about me. I am, or rather I 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
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
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