Solaris (10 page)

The first minute ended here. There followed a fragment of the
second minute drawn up eleven days later.

PRESIDENT:…after due consideration, the Commission,
composed of three doctors, three biologists, a physicist, a
mechanical engineer and the deputy head of the expedition, has
reached the conclusion that Berton's report is symptomatic of
hallucinations caused by atmospheric poisoning, consequent upon
inflammation of the associative zone of the cerebral cortex, and
that Berton's account bears no, or at any rate no appreciable,
relation to reality.

BERTON: Excuse me, what does "no appreciable relation" mean? In
what proportion is reality appreciable or not?

PRESIDENT: I haven't finished. Independently of these
conclusions, the Commission has duly registered a dissenting vote
from Dr. Archibald Messenger, who considers the phenomena described
by Berton to be objectively possible and declares himself in favor
of a scrupulous investigation.

BERTON: I repeat my question.

PRESIDENT: The answer is simple. "No appreciable relation to
reality" means that phenomena actually observed may have formed the
basis of your hallucinations. In the course of a nocturnal stroll,
a perfectly sane man can imagine he sees a living creature in a
bush stirred by the wind. Such illusions are all the more likely to
affect an explorer lost on a strange planet and breathing a
poisonous atmosphere. This verdict is in no way prejudicial to you,
Berton. Will you now be good enough to let us know your
decision?

BERTON: First of all, I should like to know the possible
consequences of this dissenting vote of Dr. Messenger's.

PRESIDENT: Virtually none. We shall carry on our work along the
lines originally laid down.

BERTON: Is our interview on record?

PRESIDENT: Yes.

BERTON: In that case, I should like to say that although the
Commission's decision may not be prejudicial to me personally, it
is prejudicial to the spirit of the expedition itself.
Consequently, as I have already stated, I refuse to answer any
further questions.

PRESIDENT: Is that all?

BERTON: Yes. Except that I should like to meet Dr. Messenger. Is
that possible?

PRESIDENT: Of course.

That was the end of the second minute. At the bottom of the page
there was a note in minuscule handwriting to the effect that, the
following day, Dr. Messenger had talked to Berton for nearly three
hours. As a result of this conversation, Messenger had once more
begged the expedition Council to undertake further investigations
in order to check the pilot's statements. Berton had produced some
new and extremely convincing revelations, which Messenger could not
divulge unless the Council reversed its negative decision. The
Council—Shannahan, Timolis and Trahier—rejected the
motion and the affair was closed.

The book also reproduced a photocopy of the last page of a
letter, or rather, the draft of a letter, found by Messenger's
executors after his death. Ravintzer, in spite of his researches,
had been unable to discover if this letter had ever been sent.

"…obtuse minds, a pyramid of stupidity,"—the text
began. "Anxious to preserve its authority, the Council—more
precisely Shannahan and Timolis (Trahier's vote doesn't
count)—has rejected my recommendations. Now I am taking the
matter up directly with the Institute; but, as you can well
imagine, my protestations won't convince anybody. Bound as I am by
oath, I can't, alas, reveal to you what Berton told me. If the
Council disregarded Berton's testimony, it was basically because
Berton has no scientific training, although any scientist would
envy the presence of mind and the gift of observation shown by this
pilot. I should be grateful if you could send me the following
information by return post:

i) Fechner's biography, in particular details about his
childhood.

ii) Everything you know about his family, facts and
dates—he probably lost his parents while still a child.

iii)The topography of the place where he was brought up.

I should like once more to tell you what I think about all this.
As you know, some time after the departure of Fechner and Carucci,
a spot appeared in the centre of the red sun. This chromospheric
eruption caused a magnetic storm chiefly over the southern
hemisphere, where our base was situated, according to the
information provided by the satellite, and the radio links were
cut. The other parties were scouring the planet's surface over a
relatively restricted area, whereas Fechner and Carucci had
travelled a considerable distance from the base.

Never, since our arrival on the planet, had we observed such a
persistent fog or such an unremitting silence.

I imagine that what Berton saw was one of the phases of a kind
of 'Operation Man' which this viscous monster was engaged in. The
source of all the various forms observed by Berton is
Fechner—or rather, Fechner's brain, subjected to an
unimaginable 'psychic dissection' for the purposes of a sort of
re-creation, an experimental reconstruction, based on impressions
(undoubtedly the most durable ones) engraved on his memory.

I know this sounds fantastic; I know that I may be mistaken. But
do please help me. At the moment, I am on the
Alaric
, where I look forward to receiving your
reply.

Yours, A."

It was growing dark, and I could scarcely make out the blurred
print at the top of the grey page—the last page describing
Berton's adventure. For my part, my own experience led me to regard
Berton as a trustworthy witness.

I turned towards the window. A few clouds still glowed like
dying embers above the horizon. The ocean was invisible, blanketed
by the purple darkness.

The strips of paper fluttered idly beneath the air-vents. There
was a whiff of ozone in the still, warm air.

There was nothing heroic in our decision to remain on the
Station. The time for heroism was over, vanished with the era of
the great interplanetary triumphs, of daring expeditions and
sacrifices. Fechner, the ocean's first victim, belonged to a
distant past. I had almost stopped caring about the identity of
Snow's and Sartorius's visitors. Soon, I told myself, we would
cease to be ashamed, to keep ourselves apart. If we could not get
rid of our visitors, we would accustom ourselves to their presence,
learn to live with them. If their Creator altered the rules of the
game, we would adapt ourselves to the new rules, even if at first
we jibbed or rebelled, even if one of us despaired and killed
himself. Eventually, a certain equilibrium would be
reestablished.

Night had come; no different from many nights on Earth. Now I
could make out only the white contours of the basin and the smooth
surface of the mirror.

I stood up. Groping my way to the basin, I fumbled among the
objects which cluttered up the shelf, and found the packet of
cotton wool. I washed my face with a damp wad and stretched out on
the bed

A moth fluttered its wings…no, it was the
ventilator-strip. The whirring stopped, then started up again. I
could no longer see the window; everything had merged into
darkness. A mysterious ray of light pierced the blackness and
lingered in front of me—against the wall, or the black sky? I
remembered how the blank stare of the night had frightened me the
day before, and I smiled at the thought. I was no longer afraid of
the night; I was not afraid of anything. I raised my wrist and
looked at the ring of phosphorescent figures; another hour, and the
blue day would dawn.

I breathed deeply, savoring the darkness, my mind empty and at
rest.

Shifting my position, I felt the flat shape of the tape-recorder
against my hip: Gibarian, his voice immortalized on the spools of
tape. I had forgotten to resurrect him, to listen to him—the
only thing I could do for him any more. I took the tape-recorder
out of my pocket in order to hide it under the bed.

I heard a rustling sound; the door opened.

"Kris?" An anxious voice whispered my name. "Kris, are you
there? It's so dark…."

I answered:

"Yes, I'm here. Don't be frightened, come!"

I was lying on my back, with Rheya's head resting on my
shoulder.

The darkness was peopled now. I could hear footsteps. Something
was piling up above me, higher and higher, infinitely high. The
night transfixed me; the night took possession of me, enveloped and
penetrated me, impalpable, insubstantial. Turned to stone, I had
ceased breathing, there was no air to breathe. As though from a
distance, I heard the beating of my heart. I summoned up all my
remaining strength, straining every nerve, and waited for death. I
went on waiting…I seemed to be growing smaller, and the
invisible sky, horizonless, the formless immensity of space,
without clouds, without stars, receded, extended and grew bigger
all round me. I tried to crawl out of bed, but there was no bed;
beneath the cover of darkness there was a void. I pressed my hands
to my face. I no longer had any fingers or any hands. I wanted to
scream…

The room floated in a blue penumbra, which outlined the
furniture and the laden bookshelves, and drained everything of
color. A pearly whiteness flooded the window.

I was drenched with sweat. I glanced to one side. Rheya was
gazing at me.

She raised her head.

"Has your arm gone to sleep?"

Her eyes too had been drained of color; they were grey, but
luminous, beneath the black lashes.

"What?" Her murmured words had seemed like a caress even before
I understood their meaning. "No. Ah, yes!" I said, at last.

I put my hand on her shoulder; I had pins and needles in my
fingers.

"Did you have a bad dream?" she asked.

I drew her to me with my other hand.

"A dream? Yes, I was dreaming. And you, didn't you sleep?"

"I don't know. I don't think so. I'm sleepy. But that mustn't
stop you from sleeping…Why are you looking at me like
that?"

I closed my eyes. Her heart was beating against mine. Her heart?
A mere appendage, I told myself. But nothing surprised me any
longer, not even my own indifference. I had crossed the frontiers
of fear and despair. I had come a long way—further than
anyone had ever come before.

I raised myself on my elbow. Daybreak…and the peace that
comes with dawn? A silent storm had set the cloudless horizon
ablaze. A streak of light, the first ray of the blue sun,
penetrated the room and broke up into sharp-edged reflections;
there was a crossfire of sparks, which coruscated off the mirror,
the door handles, the nickel pipes. The light scattered, falling on
to every smooth surface as though it wanted to conquer ever more
space, to set the room alight. I looked at Rheya; the pupils of her
grey eyes had contracted.

She asked in an expressionless voice, "Is the night over
already?"

"Night never lasts long here."

"And us?"

"What about us?"

"Are we going to stay here long?"

Coming from her, the question had its comic side; but when I
spoke, my voice held no trace of gaiety.

"Quite a long time, probably. Why, don't you want to stay
here?"

Her eyes did not blink. She was looking at me inquiringly. Did I
see her blink? I was not sure. She drew back the blanket and I saw
the little pink scar on her arm.

"Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Because you're very beautiful."

She smiled, without a trace of mischief, modestly acknowledging
my compliment.

"Really? It's as though…as though…"

"What?"

"As though you were doubtful of something."

"What nonsense!"

"As though you didn't trust me and I were hiding something from
you…"

"Rubbish!"

"By the way you're denying it, I can tell I'm right."

The light became blinding. Shading my eyes with my hand, I
looked for my dark glasses. They were on the table. When I was back
by her side, Rheya smiled.

"What about me?"

It took me a minute to understand what she meant.

"Dark glasses?"

I got up and began to hunt through drawers and shelves, pushing
aside books and instruments. I found two pairs of glasses, which I
gave to Rheya. They were too big; they fell half way down her
nose.

The shutters slid over the window; it was dark once more.
Groping, I helped Rheya remove her glasses and put both pairs down
under the bed.

"What shall we do now?" she asked.

"At night-time, one sleeps!"

"Kris…"

"Yes?"

"Do you want a compress for your forehead?"

"No, thanks. Thank you…my darling."

I don't know why I had added those two words. In the darkness, I
took her by her graceful shoulders. I felt them tremble, and I
knew, without the least shadow of doubt, that I held Rheya in my
arms. Or rather, I understood in that moment that she was not
trying to deceive me; it was I who was deceiving her, since she
sincerely believed herself to be Rheya.

I dropped off several times after that, and each time an
anguished start jolted me awake. Panting, exhausted, I pressed
myself closer to her; my heart gradually growing calmer. She
touched me cautiously on the cheeks and forehead with the tips of
her fingers, to see whether or not I was feverish. It was Rheya,
the real Rheya, the one and only Rheya.

A change came over me; I ceased to struggle and almost at once I
fell asleep.

I was awakened by an agreeable sensation of coolness. My face
was covered by a damp cloth. I pulled it off and found Rheya
leaning over me. She was smiling and squeezing out a second cloth
over a bowl.

"What a sleep!" she said, laying another compress on my
forehead. "Are you ill?"

"No."

I wrinkled my forehead; the skin was supple once again. Rheya
sat on the edge of my bed, her black hair brushed back over the
collar of a bathrobe—a man's bathrobe, with orange and black
stripes, the sleeves turned back to the elbow.

I was terribly hungry; it was at least twenty hours since my
last meal. When Rheya had finished her ministrations I got up. Two
dresses, draped over the back of a chair caught my eye—two
absolutely identical white dresses, each decorated with a row of
red buttons. I myself had helped Rheya out of one of them, and she
had reappeared, yesterday evening, dressed in the second. She
followed my glance.

"I had to cut the seam open with scissors," she said. "I think
the zip fastener must have got stuck."

The sight of the two identical dresses filled me with a horror
which exceeded anything I had felt hitherto. Rheya was busy tidying
up the medicine chest. I turned my back and bit my knuckles. Unable
to take my eyes off the two dresses—or rather the original
dress and its double—I backed towards the door. The basin tap
was running noisily. I opened the door and, slipping out of the
room, cautiously closed it behind me. I heard the sound of running
water, the clinking of bottles; then, suddenly, all sound ceased. I
waited, my jaw clenched, my hands gripping the door handle, but
with little hope of holding it shut. It was nearly torn from my
grasp by a savage jerk. But the door did not open; it shook and
vibrated from top to bottom. Dazed, I let go of the handle and
stepped back. The panel, made of some plastic material, caved in as
though an invisible person at my side had tried to break into the
room. The steel frame bent further and further inwards and the
paint was cracking. Suddenly I understood: instead of pushing the
door, which opened outwards, Rheya was trying to open it by pulling
it towards her. The reflection of the lighting strip in the ceiling
was distorted in the white-painted door-panel; there was a
resounding crack and the panel, forced beyond its limits, gave way.
Simultaneously the handle vanished, torn from its mounting. Two
bloodstained hands appeared, thrusting through the opening and
smearing the white paint with blood. The door split in two, the
broken halves hanging askew on their hinges. First a face appeared,
deathly pale, then a wild-looking apparition, dressed in an orange
and black bathrobe, flung itself sobbing upon my chest.

I wanted to escape, but it was too late, and I was rooted to the
spot. Rheya was breathing convulsively, her dishevelled head
drumming against my chest. Before I could put my arms round her to
hold her up, Rheya collapsed.

Avoiding the ragged edges of the broken panel, I carried her
into the room and laid her on the bed. Her fingertips were grazed
and the nails torn. When her hands turned upwards, I saw that the
palms were cut to the bone. I examined her face; her glazed eyes
showed no sign of recognition.

"Rheya."

The only answer was an inarticulate groan.

I went over to the medicine chest. The bed creaked; I turned
round; Rheya was sitting up, looking at her bleeding hands with
astonishment.

"Kris," she sobbed, "I…I…what happened to me?"

"You hurt yourself trying to break down the door," I answered
curtly.

My lips were twitching convulsively, and I had to bite the lower
one to keep it under control.

Rheya's glance took in the pieces of door-panel hanging from the
steel frame, then she turned her eyes back towards me. She was
doing her best to hide her terror, but I could see her chin
trembling.

I cut off some squares of gauze, picked up a pot of antiseptic
powder and returned to the bedside. The glass jar slipped through
my hands and shattered—but I no longer needed it.

I lifted one of Rheya's hands. The nails, still surrounded by
traces of clotted blood, had regrown. There was a pink scar in the
hollow of her palm, but even this scar was healing, disappearing in
front of my eyes.

I sat beside her and stroked her face, trying to smile without
much success.

"What did you do that for, Rheya?"

"I did…that?"

With her eyes, she indicated the door.

"Yes…Don't you remember?"

"No…that is, I saw you weren't there, I was very
frightened, and…"

"And what?"

"I looked for you. I thought that perhaps you were in the
bathroom…"

Only then did I notice that the sliding door covering the
entrance to the bathroom had been pushed back.

"And then?"

"I ran to the door."

"And after that?"

"I can't remember…Something must have happened…"

"What?"

"I don't know."

"What do you remember?"

"I was sitting here, on the bed."

She swung her legs over the edge of the bed, got up and went
over to the shattered door.

"Kris!"

Walking up behind her, I took her by the shoulders; she was
shaking. She suddenly turned and whispered:

"Kris, Kris…"

"Calm yourself!"

"Kris, if it's me…Kris, am I an epileptic?"

"What an extraordinary idea, my sweet. The doors in this place
are rather special…"

We left the room as the shutter was grinding its way up the
window; the blue sun was sinking into the ocean.

I guided Rheya to the small kitchen on the other side of the
dome. Together we raided the cupboards and the refrigerators. I
soon noticed that Rheya was scarcely better than I was at cooking
or even at opening tins. I devoured the contents of two tins and
drank innumerable cups of coffee. Rheya also ate, but as children
eat when they are not hungry and do not want to displease their
parents; on the other hand, she was not forcing herself, simply
taking in nourishment automatically, indifferently.

After our meal, we went into the sick bay, next to the
radio-cabin. I had had an idea. I told Rheya that I wanted to give
her a medical examination—a straightforward
check-up—sat her in a mechanical chair, and took a syringe
and some needles out of the sterilizer. I knew exactly where each
object was to be found; as far as the model of the Station's
interior was concerned, the instructors had not overlooked a single
detail during my training course. Rheya held out her fingers; I
took a sample of blood. I smeared the blood on to a slide which I
laid in the suction pipe, introduced it into the vacuum tank and
bombarded it with silver ions.

Performing a familiar task had a soothing effect, and I felt
better. Rheya, leaning back on the cushions in the mechanical
chair, gazed around at the instruments in the sick bay.

The buzzing of the videophone broke the silence; I lifted the
receiver:

"Kelvin."

I looked at Rheya; she was still quiet, apparently exhausted by
her recent efforts.

I heard a sigh of relief.

"At last."

It was Snow. I waited, the receiver pressed close to my ear.

"You've had a visit, haven't you?"

"Yes."

"Are you busy?"

"Yes."

"A little auscultation, eh?"

"I suppose you've got a better suggestion—a game of chess
maybe?"

"Don't be so touchy, Kelvin! Sartorius wants to meet you, he
wants all three of us to meet."

"Very kind of him!" I answered, taken aback. "But…" I
stopped, then went on: "Is he alone?"

"No. I haven't explained properly. He wants to have a talk with
us. We'll set up a three-way videophone link, but with the
telescreen lenses covered."

"I see. Why didn't he contact me himself? Is he frightened of
me?"

"Quite possibly," grunted Snow. "What do you say?"

"A conference. In an hour's time. Will that suit you?"

"That's fine."

I could see him on the screen—just his face, about the
size of a fist. For a moment, he looked at me attentively; I could
hear the crackling of the electric current. Then he said,
hesitantly:

"Are you getting on all right?"

"Not too bad. How about you?"

"Not so well as you, I dare say. May I…?"

"Do you want to come over here?"

I glanced at Rheya over my shoulder. She was leaning back, legs
crossed, her head bent. With a morose air, she was fiddling
mechanically with the little chrome ball on the end of a chain
fixed to the arm-rest.