The Star Diaries Read online

  Continuum Books by Stanistaw Lem

  THE INVINCIBLE

  THE INVESTIGATION

  MEMOIRS FOUND IN A BATHTUB

  THE CYBERIAD

  THE FUTUROLOGICAL CONGRESS

  THE STAR DIARIES

  THE SEABURY PRESS

  815 SECOND AVENUE

  NEW YORK, N.Y. 10017

  ENGLISH TRANSLATION COPYRIGHT © 1976 BY THE SEABURY PRESS, INC. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. NO PART OF THIS BOOK MAY BE REPRODUCED, STORED IN A RETRIEVAL SYSTEM, OR TRANSMITTED, IN ANY FORM OR BY ANY MEANS, ELECTRONIC, MECHANICAL, PHOTOCOPYING, RECORDING OR OTHERWISE, WITHOUT THE WRITTEN PERMISSION OF THE SEABURY PRESS, INC.

  ORIGINAL EDITION; DZIENNIKI GWIAZDOWE, PUBLISHED BY CZYTELNIK, WARSAW, 1971.

  PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

  Library of Congress Cataloging in Publication Data

  Lem, Stanislaw. The star diaries.

  (A Continuum book)

  Translation of Dzienniki gwiazdowe.

  I. Title.

  PZ3.LL5395St4 PG7158.L39 891.8'5'37 75-44428

  ISBN 0-8164-9283-2

  Contents

  Introduction

  Introduction to the Expanded Edition

  The Seventh Voyage

  The Eighth Voyage

  The Eleventh Voyage

  The Twelfth Voyage

  The Thirteenth Voyage

  The Fourteenth Voyage

  The Twentieth Voyage

  The Twenty-first Voyage

  The Twenty-second Voyage

  The Twenty-third Voyage

  The Twenty-fifth Voyage

  The Twenty-eighth Voyage

  Translator’s Note

  Introduction

  This edition of the works of Ijon Tichy, being neither complete nor definitive, does represent a step forward in comparison with its predecessors. Included here are the texts of two hitherto unknown Voyages, the Eighth and the Twenty-eighth.1 The latter provides us with new information concerning the biography of Tichy and his family, information which will interest not only the historian, but the physicist as well, for it points to a phenomenon long since suspected by me, namely, the dependence of the degree of kinship upon velocity.2

  As for the Eighth Voyage, a team of Tichologists-psycho-analysts has verified—minutes before this edition went to press—all the events which took place in the dream of I. Tichy.3 The Interested Reader will find, in Dr. Hopfstosser’s work, a comparative bibliography on the subject, showing the influence of the dreams of other famous people, like Sir Isaac Newton and the Borgias, on the dreams of Tichy, and vice versa.

  On the other hand the present volume does not include the Twenty-sixth Voyage, shown conclusively to be apocryphal. The proof of this has been supplied by a team of workers at our Institute, who used electronic-textual analysis.4 I might add here that personally I have always considered the so-called “Twenty-sixth Voyage” to be spurious, on account of the many inaccuracies that appear in that text, regarding—among others—the Oofs (not the “Oops,” as the text gives), also the Guzzards, Meopticans and the species of the Lowths (Phlegmus Invariabilis Hopfstosseri).

  Of late certain voices have been heard, which would cast doubt upon the authorship of Tichy’s writings. The press tells us that Tichy used a ghost-writer, or that he never even existed, his works having been penned—they say—by a device given the name of “Lem.” According to some extreme versions this “Lem” is even supposed to be a man. Now, anyone who has a rudimentary acquaintance with the history of space travel knows that LEM is an abbreviation for LUNAR EXCURSION MODULE, an exploratory vessel built in the U.S.A. as part of the “Apollo Project” (the first landing on the Moon). Ijon Tichy requires no defense, neither as an author nor as a traveler. Nevertheless I would like to take this opportunity to quash those ridiculous rumors once and for all. Specifically then: the LEM was indeed equipped with a small brain (electronic); that device however performed only the most narrow navigational tasks and would have been incapable of writing a single coherent sentence. About any other LEM nothing is known. We find no mention of such in the catalogs of large-scale electronic machines (viz. Nortronics, New York, 1976-9), nor in the Great Encyclopedia Cosmica (London, 1989). High time then, that this gossip, so out of keeping with the seriousness of the work at hand, ceases to distract our Tichologists, from whom much labor yet—and many years—will be needed to compile the OPERA OMNIA of I. Tichy.

  —PROFESSOR A. S. TARANTOGA

  Department of Comparative Astrozoology, Fomalhaut University

  on behalf of the Editorial Committee for the Publication

  of the Complete Works of Ijon Tichy

  and the Scientific Council of the Tichological Institute

  in conjunction with the Editorial Board of the Quarterly “Tichiana”

  1 E. M. Sianko, Wyściótka lewej szuflady biurka I. Tichego—manuskryptem jego nie publikowanych prac; Vol. XVI Tichiana Series, p. 1193 ff.

  2 O. J. Burberrys, Kinship As a Function of Velocity in Family Travels; Vol. XVII Tichiana Series, p. 232 ff. See also R. Z. Hemp, Relatives and Relativity (Xerox: Brasilia), pp. 482-512.

  3 Dr, S. Hopfstosser, Das epistemologisch Unbestreitbare in einem Traume von Ijon Tichy; spec. ed. Tichiana Series, Vol. VI, p. 67 ff.

  4 E, M. Sianko, A. Hayseed and W. U. Kałamarajbysowa, A Frequency Analysis of the Linguistic Beta-spectra in the Texts of I. Tichy; Vol. XVIII Tichiana Series.

  Introduction to the

  Expanded Edition

  It is with joy and deep emotion that we offer the Reader this new edition of the writings of Ijon Tichy, for it includes not only the texts of three hitherto unknown Voyages (the Eighteenth, the Twentieth and the Twenty-first), not only invaluable illustrations by the author’s own hand, but also an explanation of certain mysteries that have, till now, given even specialists in Tichology many a sleepless night.

  As for the drawings, for a long time the Author was unwilling to part with these, claiming that he sketched stellar-planetary specimens in flagranti or from his private collection purely for his own amusement, that they possess neither artistic nor documentary value, since he always dashed them off in a great hurry. Yet even if they are scribblings—with which opinion, by the way, not all the experts agree—their use as visual aids in the reading of these texts, so often difficult and obscure, is undeniable. This is the first source of our staffs satisfaction.

  Secondly, the texts of the new Voyages afford no little comfort to the mind that yearns for definitive answers to those oldest of questions which Man has put to himself and the world: namely, who exactly it was that constructed the Universe, and why thus and not otherwise it was done, also who was responsible for natural evolution and general history, the origin of intelligence, life, and other, no less important matters. And is it not a pleasant surprise indeed to discover that our illustrious Author himself played, in that creative endeavor, a major if not deciding role? We can well understand the modesty with which he defended the drawer containing those manuscripts, but equally well the delight of those who finally broke down Tichy’s resistance. It is here, too, that the reason for the gaps in the numbering of the Star Voyages comes to light. After studying this edition, the Reader will see not only why there never was a First Journey of I. Tichy, but also why there never could be, and with a little concentration he will realize that Voyage number twenty-one is at the same time the nineteenth. True, this is not immediately apparent, since the Author crossed out the last few dozen lines of the manuscript in question. For what reason? Once again, his tremendous modesty. I cannot break the oath of secrecy placed upon my lips; I have been permitted however to pull aside the curtain just a little. I. Tichy, seeing where attempts to improve prehistory and history were leading, in his
capacity as Director of the Temporal Institute did something, as a result of which something the Theory of Time Vehicles and Transport never was discovered. Since at his order this discovery was undiscovered, by that very act the Telechronic Program to correct history vanished, so did the Temporal Institute and so—alas—did I. Tichy himself, being its Director. The pain caused by that loss is assuaged in part by the knowledge that we will now not have to fear any unpleasant surprises from the past (at least), and in part by the startling fact that he who tragically is no more still lives, without at all having risen from the dead. Admittedly, this circumstance is perplexing; for its full explanation we direct the Reader to the appropriate places, namely, the Twentieth and Twenty-first Voyages.

  In conclusion I should like to announce the establishment in our Association of a special futurological section, which, in keeping with the spirit of the times, will make available—using the method of so-called self-realizing prognoses—those star journeys of I. Tichy which as yet he has not undertaken, nor indeed intends to.

  —PROF. A. S. TARANTOGA

  on behalf of the Associated Institutes of Tichology, Tichography

  and Tichonomics Descriptive, Comparative and Prognostic

  THE

  SEVENTH

  VOYAGE

  It was on a Monday, April second—I was cruising in the vicinity of Betelgeuse—when a meteor no larger than a lima bean pierced the hull, shattered the drive regulator and part of the rudder, as a result of which the rocket lost all maneuverability. I put on my spacesuit, went outside and tried to fix the mechanism, but found I couldn’t possibly attach the spare rudder—which I’d had the foresight to bring along—without the help of another man. The constructors had foolishly designed the rocket in such a way, that it took one person to hold the head of the bolt in place with a wrench, and another to tighten the nut. I didn’t realize this at first and spent several hours trying to grip the wrench with my feet while using both hands to screw on the nut at the other end. But I was getting nowhere, and had already missed lunch. Then finally, just as I almost succeeded, the wrench popped out from under my feet and went flying off into space. So not only had I accomplished nothing, but lost a valuable tool besides; I watched helplessly as it sailed away, growing smaller and smaller against the starry sky.

  After a while the wrench returned in an elongated ellipse, but though it had now become a satellite of the rocket, it never got close enough for me to retrieve it. I went back inside and, sitting down to a modest supper, considered how best to extricate myself from this stupid situation. Meanwhile the ship flew on, straight ahead, its velocity steadily increasing, since my drive regulator too had been knocked out by that blasted meteor. It’s true there were no heavenly bodies on course, but this headlong flight could hardly continue indefinitely. For a while I contained my anger, but then discovered, when starting to wash the dinner dishes, that the now-overheated atomic pile had ruined my very best cut of sirloin (I’d been keeping it in the freezer for Sunday). I momentarily lost my usually level head, burst into a volley of the vilest oaths and smashed a few plates. This did give me a certain satisfaction, but was hardly practical. In addition, the sirloin which I threw overboard, instead of drifting off into the void, didn’t seem to want to leave the rocket and revolved about it, a second artificial satellite, which produced a brief eclipse of the sun every eleven minutes and four seconds. To calm my nerves I calculated till evening the components of its trajectory, as well as the orbital perturbation caused by the presence of the lost wrench. I figured out that for the next six million years the sirloin, rotating about the ship in a circular path, would lead the wrench, then catch up with it from behind and pass it again. Finally, exhausted by these computations, I went to bed. In the middle of the night I had the feeling someone was shaking me by the shoulder. I opened my eyes and saw a man standing over the bed; his face was strangely familiar, though I hadn’t the faintest idea who this could be.

  “Get up,” he said, “and take the pliers, we’re going out and screwing on the rudder bolts…”

  “First of all, your manner is somewhat unceremonious, and we haven’t even been introduced,” I replied, “and secondly, I know for a fact that you aren’t there. I’m alone on this rocket, and have been now for two years, en route from Earth to the constellation of the Ram. Therefore you are a dream and nothing more.”

  However he continued to shake me, repeating that I should go with him at once and get the tools.

  “This is idiotic,” I said, growing annoyed, because this dream argument could very well wake me up, and I knew from experience the difficulty I would have getting back to sleep. “Look, I’m not going anywhere, there’s no point in it, A bolt tightened in a dream won’t change things as they are in the sober light of day. Now kindly stop pestering me and evaporate or leave in some other fashion, otherwise I might awake.”

  “But you are awake, word of honor!” cried the stubborn apparition. “Don’t you recognize me? Look here!”

  And saying this, he pointed to the two warts, big as strawberries, on his left cheek. Instinctively I clutched my own face, for yes, I had two warts, exactly the same, and in that very place. Suddenly I realized why this phantom reminded me of someone I knew: he was the spitting image of myself.

  “Leave me alone, for heaven’s sake!” I cried, shutting my eyes, anxious to stay asleep. “If you are me, then fine, we needn’t stand on ceremony, but it only proves you don’t exist!”

  With which I turned on my other side and pulled the covers up over my head. I could hear him saying something about utter nonsense; then finally, when I didn’t respond, he shouted: “You’ll regret this, knucklehead! And you’ll find out, too late, that this was not a dream!"

  But I didn't budge. In the morning I opened my eyes and immediately recalled that curious nocturnal episode. Sitting up in bed, I thought about what strange tricks the mind can play: for here, without a single fellow creature on board and confronted with an emergency of the most pressing kind, I had—as it were—split myself in two, in that dream fantasy, to answer the needs of the situation.

  After breakfast, discovering that the rocket had acquired an additional chunk of acceleration during the night, I took to leafing through the ship’s library, searching the textbooks for some way out of this predicament. But I didn’t find a thing. So I spread my star map out on the table and in the light of nearby Betelgeuse, obscured every so often by the orbiting sirloin, examined the area in which I was located for the seat of some cosmic civilization that might possibly come to my aid. But unfortunately this was a complete stellar wilderness, avoided by all vessels as a region unusually dangerous, for in it lay gravitational vortices, as formidable as they were mysterious, one hundred and forty-seven of them in all, whose existence was explained by six astrophysical theories, each theory saying something different.

  The cosmonautical almanac warned of them, in view of the incalculable relativistic effects that passage through a vortex could bring about—particularly when traveling at high velocities.

  Yet there was little I could do. According to my calculations I would be making contact with the edge of the first vortex at around eleven, and therefore hurriedly prepared lunch, not wanting to face the danger on an empty stomach. I had barely finished drying the last saucer when the rocket began to pitch and heave in every direction, till all the objects not adequately tied down went flying from wall to wall like hail. With difficulty I crawled over to the armchair, and after I’d lashed myself to it, as the ship tossed about with ever increasing violence, I noticed a sort of pale lilac haze forming on the opposite side of the cabin, and in the middle of it, between the sink and the stove, a misty human shape, which had on an apron and was pouring omelet batter into a frying pan. The shape looked at me with interest, but without surprise, then shimmered and was gone. I rubbed my eyes. I was obviously alone, so attributed the vision to a momentary aberration.

  As I continued to sit in—or rather, jump along with�
��the armchair, it suddenly hit me, like a dazzling revelation, that this hadn’t been a hallucination at all. A thick volume of the General Theory of Relativity came whirling past my chair and I grabbed for it, finally catching it on the fourth pass. Turning the pages of that heavy tome wasn’t easy under the circumstances—awesome forces hurled the rocket this way and that, it reeled like a drunken thing—but at last I found the right chapter. It spoke of the manifestation of the “time loop,” that is, the bending of the direction of the flow of time in the presence of gravitational fields of great intensity, which phenomenon might even on occasion lead to the complete reversal of time and the “duplication of the present.” The vortex I had just entered was not one of the most powerful. I knew that if I could turn the ship’s bow, even if only a little, towards the Galactic Pole, it would intersect the so-called Vortex Gravitatiosus Pinckenbachii, in which had been observed more than once the duplication, even the triplication, of the present.

  True, the controls were out, but I went down to the engine room and fiddled with the instruments so long, that I actually managed to produce a slight deflection of the rocket towards the Galactic Pole. This took several hours. The results were beyond my expectations. The ship fell into the center of the vortex at around midnight, its girders shook and groaned until I began to fear for its safety; but it emerged from this ordeal whole and once again was wrapped in the lifeless arms of cosmic silence, whereupon I left the engine room, only to see myself sound asleep in bed. I realized at once that this was I of the previous day, that is, from Monday night. Without reflecting on the philosophical side of this rather singular event, I ran over and shook the sleeper by the shoulder, shouting for him to get up, since I had no idea how long his Monday existence would last in my Tuesday one, therefore it was imperative we go outside and fix the rudder as quickly as possible, together.