QUESTION: Did the trees and plants you saw have leaves on them?
BERTON: No, the shapes were only approximate, like a model garden. That's exactly what it was like: a model, but lifesize. All of a sudden, it began to crack; it broke up and split into dark crevices; a thick white liquid ran out and collected into pools, or else drained away. The 'earthquake' became more violent, the whole thing boiled over and was buried beneath the foam. At the same time, the walls of the fog began to close in. I gained height rapidly and came clear at 1000 feet.
QUESTION: Are you absolutely sure that what you saw resembled a garden—there was no other possible interpretation?
BERTON: Yes. I noticed several details. For example, I remember seeing a place where there were some boxes in a row. I realized later that they were probably beehives.
QUESTION: You realized later? But not at the time, not at the moment when you actually saw them?
BERTON: No, because everything looked as though it were made of plaster. But I saw something else.
QUESTION: What was that?
BERTON: I saw things which I can't put a name to, because I didn't have time to examine them carefully. Under some bushes I thought I saw tools, long objects with prongs. They might have been plaster models of garden tools. But I'm not absolutely certain. Whereas I'm sure, quite certain, that I recognized an apiary.
QUESTION: It didn't occur to you that it might be an hallucination?
BERTON: No. I thought it was a mirage. It never occurred to me that it was an hallucination because I felt perfectly well, and I had never seen anything like it before. When I reached 1000 feet and took another look at the fog, it was pitted with more irregularly shaped holes, rather like a piece of cheese. Some of these holes were completely hollow, and I could see the ocean waves; others were only shallow saucers in which something was bubbling. I descended another well and saw—the altimeter read 120 feet—I saw a wall lying beneath the ocean surface. It wasn't very deep and I could see it clearly beneath the waves. It seemed to be the wall of a huge building, pierced with rectangular openings, like windows. I even thought I could see something moving behind them, but I couldn't be absolutely certain of that. The wall slowly broke the surface and a mucous bubbling liquid streamed down its sides. Then it suddenly broke in half and disappeared into the depths.
I regained height and continued to fly above the fog, the machine almost touching it, until I discovered another clearing, much larger than the previous one.
While I was still some distance away, I noticed a pale, almost white, object floating on the surface. My first thought was that it was Fechner's flying-suit, especially as it looked vaguely human in form. I brought the aircraft round sharply, afraid of losing my way and being unable to find the same spot again. The shape, the body, was moving; sometimes it seemed to be standing upright in the trough of the waves. I accelerated and went down so low that the machine bounced gently. I must have hit the crest of a huge wave I was overflying. The body—yes, it was a human body, not an atmosphere-suit the body was moving.
QUESTION: Did you see its face?
BERTON: Yes.
QUESTION: Who was it?
BERTON: A child.
QUESTION: What child? Did you recognize it?
BERTON: No. At any rate, I don't remember having seen it before. Besides, when I got closer—when I was forty yards away, or even sooner—I realized that it was no ordinary child.
QUESTION: What do you mean?
BERTON: I'll explain. At first, I couldn't understand what worried me about it; it was only after a minute or two that I realized: this child was extraordinarily large. Enormous, in fact. Stretched out horizontally, its body rose twelve feet above the surface of the ocean, I swear. I remembered that when I touched the wave, its face was a little higher than mine, even though my cockpit must have been at least ten feet above the ocean.
QUESTION: If it was as big as that, what makes you say it was a child?
BERTON: Because it was a tiny child.
QUESTION: Do you realize, Berton, that your answer doesn't make sense?
BERTON: On the contrary. I could see its face, and it was a very young child. Besides, its proportions corresponded exactly to the proportions of a child's body. It was a … babe in arms. No, I exaggerate. It was probably two or three years old. It had black hair and blue eyes—enormous blue eyes! It was naked—completely naked—like a newborn baby. It was wet, or I should say glossy; its skin was shiny. I was shattered. I no longer thought it was a mirage. I could see this child so distinctly. It rose and fell with the waves; but apart from this general motion, it was making other movements, and they were horrible!
QUESTION: Why? What was it doing?
BERTON: It was more like a doll in a museum, only a living doll. It opened and closed its mouth, it made various gestures, horrible gestures.
QUESTION: What do you mean?
BERTON: I was watching it from about twenty yards away—I don't suppose I went any closer. But, as I've already told you, it was enormous. I could see very clearly. Its eyes sparkled and you really would have thought it was a living child, if it hadn't been for the movements, the gestures, as though someone was trying… It was as though someone else was responsible for the gestures…
QUESTION: Try to be more explicit.
BERTON: It's difficult. I'm talking of an impression, more of an intuition. I didn't analyze it, but I knew that those gestures weren't natural.
QUESTION: Do you mean, for example, that the hands didn't move as human hands would move, because the joints were not sufficiently supple?
BERTON: No, not at all. But … these movements had no meaning. Each of our movements means something, more or less, serves some purpose…
QUESTION: Do you think so? The movements of an infant don't have much meaning!
BERTON: I know. But an infant's movements are confused, random, uncoordinated. The movements I saw were … er … yes, that's it, they were methodical movements. They were performed one after another, like a series of exercises; as though someone had wanted to make a study of what this child was capable of doing with its hands, its torso, its mouth. The face was more horrifying than the rest, because the human face has an expression, and this face … I don't know how to describe it. It was alive, yes, but it wasn't human. Or rather, the features as a whole, the eyes, the complexion, were, but the expression, the movements of the face, were certainly not.
QUESTION: Were they grimaces? Do you know what happens to a person's face during an epileptic fit?
BERTON: Yes. I've watched an epileptic fit. I know what you mean. No, it was something quite different. Epilepsy provokes spasms, convulsions. The movements I'm talking about were fluid, continuous, graceful … melodious, if one can say that of a movement. It's the nearest definition I can think of. But this face … a face can't divide itself into two—one half gay, the other sad, one half scowling and the other amiable, one half frightened and the other triumphant. But that's how it was with this child's face. In addition to that, all these movements and changes of expression succeeded one another with unbelievable rapidity. I stayed down there a very short time, perhaps ten seconds, perhaps less.
QUESTION: And you claim to have seen all that in such a short time? Besides, how do you know how long you were there? Did you check your chronometer?
BERTON: No, but I've been flying for seventeen years and, in my job, one can measure instinctively, to the nearest second, the duration of what would be called an instant of time. It's an acquired faculty, and essential for successful navigation. A pilot isn't worth his salt if he can't tell whether a particular phenomenon lasts five or ten seconds, whatever the circumstances. It's the same with observation. We learn, over the years, to take in everything at a glance.
QUESTION: Is that all you saw?
BERTON: No, but I don't remember the rest so precisely. I suppose I must already have seen more than enough; my attention faltered. The fog began to close in, and I had to climb. I climbed,
and for the first time in my life I all but capsized. My hands were shaking so much that I had difficulty in handling the controls. I think I shouted something, called up the base, even though I knew we were not in radio contact.
QUESTION: Did you then try and get back?
BERTON: No. In the end, having gamed height, I thought to myself that Fechner was probably in the bottom of one of the wells. I know it sounds crazy, but that's what I thought. I told myself that everything was possible, and that it would also be possible for me to find Fechner. I decided to investigate every clearing I came across along my route. At the third attempt I gave up. When I had regained height, I knew it was useless to persist after what I had just seen on this, the third, occasion. I couldn't go on any longer. I should add, as you already know, that I was suffering from bouts of nausea and that I vomited in the cockpit. I couldn't understand it; I have never been sick in my life.
COMMENT: It was a symptom of poisoning.
BERTON: Perhaps. I don't know. But what I saw on this third occasion I did not imagine. That was not the effect of poisoning.
QUESTION: How can you possibly know?
BERTON: It wasn't an hallucination. An hallucination is created by one's own brain, wouldn't you say?
COMMENT: Yes.
BERTON: Well, my brain couldn't have created what I saw. I'll never believe that. My brain wouldn't have been capable of it.
COMMENT: Get on with describing what it was!
BERTON: Before I do so, I should like to know how the statements I've already made will be interpreted.
QUESTION: What does that matter?
BERTON: For me, it matters very much indeed. I have said that I saw things which I shall never forget. If the Commission recognizes, even with certain reservations, that my testimony is credible, and that a study of the ocean must be undertaken—I mean a study orientated in the light of my statements—then I'll tell everything. But if the Commission considers that it is all delusions, then I refuse to say anything more.
QUESTION: Why?
BERTON: Because the contents of my hallucinations belong to me and I don't have to give an account of them, whereas I am obliged to give an account of what I saw on Solaris.
QUESTION: Does that mean that you refuse to answer any more questions until the expedition authorities have announced their findings? You realize, of course, that the Commission isn't empowered to take an immediate decision?
BERTON: Yes.
The first minute ended here. There followed a fragment of the second minute drawn up eleven days later.
PRESIDENT:…after due consideration, the Commission, composed of three doctors, three biologists, a physicist, a mechanical engineer and the deputy head of the expedition, has reached the conclusion that Berton's report is symptomatic of hallucinations caused by atmospheric poisoning, consequent upon inflammation of the associative zone of the cerebral cortex, and that Berton's account bears no, or at any rate no appreciable, relation to reality.
BERTON: Excuse me, what does "no appreciable relation" mean? In what proportion is reality appreciable or not?
PRESIDENT: I haven't finished. Independently of these conclusions, the Commission has duly registered a dissenting vote from Dr. Archibald Messenger, who considers the phenomena described by Berton to be objectively possible and declares himself in favor of a scrupulous investigation.
BERTON: I repeat my question.
PRESIDENT: The answer is simple. "No appreciable relation to reality" means that phenomena actually observed may have formed the basis of your hallucinations. In the course of a nocturnal stroll, a perfectly sane man can imagine he sees a living creature in a bush stirred by the wind. Such illusions are all the more likely to affect an explorer lost on a strange planet and breathing a poisonous atmosphere. This verdict is in no way prejudicial to you, Berton. Will you now be good enough to let us know your decision?
BERTON: First of all, I should like to know the possible consequences of this dissenting vote of Dr. Messenger's.
PRESIDENT: Virtually none. We shall carry on our work along the lines originally laid down.
BERTON: Is our interview on record?
PRESIDENT: Yes.
BERTON: In that case, I should like to say that although the Commission's decision may not be prejudicial to me personally, it is prejudicial to the spirit of the expedition itself. Consequently, as I have already stated, I refuse to answer any further questions.
PRESIDENT: Is that all?
BERTON: Yes. Except that I should like to meet Dr. Messenger. Is that possible?
PRESIDENT: Of course.
That was the end of the second minute. At the bottom of the page there was a note in minuscule handwriting to the effect that, the following day, Dr. Messenger had talked to Berton for nearly three hours. As a result of this conversation, Messenger had once more begged the expedition Council to undertake further investigations in order to check the pilot's statements. Berton had produced some new and extremely convincing revelations, which Messenger could not divulge unless the Council reversed its negative decision. The Council—Shannahan, Timolis and Trahier—rejected the motion and the affair was closed.
The book also reproduced a photocopy of the last page of a letter, or rather, the draft of a letter, found by Messenger's executors after his death. Ravintzer, in spite of his researches, had been unable to discover if this letter had ever been sent.
"…obtuse minds, a pyramid of stupidity,"—the text began. "Anxious to preserve its authority, the Council—more precisely Shannahan and Timolis (Trahier's vote doesn't count)—has rejected my recommendations. Now I am taking the matter up directly with the Institute; but, as you can well imagine, my protestations won't convince anybody. Bound as I am by oath, I can't, alas, reveal to you what Berton told me. If the Council disregarded Berton's testimony, it was basically because Berton has no scientific training, although any scientist would envy the presence of mind and the gift of observation shown by this pilot. I should be grateful if you could send me the following information by return post:
i) Fechner's biography, in particular details about his childhood.
ii) Everything you know about his family, facts and dates—he probably lost his parents while still a child.
iii) The topography of the place where he was brought up.
I should like once more to tell you what I think about all this. As you know, some time after the departure of Fechner and Carucci, a spot appeared in the centre of the red sun. This chromospheric eruption caused a magnetic storm chiefly over the southern hemisphere, where our base was situated, according to the information provided by the satellite, and the radio links were cut. The other parties were scouring the planet's surface over a relatively restricted area, whereas Fechner and Carucci had travelled a considerable distance from the base.
Never, since our arrival on the planet, had we observed such a persistent fog or such an unremitting silence.
I imagine that what Berton saw was one of the phases of a kind of 'Operation Man' which this viscous monster was engaged in. The source of all the various forms observed by Berton is Fechner—or rather, Fechner's brain, subjected to an unimaginable 'psychic dissection' for the purposes of a sort of re-creation, an experimental reconstruction, based on impressions (undoubtedly the most durable ones) engraved on his memory.
I know this sounds fantastic; I know that I may be mistaken. But do please help me. At the moment, I am on the Alaric, where I look forward to receiving your reply.
Yours,
A."
It was growing dark, and I could scarcely make out the blurred print at the top of the grey page—the last page describing Berton's adventure. For my part, my own experience led me to regard Berton as a trustworthy witness.
I turned towards the window. A few clouds still glowed like dying embers above the horizon. The ocean was invisible, blanketed by the purple darkness.
The strips of paper fluttered idly beneath the air-vents. There was a whiff of ozon
e in the still, warm air.
There was nothing heroic in our decision to remain on the Station. The time for heroism was over, vanished with the era of the great interplanetary triumphs, of daring expeditions and sacrifices. Fechner, the ocean's first victim, belonged to a distant past. I had almost stopped caring about the identity of Snow's and Sartorius's visitors. Soon, I told myself, we would cease to be ashamed, to keep ourselves apart. If we could not get rid of our visitors, we would accustom ourselves to their presence, learn to live with them. If their Creator altered the rules of the game, we would adapt ourselves to the new rules, even if at first we jibbed or rebelled, even if one of us despaired and killed himself. Eventually, a certain equilibrium would be reestablished.
Solaris Page 9
