"Stanislaw Lem - Solaris2" - читать интересную книгу автора (Lem Stanislaw)

fastener, then let go again. Deterred by the confused idea that I was
depriving myself of a shield, I could not bring myself to remove it. Once
more I looked round the room. I checked that the door was shut tight and that
it had no lock, and after a brief hesitation I dragged some of the heaviest
boxes to the doorway. Having built this temporary barricade, I freed myself
from my clanking armor in three quick movements. A narrow looking-glass,
built into the locker door, reflected part of the room, and out of the corner
of my eye I caught sight of something moving. I jumped, but it was only my
own reflection. Underneath the spacesuit, my overalls were drenched with
sweat. I took them off and pulled back a sliding door, revealing the bright-
tiled walls of a small bathroom. A long, flat box lay in the hollow at the
base of the shower; I carried it into the room. As I put it down, the
springlid flew up and disclosed a number of compartments filled with strange
objects: misshapen forms in a dark metal, grotesque replicas of the
instruments in the racks. Not one of the tools was usable; they were blunted,
distorted, melted, as though they had been in a furnace. Strangest of all,
even the porcelain handles, virtually incombustible, were twisted out of
shape. Even at maximum temperature, no laboratory furnace could have melted
them; only, perhaps, an atomic pile. I took a Geiger counter from the pocket
on my spacesuit, but when I held it over the debris, it remained dumb.
By now I was wearing nothing but my underwear. I tore it off, flung it
across the room and dashed under the shower. The shock of the water did me
good. Turning beneath the scalding, needle-sharp jets, I scrubbed myself
vigorously, splashing the walls, expelling, eradicating from my skin the thick
scum of morbid apprehensions which had pervaded me since my arrival.
I rummaged in the locker and found a work-suit which could also be worn
under an atmosphere suit. As I pocketed my few belongings, I felt something
hard tucked between the pages of my notebook: it was a key, the key to my
apartment, down there on Earth. Absently, I turned it over in my fingers.
Finally I put it down on the table. It occurred to me suddenly that I might
need a weapon. An all-purpose pocket-knife was hardly sufficient for my
needs, but I had nothing else, and I was not going to start searching for a
gamma pistol or something else of the kind.
I sat down on a tubular stool in the middle of the clear space, glad to
be alone, and seeing with satisfaction that I had over half an hour to myself.
(By nature, I have always been scrupulous about keeping engagements, whether
important or trivial.) The hands of the clock, its face divided into twenty-
four hours, pointed to seven o'clock. The sun was setting. 07.00 hours here
was 20.00 hours on board the _Prometheus_. On Moddard's screens, Solaris
would be nothing but an indistinct dust-cloud, mingled with the stars. But
what did the _Prometheus_ matter to me now? I closed my eyes. I could hear
no sound except the moaning of the ventilation pipes and a faint trickling of
water from the bathroom.
If I had understood correctly, it was only a short time since Gibarian
had died. What had they done with his body? Had they buried it? No, that
was impossible on this planet. I puzzled over the question for a long time,
concentrating on the fate of the corpse; then, realizing the absurdity of my
thoughts, I began to pace up and down. My toe knocked against a canvas bag
half-buried under a pile of books; I bent down and picked it up. It contained
a small bottle made of colored glass, so light that it might have been blown