Solaris (25 page)

"Who is responsible? Who is responsible for this situation? Gibarian? Giese? Einstein? Plato? All criminals… Just you think, in a rocket a man takes the risk of bursting like a balloon, or freezing, or roasting, or sweating all his blood out in a single gush, before he can even cry out, and all that remains is bits of bone floating inside armored hulls, in accordance with the laws of Newton as corrected by Einstein, those two milestones in our progress. Down the road we go, all in good faith, and see where it gets us. Think about our success, Kelvin; think about our cabins, the unbreakable plates, the immortal sinks, legions of faithful wardrobes, devoted cupboards… I wouldn't be talking this way if I weren't drunk, but sooner or later somebody was bound to say it, weren't they? You sit there like a baby in a slaughterhouse, and you let your beard grow… Who's to blame? Find out for yourself."

He turned slowly and went out, putting an arm out against the doorpost to steady himself. Then his footsteps died away along the corridor.

I tried not to look at Rheya, but my eyes were drawn to hers in spite of myself. I wanted to get up, take her in my arms and stroke her hair. I did not move.

Another three weeks. The shutters rose and fell on time. I was still a prisoner in my nightmares, and every morning the play began again. But was it a play? I put on a feigned composure, and Rheya played the same game. The deception was mutual and deliberate, and our agreement only contributed to our ultimate evasion. We talked about the future, and our life on Earth on the outskirts of some great city. We would spend the rest of our lives among green trees and under a blue sky, and never leave Earth again. Together we planned the lay-out of our house and garden and argued over details like the location of a hedge or a bench.

I do not believe that I was sincere for a single instant. Our plans were impossible, and I knew it, for even if Rheya could leave the Station and survive the voyage, how could I have got through the immigration checks with my clandestine passenger? Earth admits only human beings, and even then only when they carry the necessary papers. Rheya would be detained for an identity check at the first barrier, we would be separated, and she would give herself away at once. The Station was the one place where we could live together. Rheya must have known that, or found it out.

One night I heard Rheya get out of bed silently. I wanted to stop her; in the darkness and silence we occasionally managed to throw off our despair for a while by making each other forget. Rheya did not notice that I had woken up. When I stretched my hand out, she was already out of bed, and walking bare-foot towards the door. Without daring to raise my voice, I whispered her name, but she was outside, and a narrow shaft of light shone through the doorway from the corridor.

There was a sound of whispering. Rheya was talking to somebody … but whom? Panic overtook me when I tried to stand up, and my legs would not move. I listened, but heard nothing. The blood hammered through my temples. I started counting, and was approaching a thousand when there was a movement in the doorway and Rheya returned. She stood there for a second without moving, and I made myself breathe evenly.

"Kris?" she whispered.

I did not answer.

She slid quickly into bed and lay down, taking care not to disturb me. Questions buzzed in my mind, but I would not let myself be the first to speak, and made no move. The silent questioning went on for an hour, maybe more. Then I fell asleep.

The morning was like any other. I watched Rheya furtively, but could not see any change in her behavior. After breakfast, we sat at the big panoramic window. The Station was hovering among purple clouds. Rheya was reading, and as I stared out I suddenly noticed that by holding my head at a certain angle I could see us both reflected in the window. I took my hand off the rail. Rheya had no idea that I was watching her. She glanced at me, obviously decided from my posture that I was looking at the ocean, then bent to kiss the place where my hand had rested. In a moment she was reading her book again.

"Rheya," I asked gently, "where did you go last night?"

"Last night?"

"Yes."

"You … you must have been dreaming, Kris. I didn't go anywhere."

"You didn't leave the cabin?"

"No. It must have been a dream."

"Perhaps … yes, perhaps I dreamt it."

The same evening, I started talking about our return to Earth again, but Rheya stopped me:

"Don't talk to me about the journey again, Kris. I don't want to hear any more about it, you know very well…"

"What?"

"No, nothing."

After we went to bed, she said that she was thirsty:

"There's a glass of fruit-juice on the table over there. Could you give it to me?" She drank half of it then handed it to me.

"I'm not thirsty."

"Drink to my health then," she smiled.

It tasted slightly bitter, but my mind was on other things. She switched the light off.

"Rheya… If you won't talk about the voyage, let's talk about something else."

"If I did not exist, would you marry?"

"No."

"Never?"

"Never."

"Why not?"

"I don't know. I was by myself for ten years and I didn't marry again. Let's not talk about that…" My head was spinning as if I had been drinking too much.

"No, let's talk about it. What if I begged you to?"

"To marry again? Don't be silly, Rheya. I don't need anybody except you."

I felt her breath on my face and her arms holding me:

"Say it another way."

"I love you."

Her head fell to my shoulder, and I felt tears.

"Rheya, what's the matter?"

"Nothing … nothing … nothing…" Her voice echoed into silence, and my eyes closed.

The red dawn woke me with a splitting head and a neck so stiff that I felt as if the bones were welded together. My tongue was swollen, and my mouth felt foul. Then I reached out for Rheya, and my hand touched a cold sheet.

I sat up with a start.

I was alone—alone in bed and in the cabin. The concave window reflected a row of red suns. I dragged myself out of bed and staggered over to the bathroom, reeling like a drunkard and propping myself up on the furniture. It was empty. So was the workshop.

"Rheya!"

Calling, running up and down the corridor.

"Rheya!" I screamed, one last time, then my voice gave out. I already knew the truth…

I do not remember the exact sequence of events after that, as I stumbled half naked through all the length and breadth of the Station. It seems to me that I even went into the refrigeration section, searched through the storage rooms, hammered with my fists on bolted doors, then came back again to throw myself against doors which had already resisted me. I half-fell down flights of steps, picked myself up and hurried onwards. When I reached the double armoured doors which opened onto the ocean I was still calling, still hoping that it was a dream. Somebody was standing by me. Hands took hold of me and pulled me away.

I came to my senses again lying on a metal table in the little workshop and gasping for breath. My throat and nostrils were burning with some alcoholic vapor, my shirt was soaked in water, and my hair plastered over my skull.

Snow was busy at a medicine cupboard, shifting instruments and glass vessels which clattered with an unbearable din. Then his face appeared, looking gravely down into my eyes.

"Where is she?"

"She is not here."

"But … Rheya…"

He bent over me, brought his face closer, and spoke very slowly and clearly:

"Rheya is dead."

"She will come back," I whispered.

Instead of dreading her return, I wanted it. I did not attempt to remind myself why I myself had once tried to drive her away, and why I had been so afraid of her return.

"Drink this."

Snow held out a glass, and I threw it in his face. He staggered back, rubbing his eyes, and by the time he opened them again I was on my feet and standing over him. How small he was…

"It was you."

"What do you mean?"

"Come on Snow, you know what I mean. It was you who met her the other night. You told her to give me a sleeping pill… What has happened to her? Tell me!"

He felt in his shirt-pocket and took out an envelope. I snatched it out of his hand. It was sealed, and there was no inscription. Inside was a sheet of paper folded twice, and I recognized the sprawling, rather childish handwriting:

"
My darling, I was the one who asked him. He is a good man. I am sorry I had to lie to you. I beg you to give me this one wish—hear him out, and do nothing to harm yourself. You have been marvellous.
"

There was one more word, which she had crossed out, but I could see that she had signed "Rheya."

My mind was now absolutely clear. Even if I had wanted to scream hysterically, my voice had gone, and I did not even have the strength to groan.

"How…?"

"Later, Kelvin. You've got to calm down."

"I'm calm now. Tell me how."

"Disintegration."

"But … what did you use?"

"The Roche apparatus was unsuitable. Sartorius built something else, a new destabilizer. A miniature instrument, with a range of a few yards."

"And she…"

"She disappeared. A pop, and a puff of air. That's all."

"A short-range instrument…"

"Yes, we didn't have the resources for anything bigger."

The walls loomed over me, and I shut my eyes.

"She will come back."

"No."

"What do you know about it?"

"You remember the wings of foam? Since that day, they do not come back."

"You killed her," I whispered.

"Yes … In my place, what else would you have done?"

I turned away from him and began pacing up and down the room. Nine steps to the corner. About turn. Nine more rapid steps, and I was facing Snow again.

"Listen, we'll write a report. We'll ask for an immediate link with the Council. It's feasible, and they'll accept—they must. The planet will no longer be subject to the four-power convention. We'll be authorized to use any means at our disposal. We can send for anti-matter generators. Nothing can stand up against them, nothing…" I was shouting now, and blinded with tears.

"You want to destroy it? Why?"

"Get out, leave me alone!"

"No, I won't get out."

"Snow!" I glared at him, and he shook his head. "What do you want? What am I supposed to do?"

He walked back to the table.

"Fine, we'll draw up a report."

I started pacing again.

"Sit down!"

"I'll do what I like!"

"There are two distinct questions. One, the facts. Two, our recommendations."

"Do we have to talk about it now?"

"Yes, now."

"I won't listen, you hear? I'm not interested in your distinctions."

"We sent our last message about two months ago, before Gibarian's death. We'll have to establish exactly how the 'visitor' phenomena function…"

I grabbed his arm:

"Will you shut up!"

"Hit me if you like, but I will not shut up."

"Oh, talk away, if it gives you pleasure…" I let him go.

"Good, listen. Sartorius will want to conceal certain facts. I'm almost certain of it."

"And what about you? Won't you conceal anything?"

"No. Not now. This business goes further than individual responsibilities. You know that as well as I do. 'It' has given a demonstration of considered activity. It is capable of carrying out organic synthesis on the most complex level, a synthesis we ourselves have never managed to achieve. It knows the structure, micro-structure and metabolism of our bodies…"

"All right … But why stop there? It has performed a series of … experiments on us. Psychic vivisection. It has used knowledge which it stole from our minds without our consent."

"Those are not facts, Kelvin. They are not even propositions. They are theories. You could say that it has taken account of desires locked into secret recesses of our brains. Perhaps it was sending us … presents."

"Presents! My God!" I shook with a fit of uncontrollable laughter.

"Take it easy!" Snow took hold of my hand, and I tightened my grip until I heard bones cracking. He went on looking at me without any change of expression. I let go, and walked over to a corner of the workshop:

"I'll try to get hold of myself."

"Yes, of course. I understand. What do we ask them?"

"I leave it to you… I can't think straight right now. Did she say anything—before?"

"No, nothing. If you want my opinion, from now on we stand a chance."

"A chance? What chance?" I stared at him, and light suddenly dawned. "Contact? Still Contact? Haven't you had enough of this madhouse? What more do you need? No, it's out of the question. Count me out!"

"Why not," he asked quietly. "You yourself instinctively treat it like a human being, now more than ever. You hate it."

"And you don't?"

"No, Kelvin. It is blind."—I thought that I might not have heard him correctly.—"…or rather it 'sees' in a different way from ourselves. We do not exist for it in the same sense that we exist for each other. We recognize one another by the appearance of the face and the body. That appearance is a transparent window to the ocean. It introduces itself directly into the brain."

"Right, what if it does? What are you driving at? It succeeded in recreating a human being who exists only in my memory, and so accurately that her eyes, her gestures, her voice…"

"Don't stop. Talk."

"I'm talking… Her voice … because it is able to read us like a book. You see what I mean?"

"Yes, that it could make itself understood."

"Doesn't that follow?"

"No, not necessarily. Perhaps it used a formula which is not expressed in verbal terms. It may be taken from a recording imprinted on our minds, but a man's memory is stored in terms of nucleic acids etching asynchronous large-moleculed crystals. 'It' removed the deepest, most isolated imprint, the most 'assimilated' structure, without necessarily knowing what it meant to us. Suppose, I'm capable of reproducing the architecture of a symmetriad, and I know its composition and have the requisite technology… I create a symmetriad and I drop it into the ocean. But I don't know why I'm doing so, I don't know its function, and I don't know what the symmetriad means to the ocean…"