decided to go up and 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
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
Similar Books
