execution, there was always the possibility that I was behaving exactly as in a dream. Neither Snow nor Sartorius having any real existence, it would be pointless to put questions to them.
I thought of taking some powerful drug, peyotl for example, or another preparation inducing vivid hallucinations. If visions ensued, this would prove that I had really experienced these recent events and that they were part and parcel of the surrounding material reality. But then, no, I thought, this would not constitute the proof I needed, since I knew the effects of the drug (which I should have chosen for myself) and my imagination could suggest to me the double illusion of having taken the drug and of experiencing its effects.
I was going around in circles; there seemed to be no escape. It was not possible to think except with one's brain, no one could stand outside himself in order to check the functioning of his inner processes. Suddenly an idea struck me, as simple as it was effective.
I leapt to my feet and ran to the radio-cabin. The room was deserted. I glanced at the electric clock on the wall. Nearly four o'clock, the fourth hour of the Station's artificial night-time. Outside, the red sun was shining. I quickly plugged in the long-range transmitter, and while the valves warmed up, I went over in my mind the principal stages of the experiment.
I could not remember the call-sign for the automatic station on the satellite, but I found it on a card hanging above the main instrument panel, sent it out in Morse, and received the answering signal eight seconds later. The satellite, or rather its electronic brain, identified itself by a rhythmic pulse.
I instructed the satellite to give me the figures of the galactic meridians it was traversing at 22-second intervals while orbiting Solaris, and I specified an answer to five decimal points.
Then I sat and waited for the reply. Ten minutes later, it arrived. I tore off the strip of freshly printed paper and hid it in a drawer, taking care not to look at it. I went to the bookcase and took out the big galactic charts, the logarithm tables, a calendar giving the daily path of the satellite, and various other textbooks. Then I sat down to work out for myself the answer to the question I had posed. For an hour or more, I integrated the equations. It was a long time since I had tackled such elaborate calculations. My last major effort in this direction must have been my practical astronomy exam.
I worked at the problem with the help of the Station's giant computer. My reasoning went as follows: by making my calculations from the galactic charts, I would obtain an approximate cross-check with the results provided by the satellite. Approximate because the path of the satellite was subject to very complex variations due to the effects of the gravitational forces of Solaris and its two suns, as well as to the local variations in gravity caused by the ocean. When I had the two series of figures, one furnished by the satellite and the other calculated theoretically on the basis of the galactic charts, I would make the necessary adjustments and the two groups would then coincide up to the fourth decimal point, discrepancies due to the unforeseeable influence of the ocean arising only at the fifth.
If the figures obtained from the satellite were simply the product of my deranged mind, they could not possibly coincide with the second series. My brain might be unhinged, but it could not conceivably compete with the Station's giant computer and secretly perform calculations requiring several months' work. Therefore if the figures corresponded, it would follow that the Station's computer really existed, that I had really used it, and that I was not delirious.
My hands trembled as I took the telegraphic tape out of the drawer and laid it alongside the wide band of paper from the computer. As I had predicted, the two series of numbers corresponded up to the fourth decimal point.
I put all the
I thought of taking some powerful drug, peyotl for example, or another preparation inducing vivid hallucinations. If visions ensued, this would prove that I had really experienced these recent events and that they were part and parcel of the surrounding material reality. But then, no, I thought, this would not constitute the proof I needed, since I knew the effects of the drug (which I should have chosen for myself) and my imagination could suggest to me the double illusion of having taken the drug and of experiencing its effects.
I was going around in circles; there seemed to be no escape. It was not possible to think except with one's brain, no one could stand outside himself in order to check the functioning of his inner processes. Suddenly an idea struck me, as simple as it was effective.
I leapt to my feet and ran to the radio-cabin. The room was deserted. I glanced at the electric clock on the wall. Nearly four o'clock, the fourth hour of the Station's artificial night-time. Outside, the red sun was shining. I quickly plugged in the long-range transmitter, and while the valves warmed up, I went over in my mind the principal stages of the experiment.
I could not remember the call-sign for the automatic station on the satellite, but I found it on a card hanging above the main instrument panel, sent it out in Morse, and received the answering signal eight seconds later. The satellite, or rather its electronic brain, identified itself by a rhythmic pulse.
I instructed the satellite to give me the figures of the galactic meridians it was traversing at 22-second intervals while orbiting Solaris, and I specified an answer to five decimal points.
Then I sat and waited for the reply. Ten minutes later, it arrived. I tore off the strip of freshly printed paper and hid it in a drawer, taking care not to look at it. I went to the bookcase and took out the big galactic charts, the logarithm tables, a calendar giving the daily path of the satellite, and various other textbooks. Then I sat down to work out for myself the answer to the question I had posed. For an hour or more, I integrated the equations. It was a long time since I had tackled such elaborate calculations. My last major effort in this direction must have been my practical astronomy exam.
I worked at the problem with the help of the Station's giant computer. My reasoning went as follows: by making my calculations from the galactic charts, I would obtain an approximate cross-check with the results provided by the satellite. Approximate because the path of the satellite was subject to very complex variations due to the effects of the gravitational forces of Solaris and its two suns, as well as to the local variations in gravity caused by the ocean. When I had the two series of figures, one furnished by the satellite and the other calculated theoretically on the basis of the galactic charts, I would make the necessary adjustments and the two groups would then coincide up to the fourth decimal point, discrepancies due to the unforeseeable influence of the ocean arising only at the fifth.
If the figures obtained from the satellite were simply the product of my deranged mind, they could not possibly coincide with the second series. My brain might be unhinged, but it could not conceivably compete with the Station's giant computer and secretly perform calculations requiring several months' work. Therefore if the figures corresponded, it would follow that the Station's computer really existed, that I had really used it, and that I was not delirious.
My hands trembled as I took the telegraphic tape out of the drawer and laid it alongside the wide band of paper from the computer. As I had predicted, the two series of numbers corresponded up to the fourth decimal point.
I put all the
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