Solaris

by Stanisław Lem

  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?"

  "Yes."

  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 sa
tisfy 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."

  "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.

  The Thinkers

  "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 po
ssible. 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.