Solaris (16 page)

The harsh rattle grew louder, and Rheya's eyes were open when I
reached the table. I opened my mouth to say her name but my voice
had gone and my lips would not obey me. My face did not belong to
me; it was a plaster mask.

Rheya's ribs were heaving under the white skin. The ice-crystals
had melted and her wet hair was entangled in the headrest. And she
was looking at me.

"Rheya!" It was all I could say. I stood paralyzed, my hands
dangling uselessly, until a burning sensation mounted from my legs
and attacked my lips and eyelids.

A drop of blood melted and slanted down her cheek. Her tongue
quivered and receded. The labored panting went on.

I could feel no pulse in her wrist, and put my ear against her
frozen breast. Faintly, behind the raging blizzard, her heart was
beating so fast that I could not count the beats, and I remained
crouched over her, with my eyes closed. Something brushed my
head—Rheya's hand in my hair. I stood up.

"Kris!" A harsh gasp.

I took her hand, and the answering pressure made my bones creak.
Then her face screwed up with agony, and she lost consciousness
again. Her eyes turned up, a guttural rattle tore at her throat,
and her body arched with convulsions. It was all I could do to keep
her on the operating table; she broke free and her head cracked
against a porcelain basin. I dragged her back, and struggled to
hold her down, but violent spasms kept jerking her out of my grasp.
I was pouring with sweat, and my legs were like jelly. When the
convulsions abated, I tried to make her lie flat, but her chest
thrust out to gulp at the air. Suddenly her eyes were staring out
at me from behind the frightful blood-stained mask of her face.
"Kris…how long…how long?" She choked. Pink foam
appeared at her mouth, and the convulsions racked her again. With
my last reserves of strength I bore down on her shoulders, and she
fell back. Her teeth chattered loudly.

"No, no, no," she whimpered suddenly, and I thought that death
was near.

But the spasms resumed, and again I had to hold her down. Now
and then she swallowed drily, and her ribs heaved. Then the eyelids
half closed over the unseeing eyes, and she stiffened. This must be
the end. I did not even try to wipe the foam from her mouth. A
distant ringing throbbed in my head. I was waiting for her final
breath before my strength failed and I collapsed to the ground.

She went on breathing, and the rasp was now only a light sigh.
Her chest, which had stopped heaving, moved again to the rapid
rhythm of her heartbeat. Color was returning to her cheeks. Still I
did not realize what was happening. My hands were clammy, and I
heard as if through layers of cotton wool, yet the ringing sound
continued. Rheya's eyelids moved, and our eyes met.

I could not speak her name from behind the mask of my face. All
I could do was look at her.

She turned her head and looked round the room. Somewhere behind
me, in another world, a tap dripped. Rheya levered herself up on
her elbow. I recoiled, and again our eyes met.

"It…it didn't work," she stammered. "Why are you looking
at me like that?" Then she screamed out loud: "Why are you looking
at me like that?"

Still I could say nothing. She examined her hands, moved her
fingers…

"Is this me?"

My lips formed her name, and she repeated it as a
question—"Rheya?"

She let herself slide off the operating table, staggered,
regained her balance and took a few steps. She was moving in a
daze, and looking at me without appearing to see me.

"Rheya? But…I am not Rheya. Who am I then? And you, what
about you?" Her eyes widened and sparkled, and an astonished smile
lit up her face. "And you, Kris. Perhaps you too…"

I had backed away until I came up against the wall. The smile
vanished.

"No. You are afraid. I can't take any more of this, I
can't…I didn't know, I still don't understand. It's not
possible." Her clenched fists struck her chest. "What else could I
think, except that I was Rheya! Maybe you believe this is all an
act? It isn't, I swear it isn't."

Something snapped in my mind, and I went to put my arms round
her, but she fought free:

"Don't touch me! Leave me alone! I disgust you, I know I do.
Keep away! I'm not Rheya…"

We screamed at each other and Rheya tried to keep me at arms'
length. I would not let her go, and at last she let her head fall
to my shoulder. We were on our knees, breathless and exhausted.

"Kris…what do I have to do to put a stop to this?"

"Be quiet!"

"You don't know!" She lifted her head and stared at me. "It
can't be done, can it?"

"Please…."

"I really tried…No, go away. I disgust you—and
myself, I disgust myself. If I only knew how…"

"You would kill yourself."

"Yes."

"But I want you to stay alive. I want you here, more than
anything."

"You're lying."

"Tell me what I have to do to convince you. You are here. You
exist. I can't see any further than that."

"It can't possibly be true, because I am not Rheya."

"Then who are you?"

There was a long silence. Then she bowed her head and
murmured:

"Rheya…But I know that I am not the woman you once
loved."

"Yes. But that was a long time ago. That past does not exist,
but you do, here and now. Don't you see?"

She shook her head:

"I know that it was kindness that made you behave as you did,
but there is nothing to be done. That first morning when I found
myself waiting by your bed for you to wake up, I knew nothing. I
can hardly believe it was only three days ago. I behaved like a
lunatic. Everything was misty. I didn't remember anything, wasn't
surprised by anything. It was like recovering from a drugged sleep,
or a long illness. It even occurred to me that I might have been
ill and you didn't want to tell me. Then a few things happened to
set me thinking—you know what I mean. So after you met that
man in the library and you refused to tell me anything, I made up
my mind to listen to that tape. That was the only time I have lied
to you, Kris. When you were looking for the tape-recorder, I knew
where it was. I'd hidden it. The man who recorded the
tape—what was his name?"

"Gibarian."

"Yes, Gibarian—he explained everything. Although I still
don't understand. The only thing missing was that I
can't…that there is no end. He didn't mention that, or if he
did it was after you woke up and I had to switch off. But I heard
enough to realize that I am not a human being, only an
instrument."

"What are you talking about?"

"That's what I am. To study your reactions—something of
that sort. Each one of you has a…an instrument like me. We
emerge from your memory or your imagination, I can't say
exactly—anyway you know better than I. He talks about such
terrible things…so far fetched…if it did not fit in
with everything else I would certainly have refused to believe
him."

"The rest?"

"Oh, things like not needing sleep, and being compelled to go
wherever you go. When I think that only yesterday I was miserable
because I thought you detested me. How stupid! But how could I have
imagined the truth? He—Gibarian—didn't hate that woman,
the one who came to him, but he refers to her in such a dreadful
way. It wasn't until then that I realized that I was helpless
whatever I did, and that I couldn't avoid torturing you. More than
that though, an instrument of torture is passive, like the stone
that falls on somebody and kills them. But an instrument of torture
which loves you and wishes you nothing but good—it was too
much for me. I wanted to tell you the little that I
had
understood. I told myself that it might be useful to you. I even
tried to make notes…."

"That time when you had the light switched on?"

"Yes. But I couldn't write anything. I searched myself
for…you know, some sign of 'influence'…I was going
mad. I felt as if there was no body underneath my skin and there
was something else instead: as if I was just an illusion meant to
mislead you. You see?"

"I see."

"When you can't sleep at night and your mind keeps spinning for
hours on end, it can take you far away; you find yourself moving in
strange directions…"

"I know what you mean."

"But I could feel my heart beating. And then I remembered that
you had made an analysis of my blood. What did you find? You can
tell me the truth now."

"Your blood is like my own."

"Truly?"

"I give you my word."

"What does that indicate? I had been telling myself that
the…unknown force might be concealed somewhere inside me,
and that it might not occupy very much space. But I did not know
whereabouts it was. I think now that I was evading the real issue
because I didn't have the nerve to make a decision. I was afraid,
and I looked for a way out. But Kris, if my blood is like
yours…if I really…no, it's impossible. I would
already be dead, wouldn't I? That means there really is something
different—but where? In the mind? Yet it seems to me that I
think as any human being does…and I know nothing! If that
alien thing was thinking in my head, I would know everything. And I
would not love you. I would be pretending, and aware that I was
pretending. Kris, you've got to tell me everything you know.
Perhaps we could work out a solution between us."

"What kind of solution?" She fell silent. "Is it death you
want?"

"Yes, I think it is."

Again silence. Rheya sat on the floor, her knees drawn up under
her chin. I looked around at the white-enamelled fittings and
gleaming instruments, perhaps looking for some unsuspected clue to
suddenly materialize.

"Rheya, I have something to say, too." She waited quietly. "It
is true that we are not exactly alike. But there is nothing wrong
with that. In any case, whatever else we might think about it,
that…difference…saved your life."

A painful smile flickered over her face: "Does that mean that I
am…immortal?"

"I don't know. At any rate, you're far less vulnerable than I
am."

"It's horrible…."

"Perhaps not as horrible as you think."

"But you don't envy me."

"Rheya, I don't know what your fate will be. It cannot be
predicted, any more than my own or any other member's of the
Station's personnel. The experiment will go on, and anything can
happen…"

"Or nothing."

"Or nothing. And I have to confess that nothing is what I would
prefer. Not because I'm frightened—though fear is undeniably
an element of this business—but because there can't be any
final outcome. I'm quite sure of that."

"Outcome? You mean the ocean?"

"Yes, contact with the ocean. As I see it, the problem is
basically very simple. Contact means the exchange of specific
knowledge, ideas, or at least of findings, definite facts. But what
if no exchange is possible? If an elephant is not a giant microbe,
the ocean is not a giant brain. Obviously there can be various
approaches, and the consequence of one of them is that you are
here, now, with me. And I am trying my hardest to make you realize
that I love you. Just your being here cancels out the twelve years
of my life that went into the study of Solaris, and I want to keep
you.

"You may have been sent to torment me, or to make my life
happier, or as an instrument ignorant of its function, used like a
microscope with me on the slide. Possibly you are here as a token
of friendship, or a subtle punishment, or even as a joke. It could
be all of those at once, or—which is more
probable—something else completely. If you say that our
future depends on the ocean's intentions, I can't deny it. I can't
tell the future any more than you can. I can't even swear that I
shall always love you. After what has happened already, we can
expect anything. Suppose tomorrow it turns me into a green
jellyfish! It's out of our hands. But the decision we make today is
in our hands. Let's decide to stay together. What do you say?"

"Listen Kris, there's something else I must ask you…Am
I…do I look very like her?"

"You did at first. Now I don't know."

"I don't understand."

"Now all I see is you."

"You're sure?"

"Yes. If you really were her, I might not be able to love
you."

"Why?"

"Because of what I did."

"Did you treat her badly?"

"Yes, when we…"

"Don't say any more."

"Why not?"

"So that you won't forget that I am the one who is here not
her."

The following morning, I received another note from Snow:
Sartorius had left off working on the disruptor and was getting
ready for a final experiment with high-power X-rays.

"Rheya, darling, I have to pay a visit to Snow."

The red dawn blazing through the window divided the room in two.
We were in an area of blue shadow. Everything outside this
shadow-zone was burnished copper: if a book had fallen from a
shelf, my ear would have listened instinctively for a metallic
clang.

"It's to do with the experiment. Only I don't know what to do
about it. Please understand, I'd rather…"

"You needn't justify yourself, Kris. If only it doesn't go on
too long."

"It's bound to take a while. Look, do you think you could wait
in the corridor?"

"I can try. But what if I lose control?"

"What does it feel like? I'm not asking just out of curiosity,
believe me, but if we can discuss how it works you might find some
way of keeping it in check."

Rheya had turned pale, but she tried to explain:

"I feel afraid, not of some thing or some person—there's
no focus, only a sense of being lost. And I am terribly ashamed of
myself. Then, when you come back, it stops. That's what made me
think I might have been ill."

"Perhaps it's only inside this damned Station that it works.
I'll make arrangements for us to get out as soon as possible."

"Do you think you can?"

"Why not? I'm not a prisoner here. I'll have to talk it over
with Snow. Have you any idea how long you could manage to remain by
yourself?"

"That depends…If I could hear your voice, I think might
be able to hold out."

"I'd rather you weren't listening. Not that I have anything to
hide, but there's no telling what Snow might say."

"You needn't go on. I understand. I'll just stand close enough
to hear the sound of your voice."

"I'm going to the operating room to phone him. The doors will be
open."

Rheya nodded agreement.

I crossed the red zone. The corridor seemed dark by contrast, in
spite of the lighting. Inside the open door of the operating room,
fragments of the Dewar bottle, the last traces of the previous
night's events, gleamed from under a row of liquid oxygen
containers. When I took the phone off the hook, the little screen
lit up, and I tapped out the number of the radio-cabin. Behind the
dull glass, a spot of bluish light grew, burst, and Snow was
looking at me perched on the edge of his chair.

"I got your note and I want to talk to you. Can I come
over?"

"Yes. Right away?"

"Yes."

"Excuse me, but are you coming alone or accompanied?"

"Alone."

His creased forehead and thin, tanned face filled the screen as
he leant forward to scrutinize me through the convex glass. Then he
appeared to reach an abrupt decision:

"Fine, fine, I'll be expecting you."

I went back to the cabin, where I could barely make the shape of
Rheya behind the curtain of red sunlight. She was sitting in an
armchair, with her hands clutching the armrests. She must have
failed to hear my footsteps, and I saw her for a moment fighting
the inexplicable compulsion that possessed her and wrestling with
the fierce contractions of her entire body which stopped
immediately she saw me. I choked back a feeling of blind rage and
pity.

We walked in silence down the long corridor with its polychromed
walls; the designers had intended the variations in color to make
life more tolerable inside the armored shell of the Station. A
shaft of red light ahead of us meant that the door of the
radio-cabin was ajar, and I looked at Rheya. She made no attempt to
return my smile, totally absorbed in her preparations for the
coming battle with herself. Now that the ordeal was about to begin,
her face was pinched and white. Fifteen paces from the door, she
stopped, pushing me forward gently with her fingertips as I started
to turn around. Suddenly I felt that Snow, the experiment, even the
Station itself were not worth the agonizing price that Rheya was
ready to pay, with myself as assistant torturer. I would have
retraced my steps, but a shadow fell across the cabin doorway, and
I hurried inside.

Snow stood facing me with the red sun behind him making a halo
of purple light out of his grey hair. We confronted one another
without speaking, and he was able to examine me at his leisure in
the sunlight that dazzled me so that I could hardly see him.

I walked past him and leaned against a tall desk bristling with
microphones on their flexible stalks. Snow pivoted slowly and went
on staring at me with his habitual cheerless smile, in which there
was no amusement, only overpowering fatigue. Still with his eyes on
mine, he picked his way through the piles of objects littered about
the cabin—thermic cells, instruments, spare parts for the
electronic equipment—pulled a stool up against the door of a
steel cabinet, and sat down.

I listened anxiously, but no sound came from the corridor. Why
did Snow not speak? The prolonged silence was becoming
exasperating.

I cleared my throat:

"When will you and Sartorius be ready?"

"We can start today, but the recording will take some time."

"Recording? You mean the encephalogram?"

"Yes, you agreed. Is anything wrong?"

"No, nothing."

Another lengthening silence. Snow broke it: "Did you have
something to tell me?"

"She knows," I whispered.

He frowned, but I had the impression that he was not really
surprised. Then why pretend? I lost all desire to confide in him.
All the same, I had to be honest:

"She started to suspect after our meeting in the library. My
behavior, various other indications. Then she found Gibarian's
tape-recorder and played back the tape."

Snow sat intent and unmoving. Standing by the desk, my view of
the corridor was blocked by the half-open door. I lowered my voice
again:

"Last night, while I was asleep, she tried to kill herself, She
drank liquid oxygen…" There was a sound of rustling, like
papers stirred by the wind. I stopped and listened for something in
the corridor, but the noise did not come from there. A mouse in the
cabin? Out of the question, this was Solaris. I stole a glance at
Snow. "Go on," he said calmly.

"It didn't work, of course. Anyway, she knows who she is."

"Why tell me?"

I was taken aback for an instant, then I stammered out: "So as
to inform you, to keep you up to date on the situation…"

"I warned you."

"You mean you knew?" My voice rose involuntarily.

"What you have just told me? Of course not. But I explained the
position. When it arrives, the visitor is almost blank—only a
ghost made up of memories and vague images dredged out of
its…source. The longer it stays with you, the more human it
becomes. It also becomes more independent, up to a certain point.
And the longer that goes on, the more difficult it gets…"
Snow broke off, looked me up and down, and went on reluctantly:
"Does she know everything?"

"Yes, I've just told you."

"Everything? Does she know that she came once before, and that
you…"

"No!"

"Listen Kelvin," he smiled ruefully, "if that's how it is, what
do you want to do—leave the Station?"

"Yes."

"With her?"

The silence while he considered his reply also revealed
something else. Again, from somewhere close, and without being able
to pin it down, I heard the same faint rustling in the cabin, as if
through a thin partition.

Snow shifted on his stool.

"All right. Why look at me like that? Do you think I would stand
in your way? You can do as you like, Kelvin. We're in enough
trouble already without putting pressure on each other. I know it
will be a hopeless job to convince you, but there's something I
have to say: you are doing all you can to stay human in an inhuman
situation. Noble it may be, but it isn't going to get you anywhere.
And I'm not so sure about it being noble—not if it's idiotic
at the same time. But that's your affair. Let's get back to the
point. You renege on the experiment and take her away with you. Has
it struck you that you'll only be embarking on a different kind of
experiment?"

"What do you mean? If you want to know whether she can manage
it, as long as I'm with her, I don't see…" I trailed to a
halt.

Snow sighed:

"All of us have our heads in the sand, Kelvin, and we know it.
There's no need to put on airs."

"I'm not putting anything on."

"I'm sorry, I didn't want to offend you. I take back the airs,
but I still think that you are playing the ostrich game—and a
particularly dangerous version. You deceive yourself, you deceive
her, and you chase your own tail. Do you know the necessary
conditions for stabilizing a neutrino field?"

"No, nor do you. Nor does anyone."

"Exactly. All we know is that the structure is inherently
unstable, and can only be maintained by means of a continuous
energy input. Sartorius told me that. This energy creates a
rotating stabilization field. Now, does that energy come from
outside the 'visitor,' or is it generated internally? You see the
difference?"

"Yes. If it is external, she…"

Snow finished the sentence for me:

"Away from Solaris, the structure disintegrates. It's only a
theory, of course, but one that you can verify, since you have
already set up an experiment. The vehicle you launched is still in
orbit. In my spare moments, I've even calculated its trajectory.
You can take off, intercept, and find out what happened to the
passenger…"

"You're out of your mind," I yelled.

"You think so? And what if we brought the shuttle down again? No
problem—it's on remote control. We'll bring it out of orbit,
and…"

"Shut up!"

"That won't do either? There's another method, a very simple
one. It doesn't involve bringing the shuttle down, only
establishing radio contact. If she's alive, she'll reply,
and…"

"The oxygen would have run out days ago."

"She may not need it. Shall we try?"

"Snow…Snow…"

He mimicked my intonation angrily:

"Kelvin…Kelvin…Think, just a little. Are you a man
or not? Who are you trying to please? Who do you want to save?
Yourself? Her? And which version of her? This one or that one?
Haven't you got the guts to face them both? Surely you realize that
you haven't thought it through. Let me tell you one last time, we
are in a situation that is beyond morality."

The rustling noise returned, and this time it sounded like nails
scraping on a wall. All at once I was filled with a dull
indifference. I saw myself, I saw both of us, from a long way off,
as if through the wrong end of a telescope, and everything looked
meaningless, trivial, and slightly ridiculous.

"So what do you suggest? Send up another shuttle? She would be
back tomorrow. And the day after, and the day after that. How long
do you want it to go on? What's the good of disposing of her if she
keeps returning? How would it help me, or you, or Sartorius, or the
Station?"

"No, here's my suggestion: leave with her. You'll witness the
transformation. After a few minutes, you'll see…"

"What? A monster, a demon?"

"No, you'll see her die, that's all. Don't think that they are
immortal—I promise you that they die. And then what will you
do? Come back…for a fresh sample?" He stared at me with
bantering condescension.

"That's enough!" I burst out, clenching my fists.

"Oh, I'm the one who has to be quiet? Look, I didn't start this
conversation, and as far as I'm concerned it has gone on long
enough. Let me just suggest some ways for you to amuse yourself.
You could scourge the ocean with rods, for instance. You've got it
into your head that you're a traitor if you…" He waved his
hand in farewell, and raised his head as if to watch an imaginary
ship in flight. "…and a good man if you keep her. Smiling
when you feel like screaming, and shamming cheerful when you want
to beat your head against a wall, isn't that being a traitor? What
if it is not possible, here, to be anything but a traitor? What
will you do? Take it out on that bastard Snow, who is the cause of
it all? In that case, Kelvin, you just put the lid on the rest of
your troubles by acting like a complete idiot!"

"You are talking from your own point of view. I love this
girl."

"Her memory, you mean?"

"No, herself. I told you what she tried to do. How many 'real'
human beings could have that much courage?"

"So you admit…"

"Don't quibble."

"Right. So she loves you. And you want to love her. It isn't the
same thing."

"You're wrong."

"I'm sorry, Kelvin, but it was your idea to spill all this. You
don't love her. You do love her. She is willing to give her life.
So are you. It's touching, it's magnificent, anything you like, but
it's out of place here—it's the wrong setting. Don't you see?
No, you don't want to. You are going around in circles to satisfy
the curiosity of a power we don't understand and can't control, and
she is an aspect, a periodic manifestation of that power. If she
was…if you were being pestered by some infatuated hag, you
wouldn't think twice about packing her off, right?"

"I suppose so."

"Well then, that probably explains why she is not a hag! You
feel as if your hands are tied? That's just it, they are!"

"All you are doing is adding one more theory to the millions of
theories in the library. Leave me alone Snow, she is…No, I
won't say any more."

"It's up to you. But remember that she is a mirror that reflects
a part of your mind. If she is beautiful, it's because your
memories are. You provide the formula. You can only finish where
you started, don't forget that."