Doris Lessing - The Sirian Experiments

I left as soon as I could, making a dramatic exit from the planet, which they took on their faces, thanking me for my gracious appearance to them and my love for them. Yet I had promised nothing, told them nothing, given nothing: so easy it is to be “a high shining thing”!—and, speeding thankfully from that oppressive place, I was remembering the apes on Rohanda under Canopean tutelage, and again my old dream, or if you like, ambition, revived in me, and I wondered if I could not persuade Canopus now to part with some of those skilled colonists, the Giants: after all, a considerable time had passed.

If nothing could be improved in the Lombis, what was the point of keeping them as they were?

I sent in a report on my return home, reminding my superiors of the Lombis’ remarkable strength: this was on the lines of what they would have expected from me. Meanwhile, I decided on guile, but nothing beyond what I believed then, and believe now, to be legitimate: only a question of interpreting my standing orders more liberally than would been expected of me.

Our relations with Canopus had been limited for some time, because of our cutback in colonial development.

I summoned a meeting of my peer group, the Five, reminded them that it our policy to maintain full liaison with Canopus, and asked permission to apply for a rendezvous with Klorathy: after all, it had come from them, originally, though of course the idea had been in my mind, that I should maintain contact with Klorathy. The fact that it had not led to anything then, or did not seem to have led to anything, did not mean there could never be benefits for us. I felt no enthusiasm in them, but I had become used to being the odd one out among the Five, always slightly at an angle to current norms of thought. They did not criticise me for this: it was recognised to be my role, or function. Nor did they discourage me beyond saying that since Canopus could not solve her own problems, she was unlikely to contribute to the solution of ours. This was in line with our attitude at that time; the thriving planets of Canopus, her busy trade routes, her enterprise and industriousness, was being classed by us as “superficiality and lack of experiential and existential awareness.” I quote from a learned journal of that time.

The invitation I got from Klorathy was to meet him on their Planet 11. I was first gratified, since I had long wanted to see this planet that we had heard was “important” to Canopus and unlike any other known to either their Empire or ours. And then I found myself succumbing to suspicion: why Planet 11 and not Planet 10? For Klorathy must believe I was still after his Giants!

Their Planets 10 and 11 were neighbours: planets of the same sun. I even thought of making a landing on 10, with the excuse of power trouble, but decided to go on, and the first thing I saw on 11 was a group of Giants walking from the terminal to a hovercar. I told myself that I should put aside my readiness for suspicion: but wondered if Klorathy’s plans for me to see the Giants here, at work and occupied, was another way of refusing me. By now I had got into my own hovercar.

What I could see from the windows was a flat featureless landscape, greyish in colour, under a greyish sky. The sun was pale and large. As I looked, the sun plunged out of sight. A reddish disc appeared over the opposite horizon. A moment later, close to it, came a smaller bilious green disc. These two moved fast across a lurid sky, giving me a sensation of whirling rotation. Looking out made me feel queasy, so I read the information sheet on the wall.

It said that this planet was a well-lit one, with two fast-moving moons, and its nightside well starred. It had no seasons, but had zones of differing climatic conditions, being generally warm and mild with extremes of cold only at the poles, which were left uninhabited. Visitors should not be surprised to find that most long-term inhabitants wore little or no clothing. They might find they needed more sleep than usual, this being the most common reaction to the fast alternations of light and dark. They would probably lose their appetites for a while. Adaptation might be slow, but a longer acquaintanceship with the planet would…

As an old hand at interpreting these benign messages, I resigned myself to an uncomfortable time. And in fact fell asleep, for when I woke up it was day again, and we were still skimming over a grey-green surface, under a grey sky. I was looking for something on the lines of the mathematical cities of old Rohanda: on a new planet I was always on the watch for them: they had perhaps become something of a fixation with me. My mental picture of the Canopean Empire included planets covered with these fabulous, these extraordinary cities. I knew there were none on the Canopean Mother Planet… But why not?

I had asked Klorathy, one evening among the tents of the savages, where I might see these cities and he said: “At the present time, nowhere.” I saw now nothing but a dreary sameness, at more or less regular intervals rough dwellings like sheds, which I supposed to be some sort of storage shed. And then I saw that outside some of them were Giants, and had glimpses of a type of creature that did not attract me at all.

Just as I had understood that these dwellings were what I could expect to see on this planet, and that there were probably no cities, the hovercar stopped suddenly, near one of the structures, and Klorathy came out of it. It was a single-storey building, flat roofed, surrounded by a type of low rough grass, which was clearly the characteristic vegetation. As I entered the place, dark descended again.

Klorathy and I were alone in a rectangular room, painted white, which was a relief after the dim colours of the sky and the landscape, lit by lines of soft wall lights that automatically came on and went off as the daylight and dark alternated outside.

Because we were alone I at once began to hope for the exchange of understandings that I associate with real companionship, but it was not to be. My set of mind forbade it: it was defensive, and critical; and my physical state forbade it, too, for I feeling sick and a little giddy.

This shack, or shed, had in it some low seats and a table. The window apertures and the doorway had screens that could be pulled over them, but they were open now and Klorathy said at once: “Better if you do not shut out the outside: otherwise you won’t get used to it.”

I submitted. I sat down. On the table was a meal. Klorathy said I would feel better if I ate at once, and I tried to do so, but could not get a mouthful down. Meanwhile, he ate and I watched. The food was standard galactic fare.

We were sitting opposite each other, the table between us. He was smiling and easy, I on my best official behaviour, because it was a way of holding myself together.

I remember thinking that connoisseurs of the contrasts so plentifully offered by the Imperial experience would have found the sight of us two piquant: Klorathy, the bronze man, so strong, well-built, solid, with me, who am usually described—affectionately and otherwise—as “a little wisp of a thing,” with my yellow locks and “luminously pale” or “unhealthily pallid” skin—as the case might be. A good deal of our art, the more popular forms of it, dealt with such contrasts, which are found endlessly entertaining, particularly when suggestive or openly sexual. I am not above finding it so myself. But at the time I wanted only to lie down, and in fact, did drop off to sleep suddenly, and woke to see through the apertures, in the full Planet 11 light, contrasts rather stronger than anything Klorathy and I could provide. There was another shed not far away, and outside it were two Giants, twice Klorathy’s size and nearly three times my size, one a totally black man, shining in the pale lemon glare, the other a rich chocolate brown, both virtually naked. I had always seen them clothed, because during conferences everyone made sure of being well clothed, regardless of the local climate, for the sake of giving least offence during occasions that were always quite rich enough opportunities for annoyance or criticism. They were magnificent men: I never seen anything like them. But they were in a group of creatures half their size, who seemed like frail and pale insects—that was the impression made on me.