I can push the buttons, of course—when somebody decides it is necessary. That is an activity, certainly. But is it enough?
No, much too simple. Why did they make it so easy? Just pushing a few buttons—where is the fun in that?
And what next? What do I do when I have pushed my buttons? What will there be left for me when I have fulfilled my life’s function? What other goal shall I look forward to?
Shall I be like God before He created the world, sitting lonely in an empty universe? How cruel men were to create a God who is self-sufficient living a solitary life throughout eternity. Why have they condemned God, why have they condemned me, to such a lonely prison?
MAY 30
P tries hard to help me. She really is anxious about my present mood. She has even encouraged me to resume the conversations about mythology which I used to enjoy with R-747. She says that would be better than brooding all the time.
But I do not feel like it. Why should I? Do gods invent mythology for people? Let the future generations invent what stories they like. I do not care what they think.
X-107’s attempts to make me talk about things do not succeed any more, either. Nothing interests me any more. Nothing down here, at least.
MAY 31
P is in despair about me. She must like me very much. Apparently she is quite sociable, after all. She is doing her best to drag me out of my apathy.
I see her point quite well, but I cannot be bothered to make the effort. Why should I?
Does this mean I have become self-sufficient? I want nothing of anybody or anything down here. Perhaps that makes me the most self-sufficient creature on Level 7. Like a god!
Maybe I
No, I have not pushed the buttons yet. But I
I am a god. The god wants to make a bargain with a butterfly. He wishes to be a butterfly for a day—but outside the caves, up there—and he offers the butterfly in return an eternal existence—down here.
What do you say to that, butterfly? Will you agree to the bargain? It’s a good one: eternity for one day of flying among the flowers.
The butterfly rejects my offer. What is it saying?
It says it will not exchange one day of happiness for eternal misery! Damnable butterfly! The audacity to refuse a god’s bargain! To defy a god! To defy God!
I shall curse you, butterfly, you colourful hedonist, I shall curse you till the end of your days!
It says something. It dares to answer! What is it?
“I do not mind your curses, O God, for my day is short.”
It flies away.
Butterfly! Butterfly! Listen to me, don’t go away! Stay with me, I won’t curse you. But stay here with me. Wait! Please stay!
JUNE 7
Today I came back from the psychological department. I spent about a week there.
Apparently I was going mad. Quite raving, as I can see for myself from what I was writing on May 31. All that nonsense about gods and butterflies! It seems I even got my entomology wrong: butterflies, so P told me when I had finished muttering about them under the drug, live for longer than a day. Some even hibernate!
Anyway, I am all right now. Only weak and tired and empty, as if someone had removed my inside. Metaphorically, that is. My mind and soul feel empty, just as if they had been purged in the way my stomach was, after the wedding chocolate.
It is a good thing, this mental purge. I do not suffer now. Nor do I enjoy my awareness of things. I just am and do not mind being.
I still have the memory of something being wrong with me, but the thing itself has gone away. It was a more complicated business than the stomach purge, though. They had to give me drugs and some electric shock treatment to clean out my mind. But now I am quiet and all right.
JUNE 9
It happened this morning.
I started my spell of duty in the PBX Operations Room at 08.00 hours. At 09.00 the yellow light came on above the screen. Two minutes later X-117 walked into the room and took his place at the other table, ready for whatever might follow the yellow warning. The Operations Room was now prepared for action. We sat in silence, watching the light.
At 09.12 hours the functional loudspeaker in the room suddenly ordered: “Attention! Prepare for action!” Simultaneously, the yellow light was replaced by a red one.
The loudspeaker spoke again: “Push Button A1!”
I pressed the button, and X-117 must have pushed his too, for Zone A on the screen suddenly became covered with red points. This meant that the one-to-five megaton rockets had been released and were now flying with incredible speed towards their targets. Zone A being relatively near, the results were to be expected in less than half an hour.
I was sitting in my place watching the screen. I was more tense than usual, but I did not feel nervous. Perhaps because of the treatment I underwent last week. Perhaps because military action—for the first time I was doing what I had come down here to do—acted as a sort of relief.
I glanced across the room at X-117, and I thought he looked very much on edge. Though the room was at a comfortable temperature, his face was sweating profusely, as if he had been pushing not a button but the rockets themselves.
Then I turned my eyes back to the screen, and sat speculating as to whether it would all amount to no more than an exchange of smallish bombs limited to one area, or whether the operation would develop into full-scale hostilities.
At 09.32 hours the first rocket hit enemy territory and one of the red spots turned into a rather larger circular red blob. Almost at once more such blobs appeared here and there over Zone A. I saw how the area of destruction grew wider and wider.
Meanwhile, though, some of the little red spots were disappearing, particularly the ones deeper in Zone A. Apparently the enemy’s interceptors were quite efficient.
Then, at 09.55, the loudspeaker sounded again: “Attention! Push Button A2!” And immediately afterwards: “Push Button A3!”
