Stanisław Lem - Solaris

“Dr. Sartorius!! I haven’t been traveling for sixteen months just to be brought to a halt by some playacting of yours!! I’m counting to ten. Then I’m going to break down the door!!”

I doubted it would work.

Gas pistols aren’t very powerful, but I was determined to carry out my threat one way or another, even if it meant looking for explosives, which for sure would be plentifully available in the depository. I told myself I mustn’t give in. In other words I mustn’t keep playing with these cards, marked with madness, that the situation had stuck in my hand.

There was a noise that sounded like someone wrestling with someone else, or pushing something. The dark sheet covering the inside of the door moved aside a foot and a half or so; a slender shadow appeared in the lusterless frosted pane, and a slightly hoarse, high-pitched voice said:

“I’ll open the door, but you have to give me your word you’ll not come in.”

“Then why open it?” I thundered.

“I’ll come out to you.”

“All right. You have my word.”

There was the faint click of a key turning in the lock. Then the dark silhouette covering half the door carefully pulled the cover back in place. Some kind of complicated maneuvers were carried out inside — I heard what sounded like the creak of a wooden table being moved — then finally the door opened just enough to allow Sartorius to slip out into the corridor. He stood before me, shielding the door with his body. He was extremely tall and thin; under his cream-colored undershirt his body looked to be nothing but bones. He wore a black scarf around his neck; a folded lab coat dotted with reagent burns was draped over his arm. His narrow head was tilted to the side. Almost half his face was hidden behind a pair of wrap-around black glasses, so I couldn’t see his eyes. He had a long lower jaw, blueish lips, and huge ears that were also blue and looked frostbitten. He was unshaven. Red rubber anti-radiation gloves hung from his wrists on loops. We stood for a moment, eyeing each other with unconcealed animosity. What was left of his hair (he looked as if he’d given himself a buzzcut) was the color of lead, while his beard was completely gray. His forehead was sunburned, like Snaut’s, but the color ended at a horizontal line halfway to his hairline. He’d evidently worn some kind of cap the whole time he was in the sun.

“How can I help you?” he said finally. I had the impression he wasn’t waiting to see what I would say, so much as listening closely to the space behind him, his back pressed up the whole time against the glass pane of the door. For a good while I couldn’t think of how to open without sounding foolish.

“My name is Kelvin… you must have heard about me,” I began. “I am, or rather, I was, Gibarian’s colleague…”

His skinny face, crisscrossed with horizontal lines — this was what Don Quixote must have looked like — was expressionless. The bulging black surface of the dark glasses directed towards me made it extremely hard for me to talk.

“I heard that Gibarian… passed away.” I paused.

“Yes. How can I help?”

He sounded impatient.

“Did he commit suicide? Who found the body, doctor — you or Snaut?”

“Why are you asking me? Did Dr. Snaut not tell you…?”

“I’d like to hear what you have to say about the matter…”

“You’re a psychologist, Dr. Kelvin?”

“Yes. What of it?”

“A scholar?”

“Well, yes. What relevance does that have—”

“I thought perhaps you were a detective or a police officer. It’s two forty, and you, Dr. Kelvin — instead of seeking to familiarize yourself with the work being conducted on the Station, which would after all be understandable despite your brutal attempt to break into the laboratory — you’re questioning me as if I were at the very least a suspect.”

I controlled myself, though the effort brought beads of sweat to my forehead.

“You are a suspect, Sartorius!” I said through clenched teeth.

I wanted to needle him at any cost, and so I added unrelentingly:

“As you’re perfectly well aware!”

“If you do not retract that remark and apologize, Kelvin, I shall bring a complaint against you in my next radio report!”

“What am I supposed to apologize for? For the fact that, instead of welcoming me, instead of properly briefing me on what’s been happening, you lock the door and barricade yourself in the laboratory? Have you completely lost your mind?! Are you a scientist or a coward?! Eh? What do you have to say for yourself?!” I don’t know exactly what else I said. He didn’t even flinch. Thick beads of perspiration were trickling down his pale large-pored face. All at once I realized he wasn’t even listening to me. He kept both his hands behind him, with all his strength holding the door shut. It was shuddering slightly, as if someone were pushing on it from the other side.

“You… should… go,” he whined suddenly in a strange shrill voice. “You should… for the love of God! Go now! Go downstairs, I’ll come, I’ll come down, I’ll do whatever you want, but please go!!”

There was such torment in his voice that, in a state of bewilderment, instinctively I raised my hand to try and help him keep the door shut, because that was evidently what he was struggling with. But he gave a fearful cry, as if I’d threatened him with a knife, so I began to back away. He kept shouting in that high voice: “Go! Go!” and then: “I’m coming back! I’ll be back right away!! No! No!!”

He cracked open the door and darted inside. I thought I caught a glimpse of something gold-colored, like a shiny disk, at the level of his chest. There now came a muffled commotion from inside. The cover over the door was knocked aside, a large tall shadow flashed across the pane, the cover was put back in place and nothing more could be seen. What on earth was happening in there? There was the sound of footsteps, the crazy ruckus broke off with a terrifying clatter of glass, and I heard a burst of laughter from a child…

My legs were shaking. I looked around me. Everything fell silent. I perched on a low plastic windowsill. I sat there for perhaps fifteen minutes; I couldn’t say if I was waiting for something or had simply been brought to such a pass that I didn’t even have it in me to stand. My head was splitting. Somewhere high up I heard a prolonged grinding sound and at the same time the place grew lighter.

From where I sat I could see only part of the circular corridor that ran around the laboratory. It was located at the very top of the Station, right under the exterior armor plating. For this reason the outside walls were concave and sloping, with windows like loop-holes set into them every few yards. The external shades were just retracting, as the blue day was drawing to a close. A blinding glare burst through the thick glass. Every nickel-plated piece of trim, every door handle burned like a little sun. The lab door with its pane of rough glass glowed like the opening of a furnace. I looked at my hands, which lay in my lap and had turned gray in this ghastly light. In the right I was holding the gas pistol. I had no clue when or how I’d taken it out of its holster. I put it back. I knew by now that even an atomic blaster would be no use. What could I do with one? Break down the door? Force my way into the lab?

I stood up. The disk descending into the ocean, looking like a hydrogen explosion, sent a cluster of almost material horizontal rays in my direction; when they struck my cheek (I was already walking down the stairs) it felt like a red-hot brand.

Halfway down the steps I changed my mind and went back up. I circled the lab. As I mentioned, the corridor ran all the way around it. After a hundred yards or so I found myself on its far side, outside an identical glass door. I didn’t even try to open it. I knew it would be locked.