Solaris (15 page)

"I'm divorced," he whispered. If anybody had quoted this to me
as the opening of a conversation a few days before, I would have
burst out laughing, but the Station had blunted my sense of humor.
"It feels like years since yesterday morning," he went on. "And
you?"

"Nothing." I was at a loss for words. I liked Snow, but I
distrusted him, or rather I distrusted the purpose of his
visit.

"Nothing? Surely…"

"What?" I pretended not to understand.

Eyes half shut, he leaned so close to me that I could feel his
breath on my face:

"This business has all of us confused, Kelvin. I can't make
contact with Sartorius. All I know is what I wrote to you, which is
what he told me after our little conference…

"Has he disconnected his videophone?"

"No, there's been a short-circuit at his end. He could have done
it on purpose, but there's also…" He clenched his fist and
mimed somebody aiming a punch, curling his lips in an unpleasant
grin. "Kelvin, I came here to…What do you intend doing?"

"You want my answer to your letter. All right, I'll go on the
trip, there's no reason for me to refuse. I've only been getting
ready…"

"No," he interrupted. "It isn't that."

"What then? Go on."

"Sartorius thinks he may be on the right track," Snow muttered.
His eyes never left me, and I had to stay still and try to look
casual. "It all started with that X-ray experiment that he and
Gibarian arranged, you remember. That could have produced some
alteration…"

"What kind of alteration?"

"They beamed the rays directly into the ocean. The intensity was
only modulated according to a pre-set program."

"I know. It's already been done by Nilin and a lot of
others."

"Yes, but the others worked on low power. This time they used
everything we had."

"That could lead to trouble…violating the four-power
convention, and the United Nations…"

"Come on, Kelvin, you know as well as I do that it doesn't
matter now. Gibarian is dead."

"So Sartorius makes him the scapegoat?"

"I don't know. We haven't talked about that. Sartorius is
intrigued by the visiting hours. They only come as we wake up,
which suggests that the ocean is especially interested in our
sleeping hours, and that that is when it locates its patterns.
Sartorius wants to send our waking selves—our conscious
thoughts. You see?"

"By mail?"

"Keep the jokes to yourself. The idea is to modulate the X-rays
by hooking in an electro-encephalograph taken from one of us."

"Ah!" Light was beginning to dawn. "And that one of us is
me?"

"Yes, Sartorius had you in mind."

"Tell him I'm flattered."

"Will you do it?"

I hesitated. Snow darted a look at Rheya, who seemed absorbed in
her book. I felt my face turn pale.

"Well?"

"The idea of using X-rays to preach sermons on the greatness of
mankind seems absolutely ridiculous to me. Don't you think so?"

"You mean it?"

"Yes."

"Right," he said, smiling as if I had fallen in with some idea
of his own, "then you're opposed to the plan?"

His expression told me that he had somehow been a step ahead of
me all the time.

"Okay," he went on. "There is a second plan—to construct a
Roche apparatus."

"An annihilator?"

"Yes. Sartorius has already made the preliminary calculations.
It is feasible, and it won't even require any great expenditure of
energy. The apparatus will generate a negative field twenty-four
hours a day, and for an unlimited period."

"And its effect?"

"Simple. It will be a negative neutrino field. Ordinary matter
will not be affected at all. Only the…neutrino structures
will be destroyed. You see?"

Snow gave me a satisfied grin. I stood stock-still and gaping,
so that he stopped smiling, looked at me with a frown, and waited a
moment before speaking:

"We abandon the first plan then, the 'Brainwave' plan? Sartorius
is working on the other one right now. We'll call it 'Project
Liberation.'"

I had to make a quick decision. Snow was no physicist, and
Sartorius's videophone was disconnected or smashed. I took the
chance:

"I'd rather call the second idea 'Operation Slaughterhouse.'"

"And you ought to know! Don't tell me you haven't had some
practice lately. Only there'll be a radical difference this
time—no more visitors, no more Phi-creatures—they will
disintegrate as soon as they appear."

I nodded, and managed what I hoped was a convincing smile:

"You haven't got the point. Morality is one thing, but
self-preservation…I just don't want to get us killed,
Snow."

He stared back at me suspiciously, as I showed him my scribbled
equations:

"I've been working along the same lines. Don't look so
surprised. The neutrino theory was my idea in the first place,
remember? Look. Negative fields can be generated all right. And
ordinary matter is unaffected. But what happens to the energy that
maintains the neutrino structure when it disintegrates? There must
be a considerable release of that energy. Assuming a kilogram of
ordinary matter represents 10^8 ergs, for a Phi-creation we get 5^7
multiplied by 10^8. That means the equivalent of a small atomic
bomb exploding inside the Station."

"You mean to tell me Sartorius won't have been over all
this?"

It was my turn to grin maliciously:

"Not necessarily. Sartorius follows the Frazer-Cajolla school.
Their theories would indicate that the energy potential would be
given off in the form of light—powerful, yes, but not
destructive. But that isn't the only theory of neutrino fields.
According to Cayatte, and Avalov, and Sion, the radiation-spectrum
would be much broader. At its maximum, there would be a strong
burst of gamma radiation. Sartorius has faith in his tutors. I
don't say we can't respect that, but there are other tutors, and
other theories. And another thing, Snow,"—I could see him
beginning to waver—"we have to bear in mind the ocean itself!
It is bound to have used the optimum means of designing its
creations. It seems to me that we can't afford to back Sartorius
against the ocean as well as the other theories."

"Give me that paper, Kelvin."

I passed it to him, and he poured over my equations.

"What's this?" He pointed to a line of calculations.

"That? The transformation tensor of the magnetic field."

"Give it here."

"Why?" (I already knew his reply.)

"I'll have to show Sartorius."

"If you say so," I shrugged. "You're welcome to it, naturally,
provided you realize that these theories have never been tested
experimentally: neutrino structures have been abstractions until
now. Sartorius is relying on Frazer, and I've followed Sion's
theory. He'll say I'm no physicist, or Sion either, not from his
point of view, at least. He will dispute my figures, and I'm not
going to get into the kind of argument where he tries to browbeat
me for his own satisfaction. You, I can convince. I couldn't begin
to convince Sartorius, and I have no intention of trying."

"Then what
do
you want to do? He's already started
work…"

All his earlier animation had subsided, and he spoke in a
monotone. I did not know if he trusted me, and I did not much
care:

"What do I want to do? Whatever a man does when his life is in
danger."

"I'll try to contact him. Maybe he can develop some kind of
safety device…And then there's the first plan. Would you
cooperate? Sartorius would agree, I'm sure of it. At least it's
worth a try."

"You think so?"

"No," he snapped back. "But what have we got to lose?"

I was in no hurry to accept. It was time that I needed, and Snow
could help me to prolong the delay:

"I'll think about it."

"Okay, I'm going." His bones creaked as he got up. "We'll have
to begin with the encephalogram," he said, rubbing at his overall
as if to get rid of some invisible stain.

Without a word to Rheya, he walked to the door, and after it had
closed behind him I got up and crumpled the sheet of paper in my
hand. I had not falsified the equations, but I doubted whether Sion
would have agreed with my extensions of his theory. I started
abruptly, as Rheya's hand touched my shoulder.

"Kris, who is he?"

"I told you, Dr. Snow."

"What's he like?"

"I don't know him very well…why?"

"He was giving me such a strange look."

"So you're an attractive woman…."

"No, this was a different sort of look…as if…."
She trembled, looked up at me momentarily, then lowered her eyes.
"Let's go back to the cabin."

I have no idea how long I had been lying in the dark, staring at
the luminous dial of my wristwatch. Hearing myself breathing. I
felt a vague surprise, but my underlying feeling was one of
profound indifference both to this ring of phosphorescent figures
and to my own surprise. I told myself that the feeling was caused
by fatigue. When I turned over, the bed seemed wider than usual. I
held my breath; no sound broke the silence. Rheya's breathing
should have been audible. I reached out, but felt nothing. I was
alone.

I was about to call her name, when I heard the tread of heavy
footsteps coming towards me. A numb calm descended:

"Gibarian?"

"Yes, it's me. Don't switch the light on."

"No?"

"There's no need, and it's better for us to stay in the
dark."

"But you are dead…"

"Don't let that worry you. You recognize my voice, don't
you?"

"Yes. Why did you kill yourself?"

"I had no choice. You arrived four days late. If you had come
earlier, I would not have been forced to kill myself. Don't worry
about it, though, I don't regret anything."

"You really are there? I'm not asleep?"

"Oh, you think you're dreaming about me? As you did with
Rheya?"

"Where is she?"

"How should I know?"

"I have a feeling that you do."

"Keep your feelings for yourself. Let's say I'm deputizing for
her."

"I want her here too!"

"Not possible."

"Why not? You know very well that it isn't the real you, just
my…"

"No, I am the real Gibarian—just a new incarnation. But
let's not waste time on useless chatter."

"You'll be leaving again?"

"Yes."

"And then she'll come back?"

"Why should you care about that?"

"She belongs to me."

"You are afraid of her."

"No."

"She disgusts you."

"What do you want with me?"

"Save your pity for yourself—you have a right to
it—but not for her. She will always be twenty years old. You
must know that."

I felt suddenly at ease again, for no apparent reason, and ready
to hear him out. He seemed to have come closer, though I could not
see him in the dark.

"What do you want?"

"Sartorius has convinced Snow that you have been deceiving him.
Right now they are trying to give you the same treatment. Building
the X-ray beamer is a cover for constructing a magnetic field
disruptor."

"Where is she?"

"Didn't you hear me? I came to warn you."

"Where is she?"

"I don't know. Be careful. You must find some kind of weapon.
You can't trust anyone."

"I can trust Rheya."

He stifled a laugh: "Of course, you can trust Rheya—to
some extent. And you can always follow my example, if all else
fails."

"You are not Gibarian."

"No? Then who am I? A dream?"

"No, you are only a puppet. But you don't realize that you
are."

"And how do you know what
you
are?"

I tried to stand up, but could not stir. Although Gibarian was
still speaking, I could not understand his words; there was only
the drone of his voice. I struggled to regain control of my body,
felt a sudden wrench and…I woke up, and drew down great
gulps of air. It was dark, and I had been having a nightmare. And
now I heard a distant, monotonous voice: "…a dilemma that we
are not equipped to solve. We are the cause of our own sufferings.
The Polytheres behave strictly as a kind of amplifier of our own
thoughts. Any attempt to understand the motivation of these
occurrences is blocked by our own anthropomorphism. Where there are
no men, there cannot be motives accessible to men. Before we can
proceed with our research, either our own thoughts or their
materialized forms must be destroyed. It is not within our power to
destroy our thoughts. As for destroying their material forms, that
could be like committing murder."

I had recognized Gibarian's voice at once. When I stretched out
my arm, I found myself alone. I had fallen asleep again. This was
another dream. I called Gibarian's name, and the voice stopped in
mid-sentence. There was the sound of a faint gasp, then a gust of
air.

"Well, Gibarian," I yawned, "You seem to be following me out of
one dream and into the next…"

There was a rustling sound from somewhere close, and I called
his name again. The bed-springs creaked, and a voice whispered in
my ear:

"Kris…it's me…"

"Rheya? Is it you? What about Gibarian?"

"But…you said he was dead, Kris."

"He can be alive in a dream," I told her dejectedly, although I
was not completely sure that it had been a dream. "He spoke to
me…He was here…"

My head sank back onto the pillow. Rheya said something, but I
was already drifting into sleep.

In the red light of morning, the events of the previous night
returned. I had dreamt that I was talking to Gibarian, But
afterwards, I could swear that I had heard his voice, although I
had no clear recall of what he had said, and it had not been a
conversation—more like a speech.

Rheya was splashing about in the bathroom. I looked under the
bed, where I had hidden the tape-recorder a few days earlier. It
was no longer there.

"Rheya!" She put her face round the door. "Did you see a
tape-recorder under the bed, a little pocket one?"

"There was a pile of stuff under the bed. I put it all over
there." She pointed to a shelf by the medicine cabinet, and
disappeared back into the bathroom.

There was no tape-recorder on the shelf, and when Rheya emerged
from the bathroom I asked her to think again. She sat combing her
hair, and did not answer. It was not until now that I noticed how
pale she was, and how closely she was watching me in the mirror. I
returned to the attack:

"The tape-recorder is missing, Rheya."

"Is that all you have to tell me?"

"I'm sorry. You're right, it's silly to get so worked up about a
tape-recorder."

Anything to avoid a quarrel.

Later, over breakfast, the change in Rheya's behavior was
obvious, yet I could not define it. She did not meet my eyes, and
was frequently so lost in thought that she did not hear me. Once,
when she looked up, her cheeks were damp.

"Is anything the matter? You're crying."

"Leave me alone," Rheya blurted. "They aren't real tears."

Perhaps I ought not to have let her answer so, but 'straight
talking' was the last thing I wanted. In any case, I had other
problems on my mind; I had dreamt that Snow and Sartorius were
plotting against me, and although I was certain that it had been
nothing more than a dream, I was wondering if there was anything on
the Station that I might be able to use to defend myself. My
thinking had not progressed to the point of deciding what to do
with a weapon once I had it. I told Rheya that I had to make an
inspection of the store-rooms, and she trailed behind me
silently.

I ransacked packing-cases and capsules, and when we reached the
lower deck I was unable to resist looking into the cold store. Not
wanting Rheya to go in, I put my head inside the door and looked
around. The recumbent figure was still covered by its dark shroud,
but from my position in the doorway I could not make out whether
the black woman was still sleeping by Gibarian's body. I had the
impression that she was no longer there.

I wandered from one store-room to another, unable to locate
anything that might serve as a weapon, and with a rising feeling of
depression. All at once I noticed that Rheya was not with me. Then
she reappeared; she had been hanging back in the corridor. In spite
of the pain she suffered when she could not see me, she had been
trying to keep away. I should have been astonished: instead, I went
on acting as if I had been offended—but then, who had
offended me?—and sulking like a child.

My head was throbbing, and I rifled the entire contents of the
medicine cabinet without finding so much as an aspirin. I did not
want to go back to the sick bay. I did not want to do anything. I
had never been in a blacker temper. Rheya tiptoed about the cabin
like a shadow. Now and then she went off somewhere. I don't know
where, I was paying her no attention; then she would creep back
inside.

That afternoon, in the kitchen (we had just eaten, but in fact
Rheya had not touched her food, and I had not attempted to persuade
her), Rheya got up and came to sit next to me. I felt her hand on
my sleeve, and grunted: "What's the matter?"

I had been meaning to go up to the deck above, as the pipes were
carrying the sharp crackling sound of high-voltage apparatus in
use, but Rheya would have had to come with me. It had been hard
enough to justify her presence in the library; among the machinery,
there was a chance that Snow might drop some clumsy remark. I gave
up the idea of going to investigate.

"Kris," she whispered, "what's happening to us?"

I gave an involuntary sigh of frustration with everything that
had been happening since the previous night: "Everything is fine.
Why?"

"I want to talk."

"All right, I'm listening."

"Not like this."

"What? You know I have a head-ache, and that's not the least of
my worries…"

"You're not being fair."

I forced myself to smile; it must have been a poor imitation:
"Go ahead and talk, darling, please."

"Will you tell me the truth?"

"Why should I lie?" This was an ominous beginning.

"You might have your reasons…it might be
necessary…But if you want…Look, I am going to tell
you something, and then it will be your turn—only no
half-truths. Promise!" I could not meet her gaze. "I've already
told you that I don't know how I came to be here. Perhaps you do.
Wait!—perhaps you don't. But if you do know, and you can't
tell me now, will you tell me one day, later on? I couldn't be any
the worse for it, and you would at least be giving me a
chance."

"What are you talking about, child," I stammered. "What
chance?"

"Kris, whatever I may be, I'm certainly not a child. You
promised me an answer."

Whatever I may be…my throat tightened, and I stared at
Rheya shaking my head like an imbecile, as if forbidding myself to
hear any more.

"I'm not asking for explanations. You only need to tell me that,
you are not allowed to say."

"I'm not hiding anything," I croaked.

"All right."

She stood up. I wanted to say something. We could not leave it
at that. But no words would come. "Rheya…"

She was standing at the window, with her back turned. The
blue-black ocean stretched out under a cloudless sky.

"Rheya, if you believe…You know very well I love
you…"

"Me?"

I went to put my arms round her, but she pulled away.

"You're too kind," she said. "You say you love me? I'd rather
you beat me."

"Rheya, darling!"

"No, no, don't say any more."

She went back to the table and began to clear away the plates. I
gazed out at the ocean. The sun was setting, and the Station cast a
lengthening shadow that danced on the waves. Rheya dropped a plate
on the floor. Water splashed in the sink. A tarnished golden halo
ringed the horizon. If I only knew what to do…if
only…Suddenly there was silence. Rheya was standing behind
me.

"No, don't turn round," she murmured. "It isn't your fault, I
know. Don't torment yourself."

I reached out, but she slipped away to the far side of the room
and picked up a stack of plates: "It's a shame they're unbreakable.
I'd like to smash them, all of them."

I thought for a moment that she really was going to dash them to
the floor, but she looked across at me and smiled: "Don't worry,
I'm not going to make scenes."

In the middle of the night, I was suddenly wide awake. The room
was in darkness and the door was ajar, with a faint light shining
from the corridor. There was a shrill hissing noise, interspersed
with heavy, muffled thudding, as if some heavy object was pounding
against a wall. A meteor had pierced the shell of the Station! No,
not a meteor, a shuttle, for I could hear a dreadful labored
whining….

I shook myself. It was not a meteor, nor was it a shuttle. The
sound was coming from somebody at the end of the corridor. I ran
down to where light was pouring from the door of the little
work-room, and rushed inside. A freezing vapor filled the room, my
breath fell like snow, and white flakes swirled over a body covered
by a dressing-gown, stirring feebly then striking the floor again.
I could hardly see through the freezing mist. I snatched her up and
folded her in my arms, and the dressing-gown burnt my skin.

Rheya kept on making the same harsh gasping sound as I stumbled
along the corridor, no longer feeling the cold, only her breath on
my neck, burning like fire.

I lowered Rheya onto the operating table and pulled the
dressing-gown open. Her face was contorted with pain, the lips
covered by a thick, black layer of frozen blood, the tongue a mass
of sparkling ice crystals.

Liquid oxygen…The Dewar bottles in the work-room
contained liquid oxygen. Splinters of glass had crunched underfoot
as I carried Rheya out. How much of it had she swallowed? It didn't
matter. Her trachea, throat and lungs must be burnt
away—liquid oxygen corrodes flesh more effectively than
strong acids. Her breathing was more and more labored, with a dry
sound like tearing paper. Her eyes were closed. She was dying.

I looked across at the big, glass-fronted cabinets, crammed with
instruments and drugs. Tracheotomy? Intubation? She had no lungs! I
stared at shelves full of colored bottles and cartons. She went on,
gasping hoarsely, and a wisp of vapor drifted out of her open
mouth.

Thermophores…

I started looking for them, then changed my mind, ran to another
cupboard and turned out boxes of ampoules. Now a
hypodermic—where are they?—here—needs
sterilizing. I fumbled with the lid of the sterilizer, but my numb
fingers had lost all sensation and would not bend.