Read Online Tales of Pirx the Pilot by Stanislaw Lem - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Stanislaw Lem
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flawless, proved a flop: Barn still refused to believe in spirits. Yep, Operation Zombie it was. Pirx got up early, slipped on a fresh shirt, took one last peek into his Flight Book and Basic Navigation —just to be on the safe side—and went to face the music.
The commandant’s office was a dream come true. For Pirx it was, at any rate. Walls totally obscured by celestial maps, constellations like golden-brown drops of honey against a navy-blue field. A small blank Moon globe on the desk; books and degrees galore on the walls; another globe against the wall—only this one bigger, more elaborate. The second one was a real marvel of technological splendor: press the right button and bingo! the orbital path of any artificial satellite was immediately simulated, from the latest to the oldest—those pioneering satellites dating from the fifties.
Practically any other day Pirx would have been enthralled by such a globe, but not today. The commandant was busy writing when he came in. “Please be seated; I’ll be right with you,” he heard him say. At last, taking off his glasses—until about a year ago he had got along without them—the commandant gave him a good long gander, as if laying eyes on him for the first time. That was his way—not only with Pirx but with everyone. It was a gaze designed to rattle even the saintliest of men. And Pirx was hardly a saint. He couldn’t keep still. Either he found himself sprawled out in the grossly casual manner of a millionaire aboard his own private yacht, or precariously balanced on the edge of his seat. Finally—mercifully—the commandant broke the silence.
“Well, Pirx, how are things?”
He’d addressed him informally—a good omen. Pirx said he couldn’t kick.
“Took a dip, did you?”
Pirx nodded. Hey, what gives? Pirx kept his guard up. Maybe it was for sassing Dr. Grotius…
“There’s a trainee’s berth up on Mendeleev. Know where that is?”
“That’s an astrophysics station on the Far Side,” replied Pirx. He felt a slight letdown. He had been nurturing a quiet hope—so quiet he had been reluctant to admit it to himself, for fear of blowing it—that it would be something else. Like a flight mission. With all the ships and planets in the cosmos, he would have to land a routine station assignment, and on the Far Side, no less. Once the “in” term for the lunar hemisphere not facing Earth, it was now in common parlance.
“Right. Do you know what it looks like?” asked the commandant, wearing a facial expression that said he had something up his sleeve. Pirx briefly toyed with the idea of bluffing.
“No,” he answered.
“If you sign on, I’ll supply you with all the specs.” The commandant patted a stack of papers.
“You mean it’s voluntary?” Pirx shot back with undisguised alacrity.
“Correct. The mission I have in mind is … could turn out to be … very—”
He deliberately broke off in mid-sentence to measure what effect his words would have on the wide-eyed, incredulous Pirx. Slowly the cadet drew a solemn breath, held it, and sat there as if oblivious of the need to exhale. Blushing like a maiden at the sight of her Prince, he waited for another dose of sweet-sounding phrases. The commandant cleared his throat.
“Well, well,” he said soberingly, “I may have been exaggerating. Anyway, you’re mistaken.”
“Beg your pardon?” stammered Pirx.
“I mean you’re not the world’s only salvation. Not yet, at least.”
Pirx, red as a beet, squirmed in his seat and fidgeted with his hands. The commandant, a man notorious for his methods, had just finished painting a paradisiacal vision of Pirx the Hero (Pirx already had dreams of returning from his Heroic Exploit and, while being paraded through a packed cosmodrome, hearing awed whispers of “That’s the one! That’s the one!”), and now, unknowingly it seemed, he was beginning to play down the Mission, to trim it down to the size of a routine training
The commandant’s office was a dream come true. For Pirx it was, at any rate. Walls totally obscured by celestial maps, constellations like golden-brown drops of honey against a navy-blue field. A small blank Moon globe on the desk; books and degrees galore on the walls; another globe against the wall—only this one bigger, more elaborate. The second one was a real marvel of technological splendor: press the right button and bingo! the orbital path of any artificial satellite was immediately simulated, from the latest to the oldest—those pioneering satellites dating from the fifties.
Practically any other day Pirx would have been enthralled by such a globe, but not today. The commandant was busy writing when he came in. “Please be seated; I’ll be right with you,” he heard him say. At last, taking off his glasses—until about a year ago he had got along without them—the commandant gave him a good long gander, as if laying eyes on him for the first time. That was his way—not only with Pirx but with everyone. It was a gaze designed to rattle even the saintliest of men. And Pirx was hardly a saint. He couldn’t keep still. Either he found himself sprawled out in the grossly casual manner of a millionaire aboard his own private yacht, or precariously balanced on the edge of his seat. Finally—mercifully—the commandant broke the silence.
“Well, Pirx, how are things?”
He’d addressed him informally—a good omen. Pirx said he couldn’t kick.
“Took a dip, did you?”
Pirx nodded. Hey, what gives? Pirx kept his guard up. Maybe it was for sassing Dr. Grotius…
“There’s a trainee’s berth up on Mendeleev. Know where that is?”
“That’s an astrophysics station on the Far Side,” replied Pirx. He felt a slight letdown. He had been nurturing a quiet hope—so quiet he had been reluctant to admit it to himself, for fear of blowing it—that it would be something else. Like a flight mission. With all the ships and planets in the cosmos, he would have to land a routine station assignment, and on the Far Side, no less. Once the “in” term for the lunar hemisphere not facing Earth, it was now in common parlance.
“Right. Do you know what it looks like?” asked the commandant, wearing a facial expression that said he had something up his sleeve. Pirx briefly toyed with the idea of bluffing.
“No,” he answered.
“If you sign on, I’ll supply you with all the specs.” The commandant patted a stack of papers.
“You mean it’s voluntary?” Pirx shot back with undisguised alacrity.
“Correct. The mission I have in mind is … could turn out to be … very—”
He deliberately broke off in mid-sentence to measure what effect his words would have on the wide-eyed, incredulous Pirx. Slowly the cadet drew a solemn breath, held it, and sat there as if oblivious of the need to exhale. Blushing like a maiden at the sight of her Prince, he waited for another dose of sweet-sounding phrases. The commandant cleared his throat.
“Well, well,” he said soberingly, “I may have been exaggerating. Anyway, you’re mistaken.”
“Beg your pardon?” stammered Pirx.
“I mean you’re not the world’s only salvation. Not yet, at least.”
Pirx, red as a beet, squirmed in his seat and fidgeted with his hands. The commandant, a man notorious for his methods, had just finished painting a paradisiacal vision of Pirx the Hero (Pirx already had dreams of returning from his Heroic Exploit and, while being paraded through a packed cosmodrome, hearing awed whispers of “That’s the one! That’s the one!”), and now, unknowingly it seemed, he was beginning to play down the Mission, to trim it down to the size of a routine training
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