"Me, too." Malley put in.
"I don't mean to be secretive," Cercy said. "I'm just in a hurry. I'll explain as we go along." He stood up. "OK, let's wake up the Ambassador."
They watched the screen as a bolt of electricity leaped from the ceiling to the Ambassador's bed. Immediately, the Ambassador vanished.
"Now he's a part of that stream of electrons, right?" Cercy asked.
"That's what he told us," Malley said.
"But still keeping his pattern within the stream," Cercy continued. "He has to, in order to get back into his own shape. Now we start the first disrupter."
Harrison hooked the machine into circuit and sent his helpers away.
"Here's a running graph of the electron stream," Cercy said. "See the difference?" On the graph there was an irregular series of peaks and valleys, constantly shifting and levelling. "Do you remember when you hypnotized the Ambassador? He talked about his friend who'd been killed in space."
"That's right," Malley nodded. "His friend had been killed by something that had just popped up."
"He said something else," Cercy went on. "He told us that the basic organizing force of the universe usually stopped things like that. What does that mean to you?"
"The organizing force," Malley repeated slowly. "Didn't Darrig say that that was a new natural law?"
"He did. But think of the implications, as Darrig did. If an organizing principle is engaged in some work, there must be something that opposes it. That which opposes organization is—"
"Chaos!"
"That's what Darrig thought and what we should have seen. The Chaos is underlying, and out of it there arose an organizing principle. This principle, if I've got it right, sought to suppress the fundamental Chaos, to make all things regular.
"But the Chaos still boils out in spots, as Alfern found out. Perhaps the organizational pattern is weaker in space. Anyhow, those spots are dangerous, until the organizing principle gets to work on them."
He turned to the panel. "Okay, Harrison. Throw in the second disrupter." The peaks and valleys altered on the graph. They started to mount in crazy, meaningless configurations.
"Take Darrig's message in the light of that. Chaos, we know, is underlying. Everything was formed out of it. The Gorgon Medusa was something that couldn't be looked upon. She turned men into stone, you recall, destroyed them. So, Darrig found a relationship between Chaos and that which can't be looked upon. All with regard to the Ambassador, of course."
"The Ambassador can't look upon Chaos!" Malley cried.
"That's it. The Ambassador is capable of an infinite number of alterations and permutations. But something — the matrix — can't change, because then there would be nothing left. To destroy something as abstract as a pattern, we need a state in which no pattern is possible. A state of Chaos."
The third disrupter was thrown into circuit. The graph looked as if a drunken caterpillar had been sketching on it.
"Those disrupters are Harrison's idea," Cercy said. "I told him I wanted an electrical current with absolutely no coherent pattern. The disrupters are an extension of radio jamming. The first alters the electrical pattern. That's its purpose: to produce a state of patternlessness. The second tries to destroy the pattern left by the first; the third tries to destroy the pattern made by the first two. They're fed back then, and any remaining pattern is systematically destroyed in circuii — I hope."
"This is supposed to produce a state of Chaos?" Malley asked, looking into the screen.
For a while there was only the whining of the machines and the crazy doodling of the graph. Then, in the middle of the Ambassador's room, a spot appeared. It wavered, shrank, expanded.
What, happened was indescribable. All they knew was that everything within the spot had disappeared.
"Switch it off!" Cercy shouted. Harrison cut the switch.
The spot continued to grow.
"How is it we're able to look at it?" Malley asked, staring at the screen.
"The shield of Perseus, remember?" Cercy said. "Using it as a mirror, he could look at Medusa."
"It's still growing!" Malley shouted.
"There was a calculated risk in all this," Cercy said. "There's always the possibility that the Chaos may go on, unchecked. If that happens, it won't matter much what—"
The spot stopped growing. Its edges wavered and rippled, and then it started to shrink.
"The organizing principle," Cercy said, and collapsed into a chair.
"Any sign of the Ambassador?" he asked in a few minutes.
The spot was still wavering. Then it was gone. Instantly there was an explosion. The steel walls buckled inwards, but held. The screen went dead.
"The spot removed all the air from the room," Cercy explained, "as well as the furniture and the Ambassador."
"He couldn't take it," Malley said. "No pattern can cohere in a state of patternlessness. He's gone to join Alfern."
Malley started to giggle. Cercy felt like joining him, but pulled himself together.
"Take it easy," he said. "We're not through yet."
"Sure we are! The Ambassador—"
"Is out of the way. But there's still an alien fleet homing in on this region of space. A fleet so strong we couldn't scratch it with an H-bomb. They'll be looking for us."
He stood up.
"Go home and get some sleep. Something tells me that tomorrow we're going to have to start figuring out some way of camouflaging a planet."
Ghost V
"He's reading our sign now," Gregor said, his long bony face pressed against the peephole in the office door.
"Let me see," Arnold said.
Gregor pushed him back. "He's going to knock — no, he's changed his mind. He's leaving."
Arnold returned to his desk and laid out another game of solitaire. Gregor kept watch at the peephole.
They had constructed the peephole out of sheer boredom three months after forming their partnership and renting the office. During that time, the AAA Ace Planet Decontamination Service had had no business — in spite of being first in the telephone book. Planetary decontamination was an old, established line, completely monopolized by two large outfits. It was discouraging for a small new firm run by two young men with big ideas and a lot of unpaid-for equipment.
"He's coming back," Gregor called. "Quick — look busy and important!"
Arnold swept his cards into a drawer and just finished buttoning his lab gown when the knock came.
Their visitor was a short, bald, tired-looking man. He stared at them dubiously.
"You decontaminate planets?"
"That is correct, sir," Gregor said, pushing away a pile of papers and shaking the man's moist hand. "I am Richard Gregor. This is my partner, Doctor Frank Arnold."
Arnold, impressively garbed in a white lab gown and black horn-rimmed glasses, nodded absently and resumed his examination of a row of ancient, crusted test tubes.
"Kindly be seated, Mister —"
"Ferngraum."
"Mr. Ferngraum. I think we can handle just about anything you require," Gregor said heartily. "Flora or fauna control, cleansing atmosphere, purifying water supply, sterilizing soil, stability testing, volcano and earthquake control — anything you need to make a planet fit for human habitation."
Ferngraum still looked dubious. "I'm going to level with you. I've got a problem planet on my hands."
Gregor nodded confidently. "Problems are our business."
"I'm a freelance real-estate broker," Ferngraum said. "You know how it works — buy a planet, sell a planet, everyone makes a living. Usually I stick with the scrub worlds and let my buyers do their decontaminating. But a few months ago I had a chance to buy a real quality planet — took it right out from under the noses of the big operators."