Solaris by Stanislaw Lem Page A

was, a colleague of Gibarian's."
    His thin face, entirely composed of vertical planes, exactly as
I had always imagined Don Quixote's, was quite expressionless. This
blank mask did not help me to find the right words.
    "I heard that Gibarian was dead…" I broke off.
    "Yes. Go on, I'm listening." His voice betrayed his
impatience.
    "Did he commit suicide? Who found the body, you or Snow?"
    "Why ask me? Didn't Dr. Snow tell you what happened?"
    "I wanted to hear your own account."
    "You've studied psychology, haven't you, Dr. Kelvin?"
    "Yes. What of it?"
    "You think of yourself as a servant of science?"
    "Yes, of course. What has that to do with…"
    "You are not an officer of the law. At this hour of the day, you
should be at work, but instead of doing the job you were sent here
for, you not only threaten to force the door of my laboratory, you
question me as though I were a criminal suspect."
    His forehead was dripping with sweat. I controlled myself with
an effort. I was determined to get through to him. I gritted my
teeth and said:
    "You
are
suspect, Dr. Sartorius. What is more, you're
well aware of it!"
    "Kelvin, unless you either retract or apologize, I shall lodge a
complaint against you."
    "Why should I apologize? You're the one who barricaded himself
in this laboratory instead of coming out to meet me, instead of
telling me the truth about what is going on here. Have you gone
completely mad? What are you—a scientist, or a miserable
coward?"
    I don't know what other insults I hurled at him. He did not even
flinch. Globules of sweat trickled down over the enlarged pores of
his cheeks. Suddenly I realized that he had not heard a word I was
saying. Both hands behind his back, he was holding the door in
position with all his strength; it was rattling as though someone
inside were firing bursts from a machine-gun at the panel.
    In a strange, high-pitched voice, he moaned:
    "Go away. For God's sake, leave me. Go downstairs, I'll join you
later. I'll do whatever you want, only please go away now."
    His voice betrayed such exhaustion that instinctively I put out
my arms to help him control the door. At this, he uttered a cry of
horror, as though I had pointed a knife at him. As I retreated, he
was shouting in his falsetto voice: "Go away! Go away! I'm coming,
I'm coming, I'm coming! No! No!" He opened the door and shot
inside. I thought I saw a shining yellow disc flash across his
chest.
    Now a muffled clamor rose from the laboratory; a huge shadow
appeared, as the curtain was brushed momentarily aside; then it
fell back into place and I could see nothing more. What was
happening inside that room? I heard running footsteps, as though a
mad chase were in progress, followed by a terrifying crash of
broken glass and the sound of a child's laugh.
    My legs were trembling, and I stared at the door, appalled. The
din had subsided, giving way to an uneasy silence. I sat down on a
window ledge, too stunned to move; my head was splitting.
    From where I was, I could see only a part of the corridor
encircling the laboratory. I was at the summit of the Station,
beneath the actual shell of the superstructure; the walls were
concave and sloping, with oblong windows a few yards apart. The
blue day was ending, and, as the shutters grated upwards, a
blinding light shone through the thick glass. Every metal fitting,
every latch and joint, blazed, and the great glass panel of the
laboratory door glittered with pale coruscations. My hands looked
grey in the spectral light. I noticed that I was holding the gas
pistol; I had not realized that I had taken it out of its holster,
and replaced it. What use could I have made of it—or even of
a gamma pistol, had I had one? I could hardly have taken the
laboratory by force.
    I got up. The disc of the sun, reminiscent of a hydrogen
explosion, was sinking into the ocean, and as I descended the
stairway I was pierced by a jet of horizontal rays which was almost
tangible. Halfway downstairs I paused to