"Gordon R. Dickson - Idiot Solvant" - читать интересную книгу автора (Dickson Gordon R)

"He seems sensible now?"
"Yes, but what do I do?"
"Hypnosis."
"You keep saying that. I don't see тАУ"
"We must," said Arlie, "inhibit the connection of his conscious mind with
the intuitive mechanism. The wall between the two тАУ the normal wall тАУ
seems to have been freakishly thin in his case. Prolonged sleeplessness,
combined with the abnormal stimulation of your monster, has caused him to
break through тАУ to say to the idiot solvant, 'Solve!' And the idiot solvant in
the back of his head has provided him with a solution."
"I still think it would be better for me to shoot him."
"You are a physician тАУ"
"You would remind me of that. All right, so I can't shoot him. I don't even
want to shoot him. But, Arlie, what's going to happen to everybody? Here
I've raised up a sort of miracle worker who can probably move the North
American continent down to the South Pacific if he wants to тАУ only it just
happens he's also a feather-headed butterfly who never lit on one notion for
more than live minutes at a time in his life. Sure, I've got a physician's
responsibility toward him. But what about my responsibility to the rest of the
people in the world?"
"There is no responsibility being violated here," said Arlie patiently.
"Simply put him back the way you found him."
"No miracles?"
"None. At least, except accidental ones."
"It might be kinder to shoot him."
 "Nonsense," said Arlie sharply. "It's for the good of everybody." Hank
sighed, and rose.
"All right," be said. "Let's go."
They went down the hall to Art's room. They found him seated
thoughtfully in his armchair, staring at nothing, his books and maps ignored
around him.
"Good morning, Art," said Arlie.
"Oh? Hello," said Art, waking up. "Is it time for tests?"
"In a way," said Arlie. He produced a small box surmounted by a
cardboard disk on which were inked alternate spirals of white and black. He
plugged the box into a handy electric socket by means of the cord attached
to it, and set it on a small table in front of Art. The disk began to revolve. "I
want you to watch that," said Arlie.
Art stared at it.
"What do you see?" asked Arlie.
"It looks like going down a tunnel," said Art.
"Indeed it does," said Arlie. "Just imagine yourself going down that
tunnel. Down the tunnel. Faster and faster . . ." He continued to talk quietly
and persuasively for about a minute and a half, at the end of which Art was
limply demonstrating a state of deep trance. Arlie brought him up a bit for
questioning.
". . . And how do these realizations, these answers, come to you?" Arlie
was asking a few minutes later.
"In a sort of a flash," replied Art. "A blinding flash."
"That is the way they have always come to you?"