Bedlam is subject to the laws of periodicity, stochastic analysis, and with some rather brilliant manipulation it can be reduced to a Fourier Series. Fourier says that Maxwell is right and goes on to define exactly when, in a series of combined periodicities of apparently random motion, all the little particles will be moving in the same direction. Stochastic analysis says that if the letter “U” follows the letter “Q” in most cases, words beginning with “Q” will have “U” for a second letter. Jerry Markham began to think. Isolated and alone, prisoner in the cell of bone, with absolutely nothing to distract him, the Brain by common consent pounded a gavel, held a conference, appointed a chairman and settled down to do the one job that the Brain was assembled to do. In unison, ten to the sixteenth storage cells turned butter side up at the single wave of a mental flag. He thought of his father and his mother; of his Sally. He thought of his commanding officer and of the fellows he liked and disliked. The primitive urge to communicate was upon him, because he must first establish communication before he could rise from the stony mineral stage to the exalted level of a vegetable. Bereft of his normal senses, undistracted by trivia such as noise and pain and the inestimable vastness of information bits that must be considered and evaluated, his brain called upon his memory and provided the background details. The measured tread of a company of marching soldiers can wreck a bridge. The cadence of ten to the sixteenth brain cells, undivided by the distraction of incoming information, broke down a mental barrier. As vividly as the living truth, Jerry Markham envisioned himself sauntering down the sidewalk. The breeze was on his face and the pavement was beneath his feet, the air was laden with its myriad of smells and the flavor of a cigarette was on his tongue. His eyes saw Sally running toward him, her cry of greeting was a welcome sound and the pressure of her hug was strong and physical as the taste of her lips. Real. She hugged his arm and said, “Your folks are waiting.” Jerry laughed. “Let the general wait a bit longer,” he said. “I’ve got a lot to tell him.” Huvane said, “Gone!” and the sound of his voice re-echoed back and forth across the empty cell. “Gone,” repeated Chelan. “Utterly incomprehensible, but none the less a fact. But how—? Isolated, alone, imprisoned—cut off from all communication. All communication—?” “I’ll get another specimen, chief.” Chelan shook his head. “Seven times we’ve slapped them down. Seven times we’ve watched their rise—and wondered how they did it. Seven times they would have surpassed us if we hadn’t blocked them. Let them rise, let them run the Universe. They’re determined to do that anyway. And now I think it’s time for us to stop annoying our betters. I’d hate to face them if they were angry.” “But chief, he was cut off from all communication—?” “Obviously,” said Chelan, “not!” THE END