Return from the Stars: a novel

"Return from the Stars" is a science fiction novel by Stanislav Lem.

The novel tells the story of astronaut Hal Brag. He returned from a space expedition to Fomalhaut, which lasted about 10 years due to a relativistic slowdown. And 127 years have passed on Earth during this time.

Hal discovers that while he was traveling on Earth, there was a utopian, unusual for an astronaut from the past society, without violence and wars.

that the basis of the new civilization is the procedure of betrization, which neutralizes all aggressive impulses in the human brain and strengthens the instinct of self-preservation. However, this procedure also has side effects, at least from Hal's point of view. Mankind is not at risk, in particular, space travel is seen as unwarranted adventurism. He and other astronauts are becoming alien to society and even dangerous because they have not been betrized. The protagonist is faced with a choice: to accept the values of a new society or to become an exile ...

Review of the book: "Return from the Stars" by Stanislav Lem: Is a world possible without fear? (author Mariana Zelenyuk)

Translated from Polish by Igor Brechak, Anatoliy Kysil and Sofia Skirta

Illustrations by Rostislav Kramar

I did not have from itself no things, not even a cloak. I was told that it was not necessary. They allowed me to take only a black sweater: they say, let it be! And I still won the shirt. He said he would get used to it gradually. Already right in the aisle, under the belly of the ship, in the midst of the biggest push where we stopped, Abs gave me his hand and smiled meaningfully:

- Just be careful ...

I remembered this and did not flatten his fingers. He was completely calm. He wanted to say something else, but I wouldn't let him say a word. He turned away, as if noticing anything, and climbed the stairs inside. The flight attendant led me between the rows of soft chairs in front. I didn't order a separate compartment, but I didn't know if she had been warned. The chair moved silently. She straightened her back, smiled at me, and left. I sat down. Pillows are bottomless soft, as everywhere. The backs are so high that they make almost no passengers visible. The color of women's clothing no longer provoked my protest, but I still suspected men of masquerade, albeit unreasonably, and still cherished the hope of seeing well-dressed people. In vain! We sat down quickly, no one had luggage. Even a briefcase or package. Women too. there seemed to be more of them. In front of me are two mulattoes in feathered fur coats, like parrots. Apparently, such a bird's fashion prevailed. Then there is a couple with a child. After the bright selenophones on the platform and in the tunnels, after the unbearably loud luminescent vegetation in the streets, the light of the concave ceiling seemed to glow faintly. All passengers were already seated. Eight rows of gray chairs, the smell of pine needles, quiet conversations ... I was waiting for the announcement of the start, some signals, an order to fasten seat belts, but there was nothing like that. Vague shadows ran across the matte ceiling from front to back, like the silhouettes of paper-cut birds. "What the hell are these birds?" I thought confused. "Does that mean anything?" I'm almost overwhelmed by the excessive attention caused by the constant fear of doing something inappropriate.

And so for four days. From the first minute. I tried in vain to understand everything that was going on around me; I was so tired from constantly trying to grasp the meaning of the conversations that I sometimes had an unpleasant feeling like despair. I was convinced that my comrades felt the same way, but we didn't talk about it, even when we were alone. Only mocked with their strength, with the excess of our energy. In fact, I had to watch myself. At first I couldn't control my movements: when I tried to get up, I jumped up to the ceiling, and when I picked up something, I hardly felt it - it seemed so easy to me. as if paper, empty. But I quickly learned to coordinate the movements of my body. When greeting, he no longer squeezed anyone's fingers in pain. Unfortunately, this was not the most important thing. My neighbor on the left, a fat, tanned man with very bright eyes (perhaps from contact lenses), suddenly disappeared: the sides of his soft chair widened, rose and converged. , forming a cabin, like an egg-shaped cocoon or a swollen sarcophagus. Several more people found themselves in the same cabins. What were they doing there? But I have encountered such unusual phenomena here often and I am no longer surprised by them. At least when it didn't concern me. Interestingly, I was almost indifferent to the people who, when they found out who we were, stared at us. Our guardians, Adapt workers, were more outraged. Probably the most - Dr. Abs, because he treated me like a psychiatrist to an abnormal patient, pretending, in the end, quite skillfully that he was dealing with a completely normal person. And when that became impossible, he turned to jokes. I was already fed up with his spontaneity and kindness. If he had asked the first person he met about us, at least it seemed to me, he would have recognized me or Olaf as himself. He was surprised by our past: it was unusual. But Dr. Abs, like every Adapt worker, knew very well that we were really different. Our difference harmed us even in the simplest - we could not properly communicate with them, exchange views, and that's it! We couldn't get used to opening their doors, because the door handles we used to get out of use here fifty or sixty years ago.

The start was unexpected. Gravity did not change a hair, no sounds penetrated the sealed interior of the ship, shadows floated slowly on the ceiling - maybe only many years of experience and instinct in an instant told me that we are already in space, and it was confidence, not conjecture.

But I was interested in something else. I rested quietly, half-lying, legs straight. It was too easy for me to achieve my goal. Even Osvam did not contradict my intention very much. The counterarguments I heard from them were not very convincing - I would have managed to do better. They both insisted on only one thing: each of us must fly separately. I was not blamed for rebelling Olaf (because if it weren't for me, he would probably have agreed to stay longer). There was something to think about. I was expecting complications, something that would suddenly upset my plan, but nothing happened, and now I'm flying. This last journey was to end in fifteen minutes. It became clear that my fiction, as well as my struggle for early departure, were not a surprise to them. A reaction of this type, apparently, was already listed in their catalog. This was normal behavior, typical of people like me, marked in their psychotechnical tables with the appropriate serial number. They let me fly - but why? Maybe they already knew from experience that I would not be able to cope? But how could this be, if all my independent journey was to fly from one station to another, where I had to wait for someone from the earthly Adapt and where I had to meet the person in the agreed place?

Something happened. Excited voices were heard. I looked out of my chair. A few rows in front of me, a woman pushed the flight attendant away, who slowly, automatically (as if, after all, not such a strong push) backed away between the chairs. And the same woman rehearsed: "I will not allow! Don't let it touch me! ” I did not see the face of that screaming passenger. A man held her hand and offered something soothing. What did this scene mean? None of the passengers paid attention to her. I was again overwhelmed by the feeling of incredible alienation. I looked up at the flight attendant, who stopped beside me and smiled as before. It was not a smile of obligatory outward courtesy to cover up irritation. She didn't pretend to be calm, but she really was. "" Maybe you want something to drink? Prum, extra, plague, cider? A melodious voice was heard. I shook my head in denial. He wanted to say something nice to her, but managed to answer only the stereotypical question:

- When are we arriving?

- In six minutes. Or maybe you ate something? You do not have to hurry. You can stay here after landing.

- Thank you, I don't want to.

She's gone. In the air, in front of my very face, near the back of the front seat, lit up, as if written by the end of a lit cigarette, the inscription: LOST. I leaned over to see where he came from and shuddered. The back of the chair leaned forward with my shoulders, gently fitting them. I already knew that furniture responds to every change in body position, but from time to time I forgot about it. It was not very pleasant - as if someone was watching my every move. I tried to return to the previous pose, but I did it, probably too vigorously. The chair did not "understand" me well and spread out almost like a bed. I jumped. What the hell! More exposure! Finally sat down. The letters of the pink STRATO trembled, and in their place came others: TERMINAL. No shock, warning, whistling. Nothing. There was a distant sound, as if someone had sounded the alarm, the four oval doors at the end of the aisles between the seats opened, and a deafening, all-consuming noise, like the sound of the sea, burst into the ship. The voices of the passengers rising from their seats melted away without a trace. I was still sitting, and people were coming out, their silhouettes flickering against the external lights of green, purple, magenta - as if at a costume ball.

When everyone came out, I got up. He mechanically tugged at his sweater. Somehow strangely so, empty-handed. Coolness pulled through the open door. I looked around. The flight attendant stood in one of the compartments without touching the wall with her shoulders. The same friendly smile froze on her face; now she was directed to rows of empty armchairs, which began to slowly fold, folding like fleshy flowers — some faster, some a little slower — the only movement in this long noise that floated through the oval openings, resembling the open sea. "Don't let it touch me!" I suddenly noticed something bad in the stewardess's smile. As soon as I left, I said:

- Goodbye ...

- At your service.