Solaris by Stanislaw Lem Read Free Book Online Page B

search-parties.
    By a fatal combination of circumstances, long-range radio
contact had been cut that morning an hour after the departure of
the exploration groups—a large spot had appeared on the red
sun, producing a heavy bombardment of charged particles in the
upper atmosphere. Only the ultra-shortwave transmitters continued
to function, and contact was restricted to a radius of about twenty
miles. As a crowning stroke of bad luck, a thick fog descended just
before sunset and the search had to be called off.
    The rescue teams were returning to base when the hovercraft was
spotted by a flitter, barely 24 miles from the command-ship. The
engine was running and the machine, at first sight undamaged, was
hovering above the waves. Carucci alone could be seen,
semi-conscious, in the glass-domed cockpit.
    The hovercraft was escorted back to base. After treatment,
Carucci quickly regained consciousness, but could throw no light on
Fechner's disappearance. Just after they had decided to return to
base a valve in his oxygen-gear had failed and a small amount of
unfiltered gas had penetrated his atmosphere-suit. In an attempt to
repair the valve, Fechner had been forced to undo his safety belt
and stand up. That was the last thing Carucci could remember.
    According to the experts who reconstructed the sequence of
events, Fechner must have opened the cabin roof because it impeded
his movements—a perfectly legitimate thing to do since the
cabins of these vehicles were not air-tight, the glass dome merely
providing some protection against infiltration and turbulence.
While Fechner was occupied with his colleague, his own oxygen
supply had probably been damaged and, no longer realizing what he
was doing, he had pulled himself up on to the superstructure, from
which he had fallen into the ocean.
    Fechner thus became the ocean's first victim. Although the
atmosphere-suit was buoyant, they searched for his body without
success. It was, of course, possible that it was still floating
somewhere on the surface, but the expedition was not equipped for a
thorough search of this immense, undulating desert, covered with
patches of dense fog.
    By dusk, all but one of the search craft had returned to base;
only a big supply helicopter piloted by André Berton was
still missing. Just as they were about to raise the alarm, the
aircraft appeared. Berton was obviously suffering from nervous
shock; after struggling out of his suit, he ran round in circles
like a madman. He had to be overpowered, but went on shouting and
sobbing. It was rather surprising behavior to put it mildly, on the
part of a man who had been flying for seventeen years and was well
used to the hazards of cosmic navigation. The doctors assumed that
he too was suffering from the effects of unfiltered gases.
    Having more or less recovered his senses, Berton nevertheless
refused to leave the base, or even to go near the window
overlooking the ocean. Two days later, he asked for permission to
dictate a flight-report, stressing the importance of what he was
about to reveal. This report was studied by the expeditionary
council, who concluded that it was the morbid creation of a mind
under the influence of poisonous gases from the atmosphere. As for
the supposed revelations, they were evidently regarded as part of
Berton's clinical history rather than that of the expedition
itself, and they were not described.
    So much for the supplement. It seemed to me that Berton's report
must at any rate provide a key to the mystery. What strange
happening could have had such a shattering effect on a veteran
space-pilot? I began to search through the books once more, but
    The Little Apocrypha was not to be found. I
was growing more and more exhausted and left the room, having
decided to postpone the search until the following day.
    As I was passing the foot of the stairway, I noticed that the
aluminum treads were streaked with light falling from above.
Sartorius was still at work. I decided to go up and