Solaris (17 page)

"What do you expect me to do? Send her away? I've already asked
you why, and you don't answer."

"I'll give you an answer. It was you who wanted this
conversation, not me. I haven't meddled with your affairs, and I'm
not telling you what to do or what not to do. Even if I had the
right, I would not. You come here of your own free will, and you
dump it all on me. You know why? To take the weight off your own
back. Well I've experienced that weight—don't try to shut me
up—and I leave you free to find your own solution. But you
want
opposition. If I got in your way, you could fight me,
something tangible, a man just like you, with the same flesh and
blood. Fight me, and you could feel that you too were a man. When I
don't give you the excuse to fight, you quarrel with me, or rather
with yourself. The one thing you've left out is telling me you'd
die of grief if
she
suddenly disappeared…No,
please, I've heard enough!"

I countered clumsily:

"I came to tell you, because I thought you ought to know, that I
intend leaving the Station with her."

"Still on the same tack," Snow shrugged. "I only offered my
opinion because I realized that you were losing touch with reality.
And the further you go, the harder you fall. Can you come and see
Sartorius around nine tomorrow morning?"

"Sartorius? I thought he wasn't letting anybody in. You told me
you couldn't even phone him."

"He seems to have reached some land of settlement. We never
discuss our domestic troubles. With you, it's another matter. Will
you come tomorrow morning?"

"All right," I grunted.

I noticed that Snow had slipped his left hand inside the
cabinet. How long had the door been ajar? Probably for some time,
but in the heat of the encounter I had not registered that the
position of his hand was not natural. It was as if he was
concealing something—or holding somebody's hand.

I licked my lips:

"Snow, what have you…"

"You'd better leave now," he said evenly.

I closed the door in the final glow of the red twilight. Rheya
was huddled against the wall a few paces down the corridor. She
sprang to her feet at once:

"You see? I did it, Kris. I feel so much better…Perhaps
it will be easier and easier…"

"Yes, of course…" I answered absently.

We went back to my quarters. I was still speculating about that
cabinet, and what had been hiding there, perhaps overhearing our
entire conversation. My cheeks started to burn so hard that I
involuntarily passed the back of my hand over them. What an idiotic
meeting! And where did it get us? Nowhere. But there was tomorrow
morning.

An abrupt thrill of fear ran through me. My encephalogram, a
complete record of the workings of my brain, was to be beamed into
the ocean in the form of radiation. What was it Snow had
said—would I suffer terribly if Rheya departed? An
encephalogram records every mental process, conscious and
unconscious. If I want her to disappear, will it happen? But if I
wanted to get rid of her would I also be appalled at the thought of
her imminent destruction? Am I responsible for my unconscious? No
one else is, if not myself. How stupid to agree to let them do it.
Obviously I can examine the recording before it is used, but I
won't be able to decode it. Nobody could. The experts can only
identify general mental tendencies. For instance, they will say
that the subject is thinking about some mathematical problem, but
they are unable to specify its precise terms. They claim that they
have to stick to generalizations because the encephalogram cannot
discriminate among the stream of simultaneous impulses, only some
of which have any psychological "counterpart," and they refuse
point-blank to hazard any comment on the unconscious processes. So
how could they be expected to decipher memories which have been
more or less repressed?

Then why was I so afraid? I had told Rheya only that morning
that the experiment could not work. If Terran neurophysiologists
were incapable of decoding the recording, what chance was there for
that great alien creature…?

Yet it had infiltrated my mind without my knowledge, surveyed my
memory, and laid bare my most vulnerable point. That was
undeniable. Without any assistance or radiation transmissions, it
had found its way through the armored shell of the Station, located
me, and come away with its spoils…

"Kris?" Rheya whispered.

Standing at the window with unseeing eyes, I had not noticed the
coming of darkness. A thin veiling of high cloud glowed a dim
silver in the light of the vanished sun, and obscured the
stars.

If she disappears after the experiment, that will mean that I
wanted her to disappear—that I killed her. No, I will not see
Sartorius. They can't force me to cooperate. But I can't tell them
the truth, I'll have to dissemble and lie, and keep on doing
it…Because there may be thoughts, intentions and cruel hopes
in my mind of which I know nothing, because I am a murderer
unawares. Man has gone out to explore other worlds and other
civilizations without having explored his own labyrinth of dark
passages and secret chambers, and without finding what lies behind
doorways that he himself has sealed. Was I to abandon Rheya there
out of false shame, or because I lacked the courage?

"Kris," said Rheya, more softly still.

She was standing quite close to me now. I pretended not to hear.
At that moment, I wanted to isolate myself. I had not yet resolved
anything, or reached any decision. I stood motionless, looking at
the dark sky and the cold stars, pale ghosts of the stars that
shone on Earth. My mind was a blank. All I had was the grim
certainty of having crossed some point of no return. I refused to
admit that I was travelling towards what I could not reach. Apathy
robbed me of the strength even to despise myself.

"Kris, is it the experiment that's on your mind?"

The sound of her voice made me start with surprise. I had been
lying in the dark for hours with my eyes open, unable to sleep. Not
hearing Rheya's breathing, I had forgotten her, letting myself
drift in a tide of aimless speculation. The waking dream had lured
me out of sight of the measure and meaning of reality. "How did you
know I wasn't asleep?" "Your breathing changes when you are
asleep," she said gently, as if to apologize for her question. "I
didn't want to interfere…If you can't answer, don't."

"Why would I not tell you? Anyway you've guessed right, it is
the experiment."

"What do they expect to achieve?"

"They don't know themselves. Something. Anything. It isn't
'Operation Brainwave,' it's 'Operation Desperation.' Really, one of
us ought to have the courage to call the experiment off and
shoulder the responsibility for the decision, but the majority
reckons that that kind of courage would be a sign of cowardice, and
the first step in a retreat. They think it would mean an
undignified surrender for mankind—as if there was any dignity
in floundering and drowning in what we don't understand and never
will." I stopped, but a new access of rage quickly built up.
"Needless to say they're not short of arguments. They claim that
even if we fail to establish contact we won't have been wasting our
time investigating the plasma, and that we shall eventually uncover
the secret of matter. They know very well that they are deceiving
themselves. It's like wandering about in a library where all the
books are written in an indecipherable language. The only thing
that's familiar is the color of the bindings!"

"Are there no other planets like this?"

"It's possible. This is the only one we've come across. In any
case, it's in an extremely rare category, not like Earth. Earth is
a common type—the grass of the universe! And we pride
ourselves on this universality. There's nowhere we can't go; in
that belief we set out for other worlds, all brimming with
confidence. And what were we going to do with them? Rule them or be
ruled by them: that was the only idea in our pathetic minds! What a
useless waste…"

I got out of bed and fumbled in the medicine cabinet. My fingers
recognized the shape of the big bottle of sleeping pills, and I
turned around in the darkness:

"I'm going to sleep, darling." Up in the ceiling, the ventilator
hummed. "I must get some sleep…"

In the morning, I woke up feeling calm and refreshed. The
experiment seemed a petty matter, and I could not understand how I
had managed to take the encephalogram so seriously. Nor was I much
bothered by having to bring Rheya into the laboratory. In spite of
all her exertions, she could not bear to stay out of sight and
earshot for longer than five minutes, so I had abandoned my idea of
further tests (she was even prepared to let herself be locked up
somewhere), asked her to come with me, and advised her to bring
something to read.

I was especially curious about what I would find in the
laboratory. There was nothing unusual about the appearance of the
big, blue-and-white-painted room, except that the shelves and
cupboards meant to contain glass instruments seemed bare. The glass
panel in one door was starred, and in some doors it was missing
altogether, suggesting that there had been a struggle here
recently, and that someone had done his best to remove the
traces.

Snow busied himself with the equipment, and behaved quite
civilly, showing no surprise at the sight of Rheya, and greeting
her with a quick nod of the head.

I was lying down and Snow was swabbing my temples and forehead
with saline solution, when a narrow door opened and Sartorius
emerged from an unlighted room. He was wearing a white smock and a
black anti-radiation overall that came down to his ankles, and his
greeting was authoritative and very professional in manner. We
might have been two researchers in some great institute on Earth,
continuing from where we had left off the day before. He was not
wearing his dark glasses, but I noticed that he had on contact
lenses, which I took to be the explanation of his lack of
expression.

Satorius looked on with arms folded as Snow attached the
electrodes and wrapped a bandage around my head. He looked around
the room several times, ignoring Rheya, who sat on a stool with her
back against the wall, pretending to read.

Snow stepped back, and I moved my head, which was bulging with
metal discs and wires, to watch him switch on. At this point
Sartorius raised his hand and launched into a flowery speech:

"Dr. Kelvin, may I have your attention and concentration for a
moment. I do not intend to dictate any precise sequence of thought
to you, for that would invalidate the experiment, but I do insist
that you cease thinking of yourself, of me, our colleague Snow, or
anybody else. Make an effort to eliminate any intrusion of
individual personalities, and concentrate on the matter in hand.
Earth and Solaris; the body of scientists considered as a single
entity, although generations succeed each other and man as an
individual has a limited span; our aspirations, and our
perseverance in the attempt to establish an intellectual contact;
the long historic march of humanity, our own certitude of
furthering that advance, and our determination to renounce all
personal feelings in order to accomplish our mission; the
sacrifices that we are prepared to make, and the hardships we stand
ready to overcome…These are the themes that might properly
occupy your awareness. The association of ideas does not depend
entirely on your own will. However, the very fact of your presence
here bears out the authenticity of the progression I have drawn to
your attention. If you are unsure that you have acquitted yourself
of your task, say so, I beg you, and our colleague Snow will make
another recording. We have plenty of time."

A dry little smile flickered over his face as he spoke these
last words, but his expression remained morose. I was still trying
to unravel the pompous phraseology which he had spun out with the
utmost gravity. Snow broke the lengthening silence:

"Ready Kris?"

He was leaning with one elbow on the control-panel of the
electro-encephalograph, looking completely relaxed. His confident
tone reassured me, and I was grateful to him for calling me by my
first name.

"Let's get started." I closed my eyes.

A sudden panic had overwhelmed me after Snow had fixed the
electrodes and walked over to the controls: now it disappeared just
as suddenly. Through half-closed lids, I could see the red lights
winking on the black control-panel. I was no longer aware of the
damp, unpleasant touch of the crown of clammy electrodes. My mind
was an empty grey arena ringed by a crowd of invisible onlookers
massed on tiers of seats, attentive, silent, and emanating in their
silence an ironic contempt for Sartorius and the Mission. What
should I improvise for these spectators?…Rheya…I
introduced her name cautiously, ready to withdraw it at once, but
no protest came, and I kept going. I was drunk with grief and
tenderness, ready to suffer prolonged sacrifices patiently. My mind
was pervaded with Rheya, without a body or a face, but alive inside
me, real and imperceptible. Suddenly, as if printed over that
despairing presence, I saw in the grey shadows the learned,
professorial face of Giese, the father of Solarist studies and of
Solarists. I was not visualizing the nauseating mud-eruption which
had swallowed up the gold-rimmed spectacles and carefully brushed
moustache. I was seeing the engraving on the title-page of his
classic work, and the close-hatched strokes against which the
artist had made his head stand out—so like my father's, that
head, not in its I features but in its expression of old-fashioned
wisdom and honesty, that I was finally no longer able to tell which
of them was looking at me, my father or Giese. They were dead, and
neither of them buried, but then deaths without burial are not
uncommon in our time.

The image of Giese vanished, and I momentarily forgot the
Station, the experiment, Rheya and the ocean. Recent memories were
obliterated by the overwhelming conviction that these two men, my
father and Giese, nothing but ashes now, had once faced up to the
totality of their existence, and this conviction afforded a
profound calm which annihilated the formless assembly clustered
around the grey arena in the expectation of my defeat.

I heard the click of circuit-breakers, and light penetrated my
eyelids, which blinked open. Sartorius had not budged from his
previous position, and was looking at me. Snow had his back turned
to operate the control-panel. I had the impression that he was
amusing himself by making his sandals slap on the floor.

"Do you think that stage one has been successful, Dr. Kelvin?"
Sartorius inquired, in the nasal voice which I had come to
detest.

"Yes."

"Are you sure?" he persisted, obviously rather surprised, and
perhaps even suspicious.

"Yes."

My assurance and the bluntness of my answers made him lose his
composure briefly.

"Oh…good," he stammered.

Snow came over to me and started to unwrap the bandage from my
head. Sartorius stepped back, hesitated, then disappeared into the
dark-room.

I was rubbing the circulation back into my legs when he came out
again, holding the developed film. Zigzag lines traced a lacy
pattern along fifty feet of glistening black ribbon. My presence
was no longer necessary, but I stayed, and Snow fed the ribbon into
the modulator. Sartorius made a final suspicious examination of the
last few feet of the spool, as if trying to decipher the content of
the wavering lines.

The experiment proceeded with a minimum of fuss.

Snow and Sartorius each sat at a bank of controls and pushed
buttons. Through the reinforced floor, I heard the whine of power
building up in the turbines. Lights moved downward inside
glass-fronted indicators in time with the descent of the great
X-ray beamer to the bottom of its housing. They came to a stop at
the low limit of the indicators.

Snow stepped up the power, and the white needle of the voltmeter
described a left-to-right semicircle. The hum of current was barely
audible now, as the film unwound, invisible behind the two round
caps. Numbers clicked through the footage indicator.

I went over to Rheya, who was watching us over her book. She
glanced up at me inquiringly. The experiment was over, and
Sartorius was walking towards the heavy conical head of the
machine.

"Can we go?" Rheya mouthed silently.

I replied with a nod, Rheya stood up and we left the room
without taking leave of my colleagues.

A superb sunset was blazing through the windows of the
upper-deck corridor. Usually the horizon was reddish and gloomy at
this hour. This time it was a shimmering pink, laced with silver.
Under the soft glow of the light, the somber foothills of the ocean
shone pale violet. The sky was red only at the zenith.

We came to the bottom of the stairway, and I stopped, reluctant
to wall myself up again in the prison cell of the cabin.

"Rheya, I want to look something up in the library. Do you
mind?"

"Of course not," she exclaimed, in a forced attempt at
cheerfulness. "I can find something to read…"

I knew only too well that a gulf had opened between us since the
previous day. I should have behaved more considerately, and tried
to master my apathy, but I could not summon the strength.

We walked down the ramp leading to the library. There were three
doors giving onto the little entrance hall, and crystal globes
containing flowers were spaced out along the walls. I opened the
middle door, which was lined with synthetic leather on either side.
I always avoided contact with this upholstery when entering the
library. We were greeted by a pleasant gust of fresh air. In spite
of the stylized sun painted on the ceiling, the great circular hall
had remained cool.

Idly running a finger along the spines of the books, I was on
the point of choosing, out of all the Solarist classics, the first
volume of Giese, so as to refresh my memory of the portrait on the
title-page, when I came upon a book I had not noticed before, an
octavo volume with a cracked binding. It was Gravinsky's
Compendium
, used mostly by students, as a crib.

Sitting in an armchair, with Rheya at my side, I leafed through
Gravinsky's alphabetical classification of the various Solarist
theories. The compiler, who had never set foot on Solaris, had
combed through every monograph, expedition report, fragmentary
outline and provisional account, even making excerpts of incidental
comments about Solaris in planetological works dealing with other
worlds. He had drawn up an inventory crammed with simplistic
formulations, which grossly diminished the subtlety of the ideas it
resuméd. Originally intended as an all-embracing account,
Gravinsky's book was little more than a curiosity now. It had only
been published twenty years before, but since that time such a mass
of new theories had accumulated that there would not have been room
for them in a single volume. I glanced through the
index—practically an obituary list, for few of the authors
cited were still alive, and among the survivors none was still
playing an active part in Solarist studies. Reading all these
names, and adding up the sum of the intellectual efforts they
represented in every field of research, it was tempting to think
that surely one of the theories quoted must be correct, and that
the thousands of listed hypotheses must each contain some grain of
truth, could not be totally unrelated to the reality.

In his introduction, Gravinsky divided the first sixty years of
Solarist studies into periods. During the initial period, which
began with the scouting ship that studied the planet from orbit,
nobody had produced theories in the strict sense. 'Common sense'
suggested that the ocean was a lifeless chemical conglomerate, a
gelatinous mass which through its 'quasi-volcanic' activity
produced marvellous creations and stabilized its eccentric orbit by
virtue of a self-generated mechanical process, as a pendulum keeps
itself on a fixed path once it is set in motion. To be precise,
Magenon had come up with the idea three years after the first
expedition, but according to the
Compendium
the
period of biological hypotheses does not begin until nine years
later, when Magenon's idea had acquired numerous supporters. The
following years teemed with theoretical accounts of the living
ocean, extremely complex, and supported by biomathematical
analysis. During the third period, scientific opinion, hitherto
practically unanimous, became divided.