Stanislaw Lem - The Invincible

For a while he was so furious — he felt he had been tricked like a silly schoolboy by the astrogator, who had planned everything in advance — that he barely noticed his surroundings. Gradually he got hold of himself. There is no way back, he kept repeating to himself, I have to try it. If I have no luck climbing down, if I haven’t found anyone by three o’clock, then I’ll turn back.

It was a quarter past seven. He tried to walk with long, even, but not too rapid strides, because his oxygen consumption would rise steeply with any exertion. He fastened his compass to his right wrist to avoid deviating from the direction he had to follow. Several times, though, he had to walk around deep crevices with steep walls. Fortunately, gravity on Regis III was considerably less than on Earth. This fact allowed him relative ease of movement, despite the difficult terrain. The sun stood higher in the sky. His sense of hearing — used to the constant accompaniment of all the sounds which encircled him like a sheltering barrier laid down by the machines on his previous expeditions — this sense now felt exposed and supersensitive. Only occasionally would he perceive, now much weaker than before, the rhythmical singing of the probe. On the other hand, each gust of wind hissing around the jagged edges of the boulders, attracted his attention, for he believed he recognized in it the familiar, delicate hum which he remembered so well. Gradually he became accustomed to the vigorous stride. While mechanically clambering from one rock to the next, he could give free rein to his thoughts. He carried a pedometer in his packet. He did not want to check the distance he had already traversed yet, and was determined to wait until an hour had gone by. But he could not stand it so long, and he pulled out the small instrument before the hour was up. He was sorely disappointed. He had not even covered two miles. True, he had to overcome considerable differences in altitude. This had slowed him down. This means not three, not even four hours, but at least another six, he thought to himself. He took out the map again, knelt down and adjusted it once more. To the east he could see the crest of the ravine. All this time he had been marching in a direction nearly parallel to it. In one place the dark bushes covering the slopes were divided by a long, thread-like gap, probably the dried-up bed of a little brook. He tried to get a better look at it. Kneeling down, with the wind whistling around his ears, he experienced a moment of indecision. As if he did not know too well what he was doing, he got to his feet and mechanically tucked away his map, made a ninety-degree turn from his previous direction and marched toward the steep wall of the gorge.

Cautiously he approached the silent, cleft boulders, as if he feared the ground might suddenly open up beneath him. He was gripped by a terrible fear. Yet he kept walking, his arms swinging at his sides, his hands seeming so dreadfully empty. He stopped suddenly and looked down into the valley, onto the desert where the Invincible was waiting. He could not see the spaceship; it was below the horizon. He was well aware of that, and yet peered over in its direction, at the reddish sky that slowly filled with puffy clouds. The singing of the probe’s signals became so faint that he was no longer certain whether it was reality or just imagination. Why was there no word from the Invincible?

Because they have nothing more to say to you, he answered himself. The upper boulders — they reminded him of grotesquely weathered statues — were within reach now. The ravine opened up before his eyes like a gigantic ditch of darkness. The rays of the sun did not yet penetrate halfway down the black-covered walls. Here and there, needles of chalky rock jutted out from the bristling thicket. With one glance he encompassed the entire giant space as far down as the stony bottom which lay less than a mile below.

Suddenly he felt so like a defenseless prey that he squatted down, snuggling against the rocks as if he were trying to turn into one of the boulders himself. This was absurd, of course, as he was in no danger of being discovered. What he had to fear had no eyes to see. He stretched out on a rock slab and looked down. The information he could glean from the photogrammetric map was totally useless, since it showed the terrain as seen from a bird’s-eye view and was consequently extremely foreshortened vertically. Impossible to risk a descent along the narrow, bare channel lying between the two slanting surfaces all overgrown with black bushes. For that he would have needed not seventy-five feet of rope but at least one hundred feet, as well as a few hooks and a hammer; but he had nothing of the sort. He was not equipped for a climbing expedition.

The narrow furrow swept down quite gently at first, then broke off suddenly, disappeared behind a promontory jutting out from the rocky wall and became visible again way down through a bluish haze. A wild thought passed through his mind: If only I had brought along a parachute…

He carefully examined the slopes on either side of the spot where he was lying, stretched out below a big, mushroom-shaped boulder. Only now did he become aware of a mild warm breeze wafting upwards from the great emptiness yawning wide below him. And indeed, the outlines of the slopes opposite trembled softly. The tangled black growth absorbed, gathered and stored the sun rays. He let his gaze roam farther to the southwest, where he recognized the points of the rocky needles whose base formed the stone gate where the catastrophe had taken place. He would not have noticed them had they not been pitch black and coated with a thick, shiny glaze — the outer layers of the rock needles had reached boiling temperatures during the battle between the Cyclops and the cloud. This difference made them stand out from the rest of the rock formations. From his vantage point he could not discover a single trace of the transporters or the atomic explosion anywhere in the valley. As he lay there, stretched out, he was suddenly overwhelmed by despair: he had to get down there, and there was no way. Yet instead of feeling relief at the prospect of returning and telling Horpach he had done his utmost, he came to a decision.

He rose. A movement down in the gorge, seen out of the corner of one eye, caused him to huddle once more against the boulder. But he straightened up again almost immediately. If I lie down every few minutes, I won’t accomplish very much, he thought. He began walking along the ridge searching for a traversable point. Every few hundred feet he leaned out over the void, but the picture was always the same: wherever the slope was gentle, black underwood clung to it; where there was no brush, the terrain would fall away steeply.

Once his foot started a small rock rolling down. It tumbled into the abyss, followed by other stones. A small avalanche followed, rumbling and roaring some 300 feet below into the matted wall. Wisps of sparking smoke crept out from the spot, unfolded in the air, and hovered for a moment as if taking stock — he grew rigid all over. After a long minute, the smoke thinned out and dispersed among the glittering brush.

Shortly before nine o’clock, as he was peering out from behind a boulder, he saw down at the bottom of the valley — the basin was considerably wider here — a small, bright point that moved about. With trembling hands he pulled the collapsible field glass from his pocket and pointed it in that direction…

A human being! The magnification was not powerful enough, and he was unable to recognize the face but he could clearly see the rhythmical movements of the man’s legs. The man walked slowly, limping slightly, as if he were dragging a wounded leg. Should he call to him? He did not dare. Or rather, he tried to, but fear paralyzed his throat. He hated himself for it. He knew only one thing: now more than ever he dared not abandon the search. He took note of the route the other man had pursued — up the valley, which steadily widened here, toward the whitish cones of the talus — and he ran in the same direction, along the ridge, jumping across boulders and gaping clefts in the rocks, until his whistling breath in the mouthpiece became too labored, almost choking, and his heart pounded violently. This is sheer insanity, I can’t exert myself like this, he thought helplessly. He slowed down somewhat, and suddenly a wide gully opened up invitingly ahead. Further below it was lined on either side by black tangled growths. The angel of descent grew steeper — perhaps some rocks were jutting out there to form an overhanging roof?