare privilege of parenthood. That accident, the first one, took place when I was 50. On Planet 12 of the Centauri System, I was attacked by a six-limb primate and was badly mangled on the left side before breaking lists to destroy it. Surgical core operated within an hour. Although they did an excellent prosthetic job after removing my left leg and arm, the substituted limbs had their limitations. While they permitted me to do all my jobs, phantom pain was a constant problem. There were new methods of prosthesis to eliminate this weird effect, but these were only available back on the home planets. I had to wait one year for this release. Meanwhile, I had plenty of time to contemplate my mysterious affliction. The mystery of it was so great that I had little chance to notice how painful it actually was. There is enough strangeness in feeling with absolute certainty that a limb exists where actually there is nothing, but the strangeness is compounded when you look down and discover that not only is the leg gone, but that another mechanical one has taken its place. Dr. Eriks, who had performed the operation, said this difficulty would ultimately prove a blessing, but I often had my doubts. He was right. Upon my return to earth, these serious operations took place, those giving me plastic limbs that would become living parts of the organic structure. The same outward push of the brain and nervous system that had created phantom pain now made what was artificial seem real. Not only did my unblood course through the protoplastic, but I could feel it doing so. The adjustment took less than a week, and it was a complete one. Fortunately, the time was already passed when protoplasts patients were looked upon as something mildly freakish and to be pitied. Artificial noses, ears, and limbs were becoming quite common. Whether there was some justification for the earlier reaction of pity, however, still remains to be seen. My career resumed and I was accepted for the next Centauri expedition without any questions being asked. As a matter of fact, planning center preferred people in my condition, protoplasts limbs were more durable than the real. No, let us say the original thing. At home and at the beach, no one bothered to notice my reconstructed arm and leg. They looked too natural for the idea to occur to people who did not know me. And Marla treated the whole thing like a big joke. "You're better than new," she used to tell me, and the kids wanted to know when they could have second-matter limbs of their own. Life was good to me. The one-year periods away from home passed quickly, and a five-year layoffs on Earth permitted me to devote myself to my hobbies, music, and mathematics without taking any time away from my family. Eventually, of course, my condition became an extremely common one. Who is there today among my readers who has all the parts with which he was born? If any such person passed the childhood sixty years did, he would be the freak. Then, at ninety, new difficulties arose. A new centaurian sub-virus attacked my chest marrow. As is still true in this infection, the virus proved to be ineradicable. My ribs weren't, though, and a protoplastic casing exactly like the thoracic cavity was substituted. It was discovered that the infection had spread to my right radius and ulna, so here, too, a simple substitution was made. Of course, such a radical infection meant my circulatory system was contaminated, and synthetically created, living hemoplasts, was pumped in as soon as all the blood was removed. This did attract attention. At the time, the procedure was still new, and some medical people warned it would not take. They were right only to this extent. The old cardio arterial organs occasionally hunted into defective feedback that required systyl-diastol adjustments. Protoplastic circulatory substitutes corrected the deficiency, and, just to avoid the slight possibility of further complications, the venous system was also replaced. Since the changeover, there hasn't been the least trouble in that sector. By then, Marla had a perfect artificial ear, and both of my sons had lost their congenitently diseased livers. There was nothing extraordinary about our family. Only, in my case, were replacements somewhat about the world average. I am proud to say that I was among the first thousand who made the pioneer voyage on hyperdrive to the star group beyond Centaurus. We returned in triumph with our fantastic, but true tales of the organic planet Vida, and the contemplative humanoids of Nerva, who will consciousness into subjectively grasping the life and beauty of the subatomic space. The knowledge we brought back assured that the fatal disease of Anhui could never again attack man, though they lived to alaf null. On the second voyage, Marla, Robert, and Neil went with me. This took a little political wrangling, but it was worth throwing my merit around to see them benefit from Nervaan discoveries, even before the rest of humanity. Planetary Council agreed my services entitled me to this special consideration. Truly, I could feel among the blessed. Then I volunteered for the small expeditionary force to the 38th moon that the Nervaans themselves refused to visit. They tried to dissuade us, but, being of a much younger species, we were less plagued by caution and went anyway. The mountains of this little moon are up to 15 miles high, causing a state of instability that is chronic. Walking down those alabaster valleys was a more awesome experience than any galactic festa I have ever encountered. Our aesthetic sense proved stronger than common sense. Alertness and seven of us were buried in a rock slide. Fortunately, the great rocks formed a cavern above us. After two days, we were rescued. The others suffered such minor injuries that they were repaired before a craft landed on Nerva. I, though, unconscious and feverish was in serious condition from skin abrasions and a common-uted cranium. Dr. Eriks made the only possible prognosis. My skull had to be removed, and a completely new proto-skin had to be supplied also. When I came out of coma, Marla was standing at my bedside, smiling down at me. "Do you feel?" she stumbled. "Darling, I mean, do you feel the way you did?" I was puzzled. "Sure, I'm Treb Holly, I'm your husband, and I remember an awful fall of rocks, but now I feel exactly the way I always have. I did not even realize that further substitutions had been made and did not believe them when they told me about it. Now I was an object of curiosity. Upon our return to earth, the news plastics held me as one of the most highly reintegrated individuals anywhere. In all the teeming domain of men, there were only 700 who had gone through as many substitutions as I had. Where, they philosophized in passing, would a man cease to be a man in the sequence of substitutions? Philosophy had never been an important preoccupation of mine. It was the only discipline no further ahead, and it's really essential questions than the Greeks of 4,000 years ago. Oh, certainly, there had been lots of technical improvements that were fascinating, but these were peripheral points. The basic issues could not be experimentally tested, so they had to remain on the level of accepted or rejected axioms. I wasn't about to devote much time to them and the whole fascinating field of subatomic mirror numbers was just opening up. Certainly not because a few sensational journalists were toying with dead-end notions. For that matter, the news plastics weren't either, and quickly went back to the regular mathematical reportage they do so well. A few decades later, however, I wasn't so cock sure. The old sinterin virus had reappeared in my brain of all places, and it started to have a peculiar feeling about where the end point in all this reintegrating routine would lie. Not that the rain operation was a risk. Thousands of people had already gone through it, and the substitute organisms had made no fundamental change in them. It didn't, in my case, either, but now I was more second-matter than any man in history. "It's the old question of Achilles' ship," Dr. Eriks told me. "Never heard of it," I said. "It's a parable trap, about concretized forms of continuum and its discrete aspects." I see the theoretical question, but what has Achilles' ship to do with it? He furrowed his protoplast brow that looked as youthful as it had a century ago. This ship consisted of several hundred planks, most of them forming the hull, some in the form of benches and ores, and a main mast. It served its primitive purpose well, but eventually sprang a leak. Some of the hull planks had to be replaced, after which it was as good as new. Another year of hard use brought further hull troubles, and some more planks were removed from new ones. Then the mast collapsed, and a new one was put in. After that, the ship was in such good shape. When you need mealtime inspiration, it's worth shopping-king supers, for thousands of appetizing ingredients that inspire countless mouth-watering meals. And no matter what tasty choice you make, you'll enjoy our everyday low prices, plus extra ways to save, like digital coupons worth over $600 each week, and up to $1 off per gallon at the pump with points, so you can get big flavors and big savings, king supers, fresh for everyone, fuel restrictions apply. At Sprouts Farmers Market, you'll always find fresh at the center of the store. Come in to discover a huge selection of the season's best produce, bursting with flavor in every bite. Explore thousands of better-for-you products for every dietary lifestyle, from plant-based and organic to gluten-free and keto-friendly. Scoop up your favorite bulk nuts, fruits, sweets, and more. Perfect for baking or snacking. Visit your neighborhood Sprouts today to explore healthy products down every aisle. Shape that it could outrace most of those just off the ways. I had an uneasy feeling about where this parable was leading us, but my mind shied away from the essential point, and Eric's went relentlessly on. As the years passed, more repairs were made, first a new set of ores, then some more planks, still newer ores, still more planks. Eventually, Achilles, an unthinking man of action, who still tried to be aware of what happened to the instruments of action he needed most, realized that not one splitter of the original ship remained. Was this, then, a new ship? At first he was inclined to say yes, but this only evoked the further question. When had it become the new ship? Was it when the last plank was replaced or when half had been? His confidently stated answer collapsed. Yet how could he say it was the old ship when everything about it was a substitution? The question was too much for him. When he came to Athens, he turned the problem over to the wasman of that city, refusing ever to think about it again. My mind was now in turmoil. What, I demanded, what did they decide? Eric's frowned. Nothing. They could not answer the question. Every available answer was equally right and proved every other right answer wrong. As you know, philosophy does not progress in its essentials. It merely continues to clarify what the problems are. "I prefer to die next time," I shouted. "I want to be a live human being or a dead one, not a machine." Maybe you won't be a machine. Nothing exactly like this has happened before to a living organic being. I knew I had to be on my guard. What peculiar scheme was afoot? You're trying to say something's still wrong with me. It isn't true. I feel as well as I ever have. Your feeling is a dangerous illusion. His face was space dust gray, and I realized with horror that he meant all of it. I had to tell you the parable and show the possible alternatives clearly. Treb, you're riddled with Centurion Z-Virus. Unless we remove almost all the remaining first-growth organisms, you will be dead within six months. I didn't care anymore whether he meant it or not. The idea was too ridiculous. Death is too rare and anachronistic, a phenomenon today. You're the one who needs treatment, doctor. Overwork, too much study, one idea on the brain, too much. Resigned, he shrugged his shoulders. All the first matter should be removed except for the spinal cord and the vertebrae. You'd still have that. "Very kind of you," I said, and walked away, determined to have no more of his lectures, now or in the future. Marla wanted to know why I seemed so jumpy. "Seems is just the word," I snapped, "never felt better in my life." "That's just what I mean," she said, jumpy. I let her have the last word, but determined to be calmer from then on. I was, and as the weeks passed, the mask I put on sank deeper and deeper until that was the way I really felt. "When you can face deaths, serenely, you will not have to face it. That is what Sufalis, one of our leading philosophers, has said. I was living this truth. My work on infinite series went more smoothly and swiftly than any mathematical research I had engaged in before and my senses responded to living with greater zest than ever. Five months later, while walking through a hydroponic park, I felt the first awful trimmer through my body. It was as if the earth beneath my feet were shaking, like that awful afternoon on Nerva's moon. But no rocks fell from the sky, and other strollers moved across my vision as if the world of five minutes ago had not collapsed. The horror was only inside me. I went to another doctor and asked for stabilizine. "Perhaps you need a checkup," he suggested. That was the last thing I wanted, and I said so. He, too, shrugged resanidly and made out my prescription for the harmless drug. After that the hammer of pain did not strike again, but often I could feel it brush by me. Each time my self-administered dosage had to be increased. Eventually, my equations stopped time together in my mind. I would stare at the calculation sheets for hours at a time, asking myself why X should be here, or integral operation there. The truth could not be avoided. My mind could no longer grasp truth. I went engrudging defeat to Eriks. "You have to win," I said, and described my experiences. "Some things are inevitable," he nodded solemnly. "And some are not. This may solve all your problems." "Not all," I hoped, allowed. Marla went with me to hospital. She realized the danger I was in, but put the best possible face on it. Her courage and support made all the difference, and I went into the second matter chamber, ready for whatever fate awaited me. Nothing happened. I came out of the chamber, all protoplast, except for the spinal zone. Yet I was still Treb Holly. As the coma faded away, the last equation faded in, completely meaningful and soon followed by all the leads I could handle for the next few years. Psychophysiology was in an uproar over my success. "Man can now be all protoplast," some said. Others, as vehemently insisted some tiny, but tangible, chromosome organ-link to the past, must remain. For my part, it all sounded very academic. I was well again. There was one unhappy moment when I applied for the new Centauri expedition. "Too much of a risk," the consulting board told me. "Not that you aren't in perfect condition, but there are unknown, untested factors, and out in space they might, mind you, we just say might, disadvantageous." They all looked embarrassed and kept their eyes off me, preferring to concentrate on the metals lined up across the table that were to be my consolation prize. I was disconsulate at first and would look longingly up at the stars, which were now, perhaps forever, beyond my reach. But my sons were going out there, and, for some inexplicable reason, that gave me great solace. Then, too, Earth was still young and beautiful, and so was Marla. I still had the full capacity to enjoy these blessings. "Not for long. When we saw the boys off to Centauri, I had a dizzy spell, and only with the greatest effort hid my distress until the long train of ships had risen out of sight. Then I lay down in the visitor's lounge, from where I could not be moved for several hours. Great waves of pain flashed up and down my spine, as if massive voltages were being released within me. The wrist of my body stood up well to this assault, but every few seconds I had the eerie sensation that I was back in my old body, a ghostly superimposition on the living protoplast, as the spinal cord projected its agony outward. Finally, this pain subsided, succeeded, by a blank numbness. I was carried on gravitational cushions to Eric's office. "It had to be," he sighed, "I didn't have the heart to tell you after the last operation. The subvirus is attacking, the internuncile neurons. I knew what that meant, but was past caring. "We're not immortal, not yet," I said. "I'm ready for the end." "We can still try," he said. I struggled to laugh, but even gave up that little gesture. "Another operation?" "No, it can't make any difference." "It might, we don't know." "How could it?" "Suppose, Treb, just suppose you do come out of it all right." "You'd be the first man to be completely of second matter." "Eric's, it can't work. Forget it." "I won't forget it. You said we're not immortal, but, Treb. Your survival would be another step in that direction. The soul's immortality has to be taken on faith now, if it's taken at all." "You could be the first scientific proof that the developing soul has the momentum to carry past the body in which it grows. At the least you would represent a step in the direction of soul freed from matter." "I could take no more of such talk." "Go ahead," I said. "Do what you want. I give my consent." The last few days have been the most hectic of my life. Dozens of great physicians, flown in from every sector of the solar system, have examined me. "I'm leaving my body to science," I told one particularly prodding group. "But you're not giving it a chance to die. It is easy for me to die now, when you have truly resigned yourself to death. Nothing in life can disturb you. I have, at long last, reached that completely stoical moment. That is why I have recorded this history with as much objectivity as continuing vitality can permit." The operating theater was crowded for my final performance, and several tri-D video cameras stared down at me. "Pupils, lights, and lenses all came to a glittering focus on me. I slowly closed my eyes to blot the hypnotic horror out. But when I opened them everything was still there as before. Then Eric's head, growing as he inspected my face more closely, covered everything else up. "When are you going to be in?" I demanded. "We have finished," he answered in awe that verged upon reverence. "You are the new Adam." There was a mounting burst of applause as the viewers learned what I had said. My mind was working more clearly than it had in a long time, and, with all the wisdom of hindsight, I wondered how anyone could have ever doubted the outcome. We had known all along that every bit of atomic matter in each cell is replaced many times in one lifetime, electron by electron, without the cell's overall form disappearing. Now, by equally gradual steps, it had happened in the vast arena of Newtonian living matter. I sat up slowly, looking with renewed wonder on everything from the magnetic screw in the light above my head to the nail on the wriggling toe of my left foot. I was more than a Kelly's ship, I was a living being at whose center lay a still yet turning point that could neither be new nor old, but only immortal. End of Man Made by Albert R. Teichner When you need meal time inspiration, it's worth shopping king supers for thousands of appetizing ingredients that inspire countless mouth-watering meals. And no matter what tasty choice you make, you'll enjoy our everyday low prices, plus extra ways to save, like digital coupons worth over $600 each week, and up to $1 off per gallon at the pump with points, so you can get big flavors and big savings, king supers, fresh for everyone, fuel restrictions apply. At Sprouts Farmers Market, you'll always find fresh at the center of the store. Come in to discover a huge selection of the season's best produce, bursting with flavor in every bite. Explore thousands of better-for-you products for every dietary lifestyle, from plant-based and organic to gluten-free and keto-friendly. Scoop up your favorite bulk nuts, fruits, sweets, and more, perfect for baking or snacking. Visit your neighborhood Sprouts today to explore healthy products down every aisle.