Solaris

Guests


I hurriedly folded Gibarian’s notes in four and stuck them in my pocket. I went slowly up to the locker and looked inside. The overalls and other clothing were squashed into a corner, as if someone had been standing in there. The corner of an envelope was poking out from under a pile of papers on the floor. I picked it up. It was addressed to me. My heart suddenly in my throat, I ripped the envelope open and had to force myself to unfold the small sheet of paper that was inside.

In his even, tiny but legible handwriting Gibarian had noted:

Yearbook of Solaristics Volume I, Appendix, also: Minority report by Messenger re: F. Ravintzer’s Minor Apocrypha.

That was all, not one word more. The writing showed signs of haste. Was this some kind of important information? When had he written it? I realized I needed to get to the library as soon as possible. I knew the appendix to the first volume of the Yearbook of Solaristics; that is to say, I knew of its existence, but I’d never had it in my hand, for it was of historical interest only. Ravintzer, on the other hand, and his Minor Apocrypha, I had never even heard of.

What should I do?

I was already fifteen minutes late. One more time, from the door I took in the whole room. It was only now that I noticed a folding bunk stowed vertically against the wall—it was hidden by a map of Solaris. Something had been hung behind the map. It was a miniature tape recorder in a case. I took out the recorder and returned the case to where it had been before. I checked the counter—almost an entire reel had been used up. I slipped the recorder into my pocket.

Once again, for a second I stood by the door, my eyes closed, listening intently to the silence that reigned outside. Nothing. I opened the door; the corridor looked like a black chasm. It was only when I took off the dark glasses that I saw the faint ceiling lighting. I closed the door behind me and set off left, to the radio station.

I was close to the circular chamber from which corridors branched off like the spokes of a wheel. As I was passing a narrow side hallway leading, I think, to the bathrooms, I caught sight of a large, indistinct figure that almost merged into the background.

I stood rooted to the ground. From the far end of the side passage a huge black woman was coming towards me with an unhurried waddling gait. I saw the whites of her eyes glinting and at almost exactly the same moment I heard the soft slap of her bare feet. She had nothing on but a skirt that glistened yellow, as if it were made of straw. She had massive pendulous breasts, and her black arms were as thick as a normal person’s thighs. She passed three feet from me without so much as a glance and walked off, her elephantine rump swaying like one of those steatopygic Stone Age sculptures found in anthropological museums. At the place where the corridor curved, she turned to the side and disappeared into Gibarian’s cabin. When she opened the door, for a split second she stood in the brighter light coming from inside. Then the door closed softly and I was on my own. I took my left wrist in my right hand and squeezed with all my might, till the bones cracked. I looked around distractedly. What had just happened? What had that been? All at once, as if I’d been struck, I recalled Snaut’s warning. What was it supposed to mean? Who had that monstrous Aphrodite been? Where had she come from? I took one, only one, step towards Gibarian’s cabin, and froze. I knew only too well I wasn’t going to go in there. I sniffed the air with flared nostrils. Something was wrong, something was out of place. That was it! I’d instinctively expected the distinct, repulsive odor of her sweat, but even when she passed a couple of feet from me I hadn’t smelled a thing.

I don’t know how long I stood there leaning against the cold metal wall. The Station was plunged in silence, the only audible sound the distant drone of the air conditioning compressors.

I slapped myself lightly in the face and slowly made my way to the radio station. When I pressed down on the door handle, I heard a voice say sharply:

“Who’s there?”

“It’s me, Kelvin.”

He was sitting at a table between a pile of aluminum crates and the transmission console, eating meat concentrate straight from the can. I don’t know why he’d chosen to set up quarters in the radio station. I stood at the door, dazed, staring at his regularly chewing jaws, and suddenly realized I was hungry. I went up to the shelves, took the least dusty plate from a pile and sat down opposite him. For some time we ate without speaking. Then Snaut stood up, took a thermos flask from a wall cabinet and poured us each a cup of hot bouillon. Putting the thermos down on the floor, as there was no room on the table, he asked:

“Have you seen Sartorius?”

“No. Where is he?”

“Upstairs.”

Upstairs was the laboratory. We continued eating in silence, till the metal scraped at the bottom of the empty can. Night reigned in the radio station. The window was tightly covered from the outside; the room was lit by four circular fluorescent ceiling lamps. Their reflections quivered in the plastic cover of the console.

Red capillaries marked the taut skin on Snaut’s cheekbones. Now he was wearing a tattered loose black sweater.

“Is something wrong?” he asked.

“No? Why would it be?”

“You’re sweating.”

I wiped my forehead with my hand. It was true—I was dripping with sweat. It must have been a reaction to the shock I’d just had. He scrutinized me. Should I tell him? I’d rather he’d have shown more trust in me. Who was playing against whom, and in what incomprehensible way?

“It’s hot here,” I said. “I thought your air conditioning would be working better.”

“It’ll catch up in an hour or so. Are you sure it’s only from the heat?” He looked up at me. I chewed my food steadily as if I hadn’t noticed.

“What do you mean to do?” he asked finally, after we were done eating. He dropped the full dishes and the empty cans in the sink by the wall and came back to his chair.

“I’ll fit in with your plans,” I replied impassively. “You have a research program, right? Some new kind of stimulus, apparently X-rays or something like that?”

“X-rays?” He raised his eyebrows. “Where did you hear that?”

“I don’t remember. Someone told me. On the Prometheus maybe. Why? Is it already under way?”

“I don’t know the details. It was Gibarian’s idea. He started it with Sartorius. But how could you know about it?”

I shrugged.

“You don’t know the details? You should have been part of it; I mean, it’s partly your area. . .” I trailed off. He said nothing. The whine from the air conditioning quieted down, but the temperature remained at a tolerable level. There was merely a permanent high tone hanging in the air, like the buzz of a dying fly. Snaut stood, went up to the console and began flipping switches senselessly, since the main lever was in the off position. He fooled around like this for a while then, still with his back to me, he remarked:

“It’ll be necessary to complete the formalities regarding the. . . you know.”

“Is that so?”

He turned and looked at me as if close to rage. I can’t say I was deliberately trying to needle him, but not understanding any part of the game that was being played here I preferred to be guarded. His bony Adam’s apple moved up and down beneath the black turtleneck of his sweater.

“You were in Gibarian’s room,” he said abruptly.

I jerked my head as if to say, “Let’s say I was.”

I wanted him to go on.

“Who was there?”

He knew about her!

“No one. Who could have been there?” I asked.

“So why wouldn’t you let me in?”

I smiled.

“I got scared. After your warning, when the handle moved I grabbed it instinctively. Why didn’t you say it was you? I’d have let you in.”

“I thought it was Sartorius,” he said unsurely.

“What of it?”

“What do you think about. . . what happened there?” he said, answering a question with a question.

I hesitated.

“You must know better than me. Where is he?”

“In the cold room,” he replied immediately. “We moved him there right away in the morning. . . because of the heat.”

“Where did you find him?”

“In a locker.”

“In a locker? He was dead already?”

“His heart was still beating, but he wasn’t breathing. He was in his death throes.”

“Did you try to save him?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

He paused.

“I was too late. He died before I could lie him down.”

“He was standing in the closet? In amongst those overalls?”

“Yes.”

He went up to a small desk in the corner and fetched a sheet of paper that had been lying on it. He placed it in front of me.

“I wrote a kind of interim report,” he said. “It’s actually good that you took a look at the room. Cause of death. . . injection of a lethal dose of Pernostal. It’s written here. . .”

I scanned the brief text.

“Suicide,” I repeated quietly. “And the reason?”

“Nervous breakdown. . . depression. . . or whatever it ought to be called. You know these things better than I do.”

“I only know what I can see myself,” I replied and looked up into his eyes, for he was standing over me.

“What do you mean by that?” he asked calmly.

“He injected himself with Pernostal and hid in a closet, yes? If that was the case, it wasn’t depression or nervous breakdown, it was severe psychosis. Paranoia. . . He probably thought he was seeing something. . . ,” I said, speaking ever more slowly and looking him in the eye.

He walked off to the radio console and started flicking switches again.

“Your signature is here,” I said after a moment’s silence. “What about Sartorius?”

“He’s in the lab. I already told you. He doesn’t come out. I’m assuming that. . .”

“That what?”

“That he’s locked himself in.”

“Locked himself in? I see. Locked himself in. How about that. Perhaps he’s barricaded the door?”

“Perhaps.”

“Snaut. . . ,” I said. “There’s someone on the Station.”

“You’ve seen?!”

He looked across at me as he leaned over.

“You warned me. About who? Was it a hallucination?”

“What did you see?”

“It’s a human, yes?”

He said nothing. He turned towards the wall, as if he didn’t want me to see his face. He drummed his fingers on a metal partition. I looked at his hands. There was no trace of blood on his knuckles. I had a flash of insight.

“That person is real,” I said softly, almost in a whisper, as if I were telling him a secret that could be overheard. “Right? She can be. . . touched. She can be. . . hurt. . . The last time you saw her was today.”

“How do you know?”

He didn’t turn around. He stood right by the wall, his chest leaning against it as my words struck him.

“Right before I landed. . . Not long before?”

He flinched as if from a blow. I saw the wild look in his eyes.

“You?!” he stammered out. “Who are YOU?”

He looked as if he was about to pounce on me. That I was not expecting. The situation was upside down. So he didn’t believe I was who I said I was? What was this supposed to mean?! He was staring at me in absolute terror. Was he mad already? Poisoned? Anything was becoming possible. But I’d seen her—this creature; so then I myself. . . also. . . ?

“Who was it?” I asked. My words calmed him. For a moment he eyed me as if he still didn’t believe me. Before he even opened his mouth I knew it had been a false move on my part and that he wouldn’t answer me.

He eased himself into anarm chair and put his head in his hands.

“The things happening here. . . ,” he said in a low voice. “A malignant fever. . .”

“Who was it?” I asked once again.

“If you don’t know. . . ,” he murmured.

“Then what?”

“Then nothing.”

“Snaut,” I said, “We’re far enough away from home. Let’s play with open cards. Everything’s complicated enough as it is.”

“What do you mean?”

“That you should tell me who I saw.”

“And you. . . ?” he retorted suspiciously.

“You’re losing it. I’ll tell you and you tell me. You can rest assured I won’t think you’re crazy, because I know. . .”

“Crazy! Good God!” He tried to laugh. “You don’t, you have no. . . that would be a perfect solution. If he had believed for a moment it was madness, he wouldn’t have done it, he’d still be alive. . .”

“So what you said in the report about a nervous breakdown was a lie.”

“Of course!”

“Why won’t you write the truth?”

“Why. . . ?” he repeated.

There was a pause. Once again I was completely in the dark. I didn’t get a thing, though for a moment it seemed I’d managed to convince him to approach the mystery by combining forces. Why, why wouldn’t he say?!

“Where are the automats?” I put in.

“In the depositories. We locked them all away except for the docking bay service.”

“Why?”

Again he didn’t answer.

“You won’t say?”

“I can’t.”

There was something in all this that I couldn’t put my finger on. Maybe I should go upstairs and see Sartorius? I suddenly remembered the note, and at the present moment that seemed the most important thing.

“Can you imagine going on working in these conditions?” I asked.

He gave a contemptuous shrug.

“What difference does it make?”

“Is that so? Then what do you intend to do?”

He said nothing. In the silence the distant sound of bare footsteps could be heard. Amid the plastic and nickel-plated implements, the tall lockers with electronic equipment, glassware, and precision instruments, that ambling, lazy tread sounded like a stupid trick performed by someone with a screw loose. The sound was coming closer. I stood up, intently watching Snaut. He was listening closely, his eyes narrowed to slits, but he didn’t seem at all alarmed. So it wasn’t her he was afraid of?

“Where did she come from?” I asked. Then, when he hesitated to answer: “Do you not want to say?”

“I don’t know.”

“All right.”

The footsteps receded and faded away.

“You don’t believe me?” he said. “I give you my word I don’t know.”

I was silent. I opened a locker containing space suits and pushed aside their heavy empty shells. As I suspected, at the back, hanging on hooks there were gas pistols used to move about in a gravitational vacuum. They weren’t much use, but at least they were some kind of weapon. I preferred that to nothing. I checked the cartridge case and hung the strap of the holster over my arm. Snaut was observing me watchfully. As I adjusted the strap he bared his yellowed teeth in a mocking smile.

“Happy hunting!” he said.

“Thanks for everything,” I retorted, heading for the door. He jumped up from his armchair.

“Kelvin!”

I looked at him. He was no longer smiling. I don’t know that I’ve ever seen such a tired-looking face.

“Kelvin, it’s not. . . I. . . I really can’t,” he stammered. I waited to see if he’d say any more, but he just moved his lips as if he was trying to spit something out.

I turned and left without a word.