“Give me that paper, Kelvin.”
I passed it to him, and he poured over my equations.
“What’s this?” He pointed to a line of calculations.
“That? The transformation tensor of the magnetic field.”
“Give it here.”
“Why?” (I already knew his reply.)
“I’ll have to show Sartorius.”
“If you say so,” I shrugged. “You’re welcome to it, naturally, provided you realize that these theories have never been tested experimentally: neutrino structures have been abstractions until now. Sartorius is relying on Frazer, and I’ve followed Sion’s theory. He’ll say I’m no physicist, or Sion either, not from his point of view, at least. He will dispute my figures, and I’m not going to get into the kind of argument where he tries to browbeat me for his own satisfaction. You, I can convince. I couldn’t begin to convince Sartorius, and I have no intention of trying.”
“Then what do you want to do? He’s already started work…”
All his earlier animation had subsided, and he spoke in a monotone. I did not know if he trusted me, and I did not much care:
“What do I want to do? Whatever a man does when his life is in danger.”
“I’ll try to contact him. Maybe he can develop some kind of safety device… And then there’s the first plan. Would you cooperate? Sartorius would agree, I’m sure of it. At least it’s worth a try.”
“You think so?”
“No,” he snapped back. “But what have we got to lose?”
I was in no hurry to accept. It was time that I needed, and Snow could help me to prolong the delay:
“I’ll think about it.”
“Okay, I’m going.” His bones creaked as he got up. “We’ll have to begin with the encephalogram,” he said, rubbing at his overall as if to get rid of some invisible stain.
Without a word to Rheya, he walked to the door, and after it had closed behind him I got up and crumpled the sheet of paper in my hand. I had not falsified the equations, but I doubted whether Sion would have agreed with my extensions of his theory. I started abruptly, as Rheya’s hand touched my shoulder.
“Kris, who is he?”
“I told you, Dr. Snow.”
“What’s he like?”
“I don’t know him very well… why?”
“He was giving me such a strange look.”
“So you’re an attractive woman….”
“No, this was a different sort of look… as if….” She trembled, looked up at me momentarily, then lowered her eyes. “Let’s go back to the cabin.”
9 THE LIQUID OXYGEN
I have no idea how long I had been lying in the dark, staring at the luminous dial of my wristwatch. Hearing myself breathing. I felt a vague surprise, but my underlying feeling was one of profound indifference both to this ring of phosphorescent figures and to my own surprise. I told myself that the feeling was caused by fatigue. When I turned over, the bed seemed wider than usual. I held my breath; no sound broke the silence. Rheya’s breathing should have been audible. I reached out, but felt nothing. I was alone.
I was about to call her name, when I heard the tread of heavy footsteps coming towards me. A numb calm descended:
“Gibarian?”
“Yes, it’s me. Don’t switch the light on.”
“No?”
“There’s no need, and it’s better for us to stay in the dark.”
“But you are dead…”
“Don’t let that worry you. You recognize my voice, don’t you?”
“Yes. Why did you kill yourself?”
“I had no choice. You arrived four days late. If you had come earlier, I would not have been forced to kill myself. Don’t worry about it, though, I don’t regret anything.”
“You really are there? I’m not asleep?”
“Oh, you think you’re dreaming about me? As you did with Rheya?”
“Where is she?”
“How should I know?”
“I have a feeling that you do.”
“Keep your feelings for yourself. Let’s say I’m deputizing for her.”
“I want her here too!”
“Not possible.”
“Why not? You know very well that it isn’t the real you, just my…”
“No, I am the real Gibarian — just a new incarnation. But let’s not waste time on useless chatter.”
“You’ll be leaving again?”
“Yes.”
“And then she’ll come back?”
“Why should you care about that?”
“She belongs to me.”
“You are afraid of her.”
“No.”
“She disgusts you.”
“What do you want with me?”
“Save your pity for yourself — you have a right to it — but not for her. She will always be twenty years old. You must know that.”
I felt suddenly at ease again, for no apparent reason, and ready to hear him out. He seemed to have come closer, though I could not see him in the dark.
“What do you want?”
“Sartorius has convinced Snow that you have been deceiving him. Right now they are trying to give you the same treatment. Building the X-ray beamer is a cover for constructing a magnetic field disruptor.”
“Where is she?”
“Didn’t you hear me? I came to warn you.”
“Where is she?”
“I don’t know. Be careful. You must find some kind of weapon. You can’t trust anyone.”
“I can trust Rheya.”
He stifled a laugh: “Of course, you can trust Rheya — to some extent. And you can always follow my example, if all else fails.”
“You are not Gibarian.”
“No? Then who am I? A dream?”
“No, you are only a puppet. But you don’t realize that you are.”
“And how do you know what you are?”
I tried to stand up, but could not stir. Although Gibarian was still speaking, I could not understand his words; there was only the drone of his voice. I struggled to regain control of my body, felt a sudden wrench and… I woke up, and drew down great gulps of air. It was dark, and I had been having a nightmare. And now I heard a distant, monotonous voice: “… a dilemma that we are not equipped to solve. We are the cause of our own sufferings. The Polytheres behave strictly as a kind of amplifier of our own thoughts. Any attempt to understand the motivation of these occurrences is blocked by our own anthropomorphism. Where there are no men, there cannot be motives accessible to men. Before we can proceed with our research, either our own thoughts or their materialized forms must be destroyed. It is not within our power to destroy our thoughts. As for destroying their material forms, that could be like committing murder.”
I had recognized Gibarian’s voice at once. When I stretched out my arm, I found myself alone. I had fallen asleep again. This was another dream. I called Gibarian’s name, and the voice stopped in mid-sentence. There was the sound of a faint gasp, then a gust of air.
“Well, Gibarian,” I yawned, “You seem to be following me out of one dream and into the next…”
There was a rustling sound from somewhere close, and I called his name again. The bed-springs creaked, and a voice whispered in my ear:
“Kris… it’s me…”
“Rheya? Is it you? What about Gibarian?”
“But… you said he was dead, Kris.”
“He can be alive in a dream,” I told her dejectedly, although I was not completely sure that it had been a dream. “He spoke to me… He was here…”
My head sank back onto the pillow. Rheya said something, but I was already drifting into sleep.