Beta Minus Mechanic Artist Overview Albums. Top Albums Disassembly Required Beta Minus Mechanic. 69 Camaro Beta Minus Mechanic. CD: $23.98 MP3: $3.96. Songs Sort by: Bestselling. 1-10 of 14 Sample this song. The most studied case of the Ising model is the translation-invariant ferromagnetic zero-field model on a d-dimensional lattice, namely, Λ = Z d, J ij = 1, h = 0. In his 1924 PhD thesis, Ising solved the model for the d = 1 case, which can be thought of as a linear horizontal lattice where each site only interacts with its left and right neighbor. Beta Minus Mechanic. メンバー: Erick Edwards, Ina Jeffress, Jason DeRose, Pete Spielman, Tony Tornabene a481119.
Chapter One
A SQUAT grey building of only thirty-four stories. Overthe main entrance the words, CENTRAL LONDON HATCHERY AND CONDITIONING CENTRE,and, in a shield, the World State's motto, COMMUNITY, IDENTITY, STABILITY.
The enormous room on the ground floor faced towards the north. Cold forall the summer beyond the panes, for all the tropical heat of the room itself,a harsh thin light glared through the windows, hungrily seeking some drapedlay figure, some pallid shape of academic goose-flesh, but finding only theglass and nickel and bleakly shining porcelain of a laboratory. Wintrinessresponded to wintriness. The overalls of the workers were white, their handsgloved with a pale corpse-coloured rubber. The light was frozen, dead, aghost. Only from the yellow barrels of the microscopes did it borrow a certainrich and living substance, lying along the polished tubes like butter, streakafter luscious streak in long recession down the work tables.'And this,' said the Director opening the door, 'is the Fertilizing Room.'Bent over their instruments, three hundred Fertilizers were plunged, asthe Director of Hatcheries and Conditioning entered the room, in the scarcelybreathing silence, the absent-minded, soliloquizing hum or whistle, ofabsorbed concentration. A troop of newly arrived students, very young, pinkand callow, followed nervously, rather abjectly, at the Director's heels. Eachof them carried a notebook, in which, whenever the great man spoke, hedesperately scribbled. Straight from the horse's mouth. It was a rareprivilege. The D. H. C. for Central London always made a point of personallyconducting his new students round the various departments.'Just to give you a general idea,' he would explain to them. For of coursesome sort of general idea they must have, if they were to do their workintelligently–though as little of one, if they were to be good and happymembers of society, as possible. For particulars, as every one knows, make forvirtue and happiness; generalities are intellectually necessary evils. Notphilosophers but fret-sawyers and stamp collectors compose the backbone ofsociety.'To-morrow,' he would add, smiling at them with a slightly menacinggeniality, 'you'll be settling down to serious work. You won't have time forgeneralities. Meanwhile …'Meanwhile, it was a privilege. Straight from the horse's mouth into thenotebook. The boys scribbled like mad.Tall and rather thin but upright, the Director advanced into the room. Hehad a long chin and big rather prominent teeth, just covered, when he was nottalking, by his full, floridly curved lips. Old, young? Thirty? Fifty?Fifty-five? It was hard to say. And anyhow the question didn't arise; in thisyear of stability, A. F. 632, it didn't occur to you to ask it.'I shall begin at the beginning,' said the D.H.C. and the more zealousstudents recorded his intention in their notebooks: Begin at thebeginning. 'These,' he waved his hand, 'are the incubators.' And openingan insulated door he showed them racks upon racks of numbered test-tubes. 'Theweek's supply of ova. Kept,' he explained, 'at blood heat; whereas the malegametes,' and here he opened another door, 'they have to be kept atthirty-five instead of thirty-seven. Full blood heat sterilizes.' Rams wrappedin theremogene beget no lambs.
Still leaning against the incubators he gave them, while the pencilsscurried illegibly across the pages, a brief description of the modernfertilizing process; spoke first, of course, of its surgical introduction–'theoperation undergone voluntarily for the good of Society, not to mention thefact that it carries a bonus amounting to six months' salary'; continued withsome account of the technique for preserving the excised ovary alive andactively developing; passed on to a consideration of optimum temperature,salinity, viscosity; referred to the liquor in which the detached and ripenedeggs were kept; and, leading his charges to the work tables, actually showedthem how this liquor was drawn off from the test-tubes; how it was let outdrop by drop onto the specially warmed slides of the microscopes; how the eggswhich it contained were inspected for abnormalities, counted and transferredto a porous receptacle; how (and he now took them to watch the operation) thisreceptacle was immersed in a warm bouillon containing free-swimmingspermatozoa–at a minimum concentration of one hundred thousand per cubiccentimetre, he insisted; and how, after ten minutes, the container was liftedout of the liquor and its contents re-examined; how, if any of the eggsremained unfertilized, it was again immersed, and, if necessary, yet again;how the fertilized ova went back to the incubators; where the Alphas and Betasremained until definitely bottled; while the Gammas, Deltas and Epsilons werebrought out again, after only thirty-six hours, to undergo Bokanovsky'sProcess.'Bokanovsky's Process,' repeated the Director, and the students underlinedthe words in their little notebooks.One egg, one embryo, one adult-normality. But a bokanovskified egg willbud, will proliferate, will divide. From eight to ninety-six buds, and everybud will grow into a perfectly formed embryo, and every embryo into afull-sized adult. Making ninety-six human beings grow where only one grewbefore. Progress.'Essentially,' the D.H.C. concluded, 'bokanovskification consists of aseries of arrests of development. We check the normal growth and,paradoxically enough, the egg responds by budding.'Responds by budding. The pencils were busy.He pointed. On a very slowly moving band a rack-full of test-tubes wasentering a large metal box, another, rack-full was emerging. Machinery faintlypurred. It took eight minutes for the tubes to go through, he told them. Eightminutes of hard X-rays being about as much as an egg can stand. A few died; ofthe rest, the least susceptible divided into two; most put out four buds; someeight; all were returned to the incubators, where the buds began to develop;then, after two days, were suddenly chilled, chilled and checked. Two, four,eight, the buds in their turn budded; and having budded were dosed almost todeath with alcohol; consequently burgeoned again and having budded–bud out ofbud out of bud–were thereafter–further arrest being generally fatal–left todevelop in peace. By which time the original egg was in a fair way to becominganything from eight to ninety-six embryos– a prodigious improvement, you willagree, on nature. Identical twins–but not in piddling twos and threes as inthe old viviparous days, when an egg would sometimes accidentally divide;actually by dozens, by scores at a time.'Scores,' the Director repeated and flung out his arms, as though he weredistributing largesse. 'Scores.'But one of the students was fool enough to ask where the advantage lay.'My good boy!' The Director wheeled sharply round on him. 'Can't you see?Can't you see?' He raised a hand; his expression was solemn. 'Bokanovsky'sProcess is one of the major instruments of social stability!'Major instruments of social stability.Standard men and women; in uniform batches. The whole of a small factorystaffed with the products of a single bokanovskified egg.'Ninety-six identical twins working ninety-six identical machines!' Thevoice was almost tremulous with enthusiasm. 'You really know where you are.For the first time in history.' He quoted the planetary motto. 'Community,Identity, Stability.' Grand words. 'If we could bokanovskify indefinitely thewhole problem would be solved.'Solved by standard Gammas, unvarying Deltas, uniform Epsilons. Millions ofidentical twins. The principle of mass production at last applied to biology.'But, alas,' the Director shook his head, 'we can't bokanovskifyindefinitely.'Ninety-six seemed to be the limit; seventy-two a good average. From thesame ovary and with gametes of the same male to manufacture as many batches ofidentical twins as possible–that was the best (sadly a second best) that theycould do. And even that was difficult.'For in nature it takes thirty years for two hundred eggs to reachmaturity. But our business is to stabilize the population at this moment, hereand now. Dribbling out twins over a quarter of a century–what would be the useof that?'Obviously, no use at all. But Podsnap's Technique had immenselyaccelerated the process of ripening. They could make sure of at least ahundred and fifty mature eggs within two years. Fertilize and bokanovskify–inother words, multiply by seventy-two–and you get an average of nearly eleventhousand brothers and sisters in a hundred and fifty batches of identicaltwins, all within two years of the same age.'And in exceptional cases we can make one ovary yield us over fifteenthousand adult individuals.'Beckoning to a fair-haired, ruddy young man who happened to be passing atthe moment. 'Mr. Foster,' he called. The ruddy young man approached. 'Can youtell us the record for a single ovary, Mr. Foster?'
'Sixteen thousand and twelve in this Centre,' Mr. Foster replied withouthesitation. He spoke very quickly, had a vivacious blue eye, and took anevident pleasure in quoting figures. 'Sixteen thousand and twelve; in onehundred and eighty-nine batches of identicals. But of course they've done muchbetter,' he rattled on, 'in some of the tropical Centres. Singapore has oftenproduced over sixteen thousand five hundred; and Mombasa has actually touchedthe seventeen thousand mark. But then they have unfair advantages. You shouldsee the way a negro ovary responds to pituitary! It's quite astonishing, whenyou're used to working with European material. Still,' he added, with a laugh(but the light of combat was in his eyes and the lift of his chin waschallenging), 'still, we mean to beat them if we can. I'm working on awonderful Delta-Minus ovary at this moment. Only just eighteen months old.Over twelve thousand seven hundred children already, either decanted or inembryo. And still going strong. We'll beat them yet.'
'That's the spirit I like!' cried the Director, and clapped Mr. Foster onthe shoulder. 'Come along with us, and give these boys the benefit of yourexpert knowledge.'Mr. Foster smiled modestly. 'With pleasure.' They went.In the Bottling Room all was harmonious bustle and ordered activity. Flapsof fresh sow's peritoneum ready cut to the proper size came shooting up inlittle lifts from the Organ Store in the sub-basement. Whizz and then, click!the lift-hatches hew open; the bottle-liner had only to reach out a hand, takethe flap, insert, smooth-down, and before the lined bottle had had time totravel out of reach along the endless band, whizz, click! another flap ofperitoneum had shot up from the depths, ready to be slipped into yet anotherbottle, the next of that slow interminable procession on the band.Next to the Liners stood the Matriculators. The procession advanced; oneby one the eggs were transferred from their test-tubes to the largercontainers; deftly the peritoneal lining was slit, the morula dropped intoplace, the saline solution poured in … and already the bottle had passed, andit was the turn of the labellers. Heredity, date of fertilization, membershipof Bokanovsky Group–details were transferred from test-tube to bottle. Nolonger anonymous, but named, identified, the procession marched slowly on; onthrough an opening in the wall, slowly on into the Social Predestination Room.'Eighty-eight cubic metres of card-index,' said Mr. Foster with relish, asthey entered.'Containing all the relevant information,' added the Director.'Brought up to date every morning.''And co-ordinated every afternoon.''On the basis of which they make their calculations.''So many individuals, of such and such quality,' said Mr. Foster.'Distributed in such and such quantities.''The optimum Decanting Rate at any given moment.''Unforeseen wastages promptly made good.''Promptly,' repeated Mr. Foster. 'If you knew the amount of overtime I hadto put in after the last Japanese earthquake!' He laughed goodhumouredly andshook his head.'The Predestinators send in their figures to the Fertilizers.''Who give them the embryos they ask for.''And the bottles come in here to be predestined in detail.''After which they are sent down to the Embryo Store.''Where we now proceed ourselves.'And opening a door Mr. Foster led the way down a staircase into thebasement.Beta Minus Mechanic
The temperature was still tropical. They descended into a thickeningtwilight. Two doors and a passage with a double turn insured the cellaragainst any possible infiltration of the day.'Embryos are like photograph film,' said Mr. Foster waggishly, as hepushed open the second door. 'They can only stand red light.'And in effect the sultry darkness into which the students now followed himwas visible and crimson, like the darkness of closed eyes on a summer'safternoon. The bulging flanks of row on receding row and tier above tier ofbottles glinted with innumerable rubies, and among the rubies moved the dimred spectres of men and women with purple eyes and all the symptoms of lupus.The hum and rattle of machinery faintly stirred the air.'Give them a few figures, Mr. Foster,' said the Director, who was tired oftalking.Mr. Foster was only too happy to give them a few figures.Two hundred and twenty metres long, two hundred wide, ten high. He pointedupwards. Like chickens drinking, the students lifted their eyes towards thedistant ceiling.Three tiers of racks: ground floor level, first gallery, second gallery.The spidery steel-work of gallery above gallery faded away in alldirections into the dark. Near them three red ghosts were busily unloadingdemijohns from a moving staircase.The escalator from the Social Predestination Room.Each bottle could be placed on one of fifteen racks, each rack, though youcouldn't see it, was a conveyor traveling at the rate of thirty-three and athird centimetres an hour. Two hundred and sixty-seven days at eight metres aday. Two thousand one hundred and thirty-six metres in all. One circuit of thecellar at ground level, one on the first gallery, half on the second, and onthe two hundred and sixty-seventh morning, daylight in the Decanting Room.Independent existence–so called.'But in the interval,' Mr. Foster concluded, 'we've managed to do a lot tothem. Oh, a very great deal.' His laugh was knowing and triumphant.'That's the spirit I like,' said the Director once more. 'Let's walkaround. You tell them everything, Mr. Foster.'Mr. Foster duly told them.Told them of the growing embryo on its bed of peritoneum. Made them tastethe rich blood surrogate on which it fed. Explained why it had to bestimulated with placentin and thyroxin. Told them of the corpus luteumextract. Showed them the jets through which at every twelfth metre from zeroto 2040 it was automatically injected. Spoke of those gradually increasingdoses of pituitary administered during the final ninety-six metres of theircourse. Described the artificial maternal circulation installed in everybottle at Metre 112; showed them the reservoir of blood-surrogate, thecentrifugal pump that kept the liquid moving over the placenta and drove itthrough the synthetic lung and waste product filter. Referred to the embryo'stroublesome tendency to anæmia, to the massive doses of hog's stomach extractand foetal foal's liver with which, in consequence, it had to be supplied.Showed them the simple mechanism by means of which, during the last twometres out of every eight, all the embryos were simultaneously shaken intofamiliarity with movement. Hinted at the gravity of the so-called 'trauma ofdecanting,' and enumerated the precautions taken to minimize, by a suitabletraining of the bottled embryo, that dangerous shock. Told them of the testfor sex carried out in the neighborhood of Metre 200. Explained the system oflabelling–a T for the males, a circle for the females and for those who weredestined to become freemartins a question mark, black on a white ground.'For of course,' said Mr. Foster, 'in the vast majority of cases,fertility is merely a nuisance. One fertile ovary in twelve hundred–that wouldreally be quite sufficient for our purposes. But we want to have a goodchoice. And of course one must always have an enormous margin of safety. So weallow as many as thirty per cent of the female embryos to develop normally.The others get a dose of male sex-hormone every twenty-four metres for therest of the course. Result: they're decanted as freemartins–structurally quitenormal (except,' he had to admit, 'that they do have the slightest tendency togrow beards), but sterile. Guaranteed sterile. Which brings us at last,'continued Mr. Foster, 'out of the realm of mere slavish imitation of natureinto the much more interesting world of human invention.'
He rubbed his hands. For of course, they didn't content themselves withmerely hatching out embryos: any cow could do that.'We also predestine and condition. We decant our babies as socializedhuman beings, as Alphas or Epsilons, as future sewage workers or future …' Hewas going to say 'future World controllers,' but correcting himself, said'future Directors of Hatcheries,' instead.The D.H.C. acknowledged the compliment with a smile.They were passing Metre 320 on Rack 11. A young Beta-Minus mechanic wasbusy with screw-driver and spanner on the blood-surrogate pump of a passingbottle. The hum of the electric motor deepened by fractions of a tone as heturned the nuts. Down, down … A final twist, a glance at the revolutioncounter, and he was done. He moved two paces down the line and began the sameprocess on the next pump.'Reducing the number of revolutions per minute,' Mr. Foster explained.'The surrogate goes round slower; therefore passes through the lung at longerintervals; therefore gives the embryo less oxygen. Nothing likeoxygen-shortage for keeping an embryo below par.' Again he rubbed his hands.'But why do you want to keep the embryo below par?' asked an ingenuousstudent.'Ass!' said the Director, breaking a long silence. 'Hasn't it occurred toyou that an Epsilon embryo must have an Epsilon environment as well as anEpsilon heredity?'It evidently hadn't occurred to him. He was covered with confusion.'The lower the caste,' said Mr. Foster, 'the shorter the oxygen.' Thefirst organ affected was the brain. After that the skeleton. At seventy percent of normal oxygen you got dwarfs. At less than seventy eyeless monsters.'Who are no use at all,' concluded Mr. Foster.Whereas (his voice became confidential and eager), if they could discovera technique for shortening the period of maturation what a triumph, what abenefaction to Society!'Consider the horse.'They considered it.Mature at six; the elephant at ten. While at thirteen a man is not yetsexually mature; and is only full-grown at twenty. Hence, of course, thatfruit of delayed development, the human intelligence.'But in Epsilons,' said Mr. Foster very justly, 'we don't need humanintelligence.'Didn't need and didn't get it. But though the Epsilon mind was mature atten, the Epsilon body was not fit to work till eighteen. Long years ofsuperfluous and wasted immaturity. If the physical development could bespeeded up till it was as quick, say, as a cow's, what an enormous saving tothe Community!'Enormous!' murmured the students. Mr. Foster's enthusiasm was infectious.He became rather technical; spoke of the abnormal endocrine co-ordinationwhich made men grow so slowly; postulated a germinal mutation to account forit. Could the effects of this germinal mutation be undone? Could theindividual Epsilon embryo be made a revert, by a suitable technique, to thenormality of dogs and cows? That was the problem. And it was all but solved.Pilkington, at Mombasa, had produced individuals who were sexually matureat four and full-grown at six and a half. A scientific triumph. But sociallyuseless. Six-year-old men and women were too stupid to do even Epsilon work.And the process was an all-or-nothing one; either you failed to modify at all,or else you modified the whole way. They were still trying to find the idealcompromise between adults of twenty and adults of six. So far without success.Mr. Foster sighed and shook his head.Their wanderings through the crimson twilight had brought them to theneighborhood of Metre 170 on Rack 9. From this point onwards Rack 9 wasenclosed and the bottle performed the remainder of their journey in a kind oftunnel, interrupted here and there by openings two or three metres wide.'Heat conditioning,' said Mr. Foster.Hot tunnels alternated with cool tunnels. Coolness was wedded todiscomfort in the form of hard X-rays. By the time they were decanted theembryos had a horror of cold. They were predestined to emigrate to thetropics, to be miner and acetate silk spinners and steel workers. Later ontheir minds would be made to endorse the judgment of their bodies. 'Wecondition them to thrive on heat,' concluded Mr. Foster. 'Our colleaguesupstairs will teach them to love it.''And that,' put in the Director sententiously, 'that is the secret ofhappiness and virtue–liking what you've got to do. All conditioning aims atthat: making people like their unescapable social destiny.'In a gap between two tunnels, a nurse was delicately probing with a longfine syringe into the gelatinous contents of a passing bottle. The studentsand their guides stood watching her for a few moments in silence.'Well, Lenina,' said Mr. Foster, when at last she withdrew the syringe andstraightened herself up.The girl turned with a start. One could see that, for all the lupus andthe purple eyes, she was uncommonly pretty.'Henry!' Her smile flashed redly at him–a row of coral teeth.Beta Minus Mechanic Band Members
'Charming, charming,' murmured the Director and, giving her two or threelittle pats, received in exchange a rather deferential smile for himself.Beta Minus Mechanic Music
'What are you giving them?' asked Mr. Foster, making his tone veryprofessional.'Oh, the usual typhoid and sleeping sickness.'Beta Minus Decay
'Tropical workers start being inoculated at Metre 150,' Mr. Fosterexplained to the students. 'The embryos still have gills. We immunize the fishagainst the future man's diseases.' Then, turning back to Lenina, 'Ten to fiveon the roof this afternoon,' he said, 'as usual.''Charming,' said the Director once more, and, with a final pat, moved awayafter the others.On Rack 10 rows of next generation's chemical workers were being trainedin the toleration of lead, caustic soda, tar, chlorine. The first of a batchof two hundred and fifty embryonic rocket-plane engineers was just passing theeleven hundred metre mark on Rack 3. A special mechanism kept their containersin constant rotation. 'To improve their sense of balance,' Mr. Fosterexplained. 'Doing repairs on the outside of a rocket in mid-air is a ticklishjob. We slacken off the circulation when they're right way up, so that they'rehalf starved, and double the flow of surrogate when they're upside down. Theylearn to associate topsy-turvydom with well-being; in fact, they're only trulyhappy when they're standing on their heads.
'And now,' Mr. Foster went on, 'I'd like to show you some very interestingconditioning for Alpha Plus Intellectuals. We have a big batch of them on Rack5. First Gallery level,' he called to two boys who had started to go down tothe ground floor.
'They're round about Metre 900,' he explained. 'You can't really do anyuseful intellectual conditioning till the foetuses have lost their tails.Follow me.'Beta Minus Decay Formula
But the Director had looked at his watch. 'Ten to three,' he said. 'Notime for the intellectual embryos, I'm afraid. We must go up to the Nurseriesbefore the children have finished their afternoon sleep.'| Beta Minus Mechanic | | Another Victim | | When Tigers Fight | | Matt Skiba And The Sekrets |
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