"I … I don't know." She looked around her, then, once more, raised her eyes to mine. "I can't," she whispered.
"But why?"
"I don't know. I can't. It's as though … as though…"
She searched for the answer which, as she uttered it, seemed to come to her like a revelation. "It's as though I mustn't let you out of my sight."
The resolute tone of her voice scarcely suggested an avowal of affection; it implied something quite different. With this realization, the manner in which I was embracing Rheya underwent an abrupt, though not immediately noticeable, change.
I was holding her in my arms and gazing into her eyes.
Imperceptibly, almost instinctively, I began to pull her hands together behind her back at the same time searching the room with my eyes: I needed something with which to tie her hands.
Suddenly she jerked her elbows together, and there followed a powerful recoil. I resisted for barely a second. Thrown backwards and almost lifted off my feet, even had I been an athlete I could not have freed myself. Rheya straightened up and dropped her arms to her sides. Her face, lit by an uncertain smile, had played no part in the struggle.
She was gazing at me with the same calm interest as when I had first awakened—as though she was utterly unmoved by my desperate ploy, as though she was quite unaware that anything had happened, and had not noticed my sudden panic. She stood before me, waiting—grave, passive, mildly surprised.
Leaving Rheya in the middle of the room, I went over to the washbasin. I was a prisoner, caught in an absurd trap from which at all costs I was determined to escape. I would have been incapable of putting into words the meaning of what had happened or what was going through my mind; but now I realized that my situation was identical with that of the other inhabitants of the Station, that everything I had experienced, discovered or guessed at was part of a single whole, terrifying and incomprehensible. Meanwhile, I was racking my brain to think up some ruse, to work out some means of escape. Without turning round, I could feel Rheya's eyes following me. There was a medicine chest above the basin. Quickly I went through its contents, and found a bottle of sleeping pills. I shook out four tablets—the maximum dose—into a glass, and filled it with hot water. I made little effort to conceal my actions from Rheya. Why? I did not even bother to ask myself.
When the tablets had dissolved, I returned to Rheya, who was still standing in the same place.
"Are you angry with me?" she asked, in a low voice.
"No. Drink this."
Unconsciously, I had known all along that she would obey me. She took the glass without a word and drank the scalding mixture in one gulp. Putting down the empty glass on a stool, I went and sat in a chair in the corner of the room.
Rheya joined me, squatting on the floor in her accustomed manner with her legs folded under her, and tossing back her hair. I was no longer under any illusion: this was not Rheya—and yet I recognized her every habitual gesture. Horror gripped me by the throat; and what was most horrible was that I must go on tricking her, pretending to take her for Rheya, while she herself sincerely believed that she was Rheya—of that I was certain, if one could be certain of anything any longer.
She was leaning against my knees, her hair brushing my hand. We remained thus for some while. From time to time, I glanced at my watch. Half-an-hour went by; the sleeping tablets should have started to work. Rheya murmured something:
"What did you say?"
There was no reply.
Although I attributed her silence to the onset of sleep, secretly I doubted the effectiveness of the pills. Once again, I did not ask myself why. Perhaps it was because my subterfuge seemed too simple.
Slowly her head slid across my knees, her dark hair falling over her face. Her breathing grew deeper and more regular; she was asleep. I stooped in order to lift her on to the bed. As I did so, her eyes opened; she put her arms round my neck and burst into shrill laughter.
I was dumbfounded. Rheya could hardly contain her mirth. With an expression that was at once ingenuous and sly, she observed me through half-closed eyelids. I sat down again, tense, stupefied, at a loss. With a final burst of laughter, she snuggled against my legs.
In an expressionless voice, I asked:
"Why are your laughing?"
Once again, a look of anxiety and surprise came over her face. It was clear that she wanted to give me an honest explanation. She sighed, and rubbed her nose like a child.
"I don't know," she said at last, with genuine puzzlement. "I'm behaving like an idiot, aren't I? But so are you … you look idiotic, all stiff and pompous like … like Pelvis."
I could hardly believe my ears.
"Like who?"
"Like Pelvis. You know who I mean, that fat man…"
Rheya could not possibly have known Pelvis, or even heard me mention him, for the simple reason that he had returned from an expedition three years after her death. I had not known him previously and was therefore unaware of his inveterate habit, when presiding over meetings at the Institute, of letting sessions drag on indefinitely. Moreover, his name was Pelle Villis and until his return I did not know that he had been nicknamed Pelvis.
Rheya leaned her elbows on my knees and looked me in the eyes. I put out my hand and stroked her arms, her shoulders and the base of her bare neck, which pulsed beneath my fingers. While it looked as though I was caressing her (and indeed, judging by her expression, that was how she interpreted the touch of my hands) in reality I was verifying once again that her body was warm to the touch, an ordinary human body, with muscles, bones, joints. Gazing calmly into her eyes, I felt a hideous desire to tighten my grip.
Suddenly I remembered Snow's bloodstained hands, and let go.
"How you stare at me," Rheya said, placidly.
My heart was beating so furiously that I was incapable of speech. I closed my eyes. In that very instant, complete in every detail, a plan of action sprang to my mind. There was not a second to lose. I stood up.
"I must go out, Rheya. If you absolutely insist on coming with me, I'll take you."
"Good."
She jumped to her feet.
I opened the locker and selected a suit for each of us. Then I asked:
"Why are you bare-foot?"
She answered hesitantly:
"I don't know … I must have left my shoes somewhere."
I did not pursue the matter.
"You'll have to take your dress off to put this on."
"Flying-overalls? What for?"
As she tried to take off her dress, an extraordinary fact became apparent: there were no zips, or fastenings of any sort; the red buttons down the front were merely decorative. Rheya smiled, embarrassed.
As though it were the most normal way of going about it, I picked up some kind of scalpel from the floor and slit the dress down the back from neck to waist, so that she could pull it over her head.
When she had put on the flying-overalls (which were slightly too large for her) and we were about to leave, she asked:
"Are we going on a flight?"
I merely nodded. I was afraid of running into Snow. But the dome was empty and the door leading to the radio-cabin was shut.
A deathly silence still hung over the hangar-deck. Rheya followed my movements attentively. I opened a stall and examined the shuttle vehicle inside. I checked, one after another, the micro-reactor, the controls, and the diffusers. Then, having removed the empty capsule from its stand, I aimed the electric trolley towards the sloping runway.
I had chosen a small shuttle used for ferrying stores between the Station and the satellite, one that did not normally carry personnel since it did not open from the inside. The choice was carefully calculated in accordance with my plan. Of course, I had no intention of launching it, but I simulated the preparations for an actual departure. Rheya, who had so often accompanied me on my space-flights, was familiar with the preliminary routine. Inside the cockpit, I checked that the climatization and oxygen-su
pply systems were functioning. I switched in the main circuit and the indicators on the instrument panel lit up. I climbed out and said to Rheya, who was waiting at the foot of the ladder:
"Get in."
"What about you?"
"I'll follow you. I have to close the hatch behind us."
She gave no sign that she suspected any trickery. When she had disappeared inside, I stuck my head into the opening and asked:
"Are you comfortable?"
I heard a muffled "yes" from inside the confined cockpit. I withdrew my head and slammed the hatch to with all my strength. I slid home the two bolts and tightened the five safety screws with the special spanner I had brought with me. The slender metal cigar stood there, pointing upwards, as though it were really about to take off into space.
Its captive was in no danger: the oxygen-tanks were full and there were food supplies in the cockpit. In any case, I did not intend to keep her prisoner indefinitely. I desperately needed two hours of freedom in order to concentrate on the decisions which had to be taken and to work out a joint plan of action with Snow.
As I was tightening the last screw but one, I felt a vibration in the three-pronged clamp which held the base of the shuttle. I thought I must have loosened the support in my over-eager handling of the heavy spanner, but when I stepped back to take a look, I was greeted by a spectacle which I hope I shall never have to see again.
The whole vehicle trembled, shaken from the inside as though by some superhuman force. Not even a steel robot could have imparted such a convulsive tremor to an 8-ton mass, and yet the cabin contained only a frail, dark-haired girl.
The reflections from the lights quivered on the shuttle's gleaming sides. I could not hear the blows; there was no sound whatever from inside the vehicle. But the outspread struts vibrated like taut wires. The violence of the shock-waves was such that I was afraid the entire scaffolding would collapse.
I tightened the final screw with a trembling hand, threw down the spanner and jumped off the ladder. As I slowly retreated, I noticed that the shock- absorbers, designed to resist a continuous pressure, were vibrating furiously. It looked to me as though the shuttle's outer skin was wrinkling.
Frenziedly, I rushed to the control panel and with both hands lifted the starting lever. As I did so the intercom connected to the shuttle's interior gave out a piercing sound—not a cry, but a sound which bore not the slightest resemblance to the human voice, in which I could nevertheless just make out my name, repeated over and over again: "Kris! Kris! Kris!"
I had attacked the controls so violently, fumbling in my haste, that my fingers were torn and bleeding.
A bluish glimmer, like that of a ghostly dawn, lit up the walls.
Swirling clouds of vaporous dust eddied round the launching pad; the dust turned into a column of fierce sparks and the echoes of a thunderous roar drowned all other noise. Three flames, merging instantly into a single pillar of fire, lifted the craft, which rose up through the open hatch in the dome, leaving behind a glowing trail which rippled as it gradually subsided. Shutters slid over the hatch, and the automatic ventilators began to suck in the acrid smoke which billowed round the room.
It was only later that I remembered all these details; at the time, I hardly knew what I was seeing. Clinging to the control-panel, the fierce heat burning my face and singeing my hair, I gulped the acrid air which smelt of a mixture of burning fuel and the ozone given off by ionization. I had instinctively closed my eyes at the moment of lift-off, but the glare had penetrated my eyelids. For some time, I saw nothing but black, red and gold spirals which slowly died away. The ventilators continued to hum; the smoke and the dust were gradually clearing.
The green glow of the radar-screen caught my eye. My hands flew across its controls as I began to search for the shuttle. By the time I had located it, it was already flying above the atmosphere. I had never launched a vehicle in such a blind and unthinking way, with no pre-set speed or direction. I did not even know its range and was afraid of causing some unpredictable disaster. I judged that the easiest thing to do would be to place it in a stationary orbit around Solaris and then cut the engines. I verified from the tables that the required altitude was 725 miles. It was no guarantee, of course, but I could see no other way out.
I did not have the heart to switch on the intercom, which had been disconnected at lift-off. I could not bear to expose myself again to the sound of that horrifying voice, which was no longer even remotely human.
I felt I was justified in thinking that I had defeated the 'simulacra,' and that behind the illusion, contrary to all expectation, I had found the real Rheya again—the Rheya of my memories, whom the hypothesis of madness would have destroyed.
At one o'clock, I left the hangar-deck.
"The Little Apocrypha"
My face and hands were badly burnt. I remembered noticing a jar of anti-burn ointment when I was looking for sleeping pills for Rheya (I was in no mood to laugh at my naïveté), so I went back to my room.
I opened the door. The room was glowing in the red twilight. Someone was sitting in the armchair where Rheya had knelt. For a second or two, I was paralysed with terror, filled with an overwhelming desire to turn and run. Then the seated figure raised its head: it was Snow. His legs crossed, still wearing the acid-stained trousers, he was looking through some papers, a pile of which lay on a small table beside him. He put down those he was holding in his hand, let his glasses slide down his nose, and scowled up at me.
Without saying a word, I went to the basin, took the ointment out of the medicine chest and applied it to my forehead and cheeks. Fortunately my face was not too swollen and my eyes, which I had closed instinctively, did not seem to be inflamed. I lanced some large blisters on my temples and cheekbones with a sterilized needle; they exuded a serous liquid, which I mopped up with an antiseptic pad. Then I applied some gauze dressing.
Snow watched me throughout these first-aid operations, but I paid no attention to him. When at last I had finished (and my burns had become even more painful), I sat myself down in the other chair. I had first to remove Rheya's dress—that apparently quite normal dress which was nevertheless devoid of fastenings.
Snow, his hands clasped around one bony knee, continued to observe me with a critical air.
"Well, are you ready to have a chat?" he asked.
I did not answer; I was busy replacing a piece of gauze which had slipped down one cheek.
"You've had a visitor, haven't you?"
"Yes," I answered curtly.
He had begun the conversation on a note which I found displeasing.
"And you've rid yourself of it already? Well, well! That was quick!"
He touched his forehead, which was still peeling and mottled with pink patches of new skim. I was thunderstruck. Why had I not realized before the implications of Snow's and Sartorius's 'sunburn'? No one exposed himself to the sun here.
Without noticing my sudden change of expression he went on:
"I imagine you didn't try extreme methods straight away. What did you use first—drugs, poison, judo?"
"Do you want to discuss the thing seriously or play the fool? If you don't want to help, you can leave me in peace."
He half-closed his eyes.
"Sometimes one plays the fool in spite of oneself. Did you try the rope, or the hammer? Or the well-aimed ink-bottle, like Luther? No?" He grimaced, "Aren't you a fast worker! The basin is still intact, you haven't banged your head against the walls, you haven't even turned the room upside down. One, two and into the rocket, just like that!" He looked at his watch. "Consequently, we have two or three hours at our disposal… Am I getting on your nerves?" he added, with a disagreeable smile.
"Yes," I said curtly.
"Really? Well, if I tell you a little story, will you believe me?"
I said nothing.
Still with that hideous smile, he went on:
"It started with Gibarian. He locked himself in his cabin and refused to talk
to us except through the door. And can you guess what we thought?"
I remained silent.
"Naturally, we thought he had gone mad. He let a bit of it out—through the locked door—but not everything. You may wonder why he didn't tell us that there was someone with him. Oh, suum cuique! But he was a true scientist. He begged us to let him take his chance!"
"What chance?"
"He was obviously doing his damnedest to solve the problem, to get to the bottom of it. He worked day and night. You know what he was doing? You must know."
"Those calculations, in the drawer of the radio-cabin—were they his?"
"Yes."
"How long did it go on?"
"This visit? About a week… We thought he was suffering from hallucinations, or having a nervous breakdown. I gave him some scopolamine."
"Gave him?"
"Yes. He took it, but not for himself. He tried it out on someone else."
"What did you do?"
"On the third day we had decided, if all else failed, to break down the door, maybe injuring his self-esteem, but at least curing him."
"Ah…"
"Yes."
"So, in that locker…"
"Yes, my friend, quite. But in the meantime, we too had received visitors. We had our hands full, and didn't have a chance to tell him what was going on. Now it's … it's become a routine."
He spoke so softly that I guessed rather than heard the last few words.
"I still don't understand!" I exclaimed. "If you listened at his door, you must have heard two voices."
"No, we heard only his voice. There were strange noises, but we thought they came from him too."
"Only his voice! But how is it that you didn't hear … her?"
"I don't know. I have the rudiments of a theory about it, but I've dropped it for the moment. No point getting bogged down in details. But what about you? You must already have seen something yesterday, otherwise you would have taken us for lunatics."
"I thought it was I who had gone mad."
"So you didn't see anyone?"
"I saw someone."
"Who?"
I gave him a long look—he no longer wore even the semblance of a smile—and answered:
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