see him.
It was hotter on the upper deck, but the paper strips still
fluttered frenziedly at the air-vents. The corridor was wide and
low-ceilinged. The main laboratory was enclosed by a thick panel of
opaque glass in a chrome embrasure. A dark curtain screened the
door on the inside, and the light was coming from windows let in
above the lintel. I pressed down the handle, but, as I expected,
the door refused to budge. The only sound from the laboratory was
an intermittent whine like that of a defective gas jet. I knocked.
No reply. I called:
"Sartorius! Dr. Sartorius! I'm the new man, Kelvin. I must see
you, it's very important. Please let me in!"
There was a rustling of papers.
"It's me, Kelvin. You must have heard of me. I arrived off the Prometheus a few hours ago."
I was shouting, my lips glued to the angle where the door joined
the metal frame.
"Dr. Sartorius, I'm alone. Please open the door!"
Not a word. Then the same rustling as before, followed by the
clink of metal instruments on a tray. Then…I could scarcely
believe my ears…there came a succession of little short
footsteps, like the rapid drumming of a pair of tiny feet, or
remarkably agile fingers tapping out the rhythm of steps on the lid
of an empty tin box.
I yelled:
"Dr. Sartorius, are you going to open this door, yes or no?"
No answer. Nothing but the pattering, and, simultaneously, the
sound of a man walking on tiptoe. But, if the man was moving about,
he could not at the same time be tapping out an imitation of a
child's footsteps.
No longer able to control my growing fury, I burst out:
"Dr. Sartorius, I have not made a sixteen-month journey just to
come here and play games! I'll count up to ten. If you don't let me
in, I shall break down the door!"
In fact, I was doubtful whether it would be easy to force this
particular door, and the discharge of a gas pistol is not very
powerful. Nevertheless, I was determined somehow or other to carry
out my threat, even if it meant resorting to explosives, which I
could probably find in the munition store. I could not draw back
now; I could not go on playing an insane game with all the cards
stacked against me.
There was the sound of a struggle—or was it simply objects
being thrust aside? The curtain was pulled back, and an elongated
shadow was projected on to the glass.
A hoarse, high-pitched voice spoke:
"If I open the door, you must give me your word not to come
in."
"In that case, why open it?"
"I'll come out."
"Very well, I promise."
The silhouette vanished and the curtain was carefully
replaced.
Obscure noises came from inside the laboratory. I heard a
scraping—a table being dragged across the floor? At last, the
lock clicked back, and the glass panel opened just enough to allow
Sartorius to slip through into the corridor.
He stood with his back against the door, very tall and thin, all
bones under his white sweater. He had a black scarf knotted around
his neck, and over his arm he was carrying a laboratory smock,
covered with chemical burns. His head, which was unusually narrow,
was cocked to one side. I could not see his eyes: he wore curved
dark glasses, which covered up half his face. His lower jaw was
elongated; he had bluish lips and enormous, blue-tinged ears. He
was unshaven. Red anti-radiation gloves hung by their laces from
his wrists.
For a moment we looked at one another with undisguised aversion.
His shaggy hair (he had obviously cut it himself) was the color of
lead, his beard grizzled. Like Snow, his forehead was burnt, but
the lower half only; above it was pallid. He must have worn some
kind of cap when exposed to the sun.
"Well, I'm listening," he said.
I had the impression that he did not care what I had to say to
him. Standing there, tense, still pressed against the door panel,
his attention was mainly directed to what was going on behind
him.
Disconcerted, I hardly knew how to begin.
"My name is Kelvin," I said, "You must have heard about me. I
am, or rather I
It was hotter on the upper deck, but the paper strips still
fluttered frenziedly at the air-vents. The corridor was wide and
low-ceilinged. The main laboratory was enclosed by a thick panel of
opaque glass in a chrome embrasure. A dark curtain screened the
door on the inside, and the light was coming from windows let in
above the lintel. I pressed down the handle, but, as I expected,
the door refused to budge. The only sound from the laboratory was
an intermittent whine like that of a defective gas jet. I knocked.
No reply. I called:
"Sartorius! Dr. Sartorius! I'm the new man, Kelvin. I must see
you, it's very important. Please let me in!"
There was a rustling of papers.
"It's me, Kelvin. You must have heard of me. I arrived off the Prometheus a few hours ago."
I was shouting, my lips glued to the angle where the door joined
the metal frame.
"Dr. Sartorius, I'm alone. Please open the door!"
Not a word. Then the same rustling as before, followed by the
clink of metal instruments on a tray. Then…I could scarcely
believe my ears…there came a succession of little short
footsteps, like the rapid drumming of a pair of tiny feet, or
remarkably agile fingers tapping out the rhythm of steps on the lid
of an empty tin box.
I yelled:
"Dr. Sartorius, are you going to open this door, yes or no?"
No answer. Nothing but the pattering, and, simultaneously, the
sound of a man walking on tiptoe. But, if the man was moving about,
he could not at the same time be tapping out an imitation of a
child's footsteps.
No longer able to control my growing fury, I burst out:
"Dr. Sartorius, I have not made a sixteen-month journey just to
come here and play games! I'll count up to ten. If you don't let me
in, I shall break down the door!"
In fact, I was doubtful whether it would be easy to force this
particular door, and the discharge of a gas pistol is not very
powerful. Nevertheless, I was determined somehow or other to carry
out my threat, even if it meant resorting to explosives, which I
could probably find in the munition store. I could not draw back
now; I could not go on playing an insane game with all the cards
stacked against me.
There was the sound of a struggle—or was it simply objects
being thrust aside? The curtain was pulled back, and an elongated
shadow was projected on to the glass.
A hoarse, high-pitched voice spoke:
"If I open the door, you must give me your word not to come
in."
"In that case, why open it?"
"I'll come out."
"Very well, I promise."
The silhouette vanished and the curtain was carefully
replaced.
Obscure noises came from inside the laboratory. I heard a
scraping—a table being dragged across the floor? At last, the
lock clicked back, and the glass panel opened just enough to allow
Sartorius to slip through into the corridor.
He stood with his back against the door, very tall and thin, all
bones under his white sweater. He had a black scarf knotted around
his neck, and over his arm he was carrying a laboratory smock,
covered with chemical burns. His head, which was unusually narrow,
was cocked to one side. I could not see his eyes: he wore curved
dark glasses, which covered up half his face. His lower jaw was
elongated; he had bluish lips and enormous, blue-tinged ears. He
was unshaven. Red anti-radiation gloves hung by their laces from
his wrists.
For a moment we looked at one another with undisguised aversion.
His shaggy hair (he had obviously cut it himself) was the color of
lead, his beard grizzled. Like Snow, his forehead was burnt, but
the lower half only; above it was pallid. He must have worn some
kind of cap when exposed to the sun.
"Well, I'm listening," he said.
I had the impression that he did not care what I had to say to
him. Standing there, tense, still pressed against the door panel,
his attention was mainly directed to what was going on behind
him.
Disconcerted, I hardly knew how to begin.
"My name is Kelvin," I said, "You must have heard about me. I
am, or rather I
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