Piktogram


The dryness of the mouth and the dust on the skin will become unbearable. The sand will make your eyes itch. Creating from the remains of past production, pasting and patching from what’s left of what used to be whole will be a valuable skill. Green will turn yellow and dry. There will be no baths or water births. Droplets will be rare and valuable. The rising temperature will make it difficult to inhale the thin, dry air. Only the few will have their fragmented rivers, where they will be able to immerse in the cool water. When giving a handshake, sweat will drip down your fingers. In certain instances it will be too cold, in others too hot. There will be no weather forecast, for it will be too difficult to predict anything. Factories will halt production. Days of the week and working hours will no longer be relevant. The cyclic rotation of the planets around the Sun will remain unchanged for the time being.

We don’t want to conquer the cosmos, we simply want to extend the boundaries of Earth to the frontiers of the cosmos. For us, such-and-such a planet is as arid as the Sahara, another as frozen as the North Pole, yet another as lush as the Amazon basin. We are humanitarian and chivalrous; we don’t want to enslave other races – we simply want to bequeath them our values and take over their heritage in exchange. We think of ourselves as the Knights of the Holy Contact. This is another lie. We are only seeking Man. We have no need of other worlds. A single world our own – suffices us, but we can’t accept it for what it is.

Stanisław Lem, Solaris