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Transformation is one of the natural stages in the existence of any organism. Every living being undergoes a vast number of transformations in the course of its individual evolution. Whether it is a simple organism like an ordinary butterfly emerging from its cocoon, or something more complex, like a human being. Although, it would be too generous to claim that every human organism is, by default, equally developed. Alas, that statement would be fundamentally incorrect.
And the number of fools I have had the misfortune to encounter is direct proof of that.
However, there could be no doubt that transformation is equally important for both highly developed and the simplest organisms. After all, transformation is development, evolution; and evolution is what makes an organism stronger, more resilient, and more competitively viable. And it doesn’t matter whether this applies to the biological shell or its inner, psychological contents. Therefore…
“What’s on your mind today, Doctor?” Pantalone’s voice interrupted his train of thought. “You brought your body to me, but your mind remained in the lab?”
Dottore smiled.
What an apt comparison.
“My dear banker, let me ask you a question,” Dottore said, leaning back in his chair. “Would you be willing to discard your physical shell to step onto a completely new level of evolution?”
Pantalone touched a small, patterned teacup lightly with his lips. A pensive look crossed his face.
“It depends on what benefits I’ll gain from it.”
Dottore raised his palms.
“Isn’t the very fact of transitioning into a more advanced form a benefit in itself? To cast aside all that is superfluous, to transcend the physical. To become infinite knowledge, to become… information.”
It seemed Pantalone wasn’t particularly inspired by this idea.
“And how is that any different from death? I breathe, therefore I live.”
“Hmm. So, for you, life is limited to the physical?”
“Oh, no, that’s not it at all. But still, what are the benefits? After all, as mere information, you can’t influence this world in any way, can you?”
Dottore smiled.
“It depends on the nature of the information, my dear friend. Of course, there is information that you immediately toss aside, like a read newspaper with its false horoscopes and crossword puzzles featuring questions that repeat themselves over and over. And then there is information… that changes the world.” Dottore leaned over the small coffee table, moving closer to Pantalone. “What if I told you that I’ve found a way to cross that line?”
Pantalone looked at him for a long, long time before asking.
“So you’re thinking of discarding the physical?”
“Absolutely right.”
An expression unfamiliar to him flashed across the banker’s face. It wasn’t a smile, but it wasn’t anger either. Some strange nuance that he just couldn’t quite decipher.
“You know, Doctor, your projects are getting more and more ambitious every day. However…”
He remained silent, and Dottore did not break the silence either. Pantalone’s face wore a deeply pensive expression, as if he were recalling and pondering every word they had just spoken. He was silent for a long, long time, then took another sip of tea, sighed, and set the cup down on the table.
“Well, my tea has gone cold. Time just flies when we talk.”
He stood up and headed for the door. And once he was at the door, he turned around and said,
“Whatever you decide, weigh the pros and cons carefully. Your decision is yours alone. But… I’ll hate drinking tea all by myself.”
Even after the door had slammed shut, Dottore kept staring at the teacup, on the rim of which there was still a wet mark from Pantalone’s lips.
How selfish—to put one’s own desires before everything else.
He looked at the cup, then picked it up and took a sip from the very spot where Pantalone had drunk.
“You’re right. The tea has indeed gone cold.”
Dottore stared for a moment at the delicate porcelain, which still bore a single lip mark—but belonging to two people now. Despite its completely cold contents, the thin porcelain teacup seemed to still hold the warmth of delicate fingers covered in black gloves.
“I’ll hate drinking tea all by myself.”
He sighed and set the cup back on the table, placing it next to his own—still filled to the brim.
“All right, time to go,” he said, standing up and heading for the door.
Perhaps he should think everything through one more time.