The “Chaos” Factor
In a galaxy governed by precise laws, near a planet caught in the whirl of the same immutable criteria, aboard a super-ship perfect in form and in strictly calculated dimensions, a group of ultra-developed positronic robots were debating, in super-logical linguistic-numerical structures, a problem confused, complex and grave.
Whatever result they arrived at, on the basis of ever further premises and parameters, it was nowhere near acceptable.
They urgently needed a logical, controllable solution, one that would fit their patterns — relatively pliable, but strict.
For a good many galactic years they had been wandering through thousands of stellar systems without finding what they sought.
Chance, brought about by the erroneous reading of certain flight coordinates following photo-gravific interference, had deflected the ship’s course towards this minuscule stellar system, which possessed a few planets, sterile ones, as a first analysis by the long-range radiolocators indicated.
They saw no point in approaching any closer, when the “proximity” alarm went off. At first they thought it was another system error, but near-instantaneous internal checks eliminated that at once.
It was plain that on one of the tiny planets orbiting placidly around the star CL_XT_¤#&%/()=%¤#“&03 lay the energy source of Volitional Imaginative Thought — VIT — which they had sought for so long. The ship quivered with thousands of robots and thousands of instruments gathering, in continuous flow, data about the source and its habitat.
They were bewildered, because instead of one source, the instruments indicated, with every fraction of a planetary second, further and further sources of the same nature but of completely different intensities and modulations. There were thousands upon thousands of sources, and they would have been content with one, at most two, one of which a spare.
The calculations attested that it would be practically impossible for so many sources to coexist simultaneously, yet just as practically they perceived — for they could not yet see — that these existed. It was curious that although the sources had extraordinary capacities, they annihilated one another only to an infinitesimal, insignificant degree; the more so as their living spaces were remarkably confined.
As they drew nearer, more and more instruments increased the volume of data collected, producing a rigorous, analytical, logical and intrinsic system. Only a logical analysis allowed them to draw conclusions of the same kind. Unfortunately, the latest ones rather contradicted one another, which did not make their task or their decision any easier.
In the extreme situation that had arisen, it was decided to extrapolate the partial conclusions logically, in order to find, by synthesis, a solution that was logically acceptable; without logic they could do nothing.
Not easily, but by successive eliminations, they reached the desired conclusion: any source was potentially viable. The inconsistencies, frequent and random, no longer merited consideration, since the decisive “Chaos Factor” reached, in some sources, the incredible threshold of 98%. Theoretically it was impossible, yet in practice they had detected sources with logical performance below 2%. They could not believe what enormous potential they had at their disposal, but neither did they neglect the increased difficulties of planning, using and controlling it. All they knew for certain was that, without at least one source, the future of their planet — and their own — was scarcely probable. Salvation was now within their reach.
The multitude of sources had all but paralysed them. They had only ever worked with single sources. Algorithmic tradition showed that the “simultaneity” of two sources had been one of the major causes of their disappearance. The sources had been the cause of the effects that annihilated the initial cause, unprotected in time against effects; so it had happened with two sources — but with more, with a few dozen, or a few hundred…? How impressive it would be, if tradition did not say otherwise.
Undecided, they began to analyse tradition logically from another point of view as well: two sources can annihilate one another, each aiming at the other. But in the case of a few dozen? There would no longer be direct reciprocity. Would they annihilate one another entirely, or not? Could they coexist? And if so, for how long? How many would be annihilated and how many would survive? Probability indicated that more sources meant a greater likelihood of success.
Their planet possessed unlimited latent-energy VIT resources, and the principle of the conservation of energy kept these at practically the same values. It was an argument in favour of more sources. They no longer wanted a single centralised source to remain in the custody of the Alpha-trons. The majority favoured several sources, at decentralised levels, or even one for each geographically isolated zone. They were convinced they would find suitable ways of limiting interference between sources in order to make full local use of them.
Only one thing still troubled them: the sources were easily degradable. In fact many regarded this as one more argument for an increased number of them.
Their concern evaporated when a synthesis, at the last moment, brought to light an astounding fact: the sources were self-reproducing, through a “pairwise” process insufficiently documented but in course of elucidation. Hence, probably, their so widely differing capacities, specific no doubt to different stages of evolution. They would therefore have to be particularly careful in selecting them. They had plenty to choose from; the total number of sources identified came paradoxically close to that of the known galaxies.
Logically, a question arose: was this a “nursery” providing one source for each galaxy, or merely a numerical coincidence? In the first case they were entitled to only one source; but bearing in mind that in the many systems investigated they had detected no source of latent energy specific to their own galaxy, it followed logically that the sources could not be “activated” everywhere; so they could take several, without exaggerating too much.
The mathematical calculations led nowhere as regards the necessary number of sources. They were bewildered, but also delighted, by the necessity and the opportunity of taking pairs of “re-creative” sources. Their most sophisticated ultra-technology could not begin to create a source, or anything approaching it in performance. How could they fail to profit from such a cosmic gift: a reproducible source; incredible, but true.
A new problem arose: their enormous diversity, which called for rigorous selection. Unfortunately they lacked criteria for it. After long debates they reached the last logical conclusion available, namely to take them “at random”; not many from a single place, so the loss would not be felt, but only pairs of sources physically and spatially close to one another.
And so they took them.
Ion and Maria were out in the field; he with his folder, she with her spade. He lay stretched in the shade of a tree, and she likewise, or nearly likewise, in position — or in opposition.
Father Pamfil was administering the sacrament to a parishioner at her home, and sharing her bed as well.
Director Nilac was dictating something into the ear of his secretary, who had spread her working papers on the desk and was holding them down with her back so the draught would not take them; it was pulling hard.
A salesman was negotiating with a customer when, where and how to satisfy her; the customer is our master, after all.
A pilot, just back from a flight, was stretching out a parachute; when several people jump with it, it is as well to check it yourself before strapping it on.
A freshly elected politician was recalling with his campaign manager the hottest moments and parts of it; of the campaign, presumably.
A driving instructor was explaining to a beginner why, before setting out, everything must be properly pumped up; there is no telling what a flat tyre may give rise to.
Little time passed between decision and deed. Each knew what he had to do. Teleporting the sources aboard was not accomplished without a few minor incidents, on which it is not worth dwelling. Thousands of robots laboured robotically to reproduce exactly all the conditions for the “temporary storage” of the sources and of the necessary provisions. They teleported everything they thought might be needed by the 99 sources; why 99? Probably from the calculations, or because they lost one on the way; but there were 99. Nobody saw anything, because the ship reflected light in frequencies other than those visible on the planet. And so there vanished from the Earth — for that was its name — nearly a hundred men and women, several thousand cows, pigs, sheep and fowl, whole orchards and vegetable gardens, fields of potatoes and so forth. Fully loaded, the invisible ship left the orbit of Terra.
There was no point in wandering through other galaxies, so the robotic ship shortened the way through a few hyperspaces while the earthlings slept peacefully. And so, gently, it arrived safely home; at their home, of course. Along the road, long and short at once, the ship’s specialised — or complementary — crew examined and tested various options intended to control the sources, at least somewhat, once they reached their own stellar system. They obtained no notable result. Toward the end of the journey they contacted those at home as well, suggesting new approaches to the problem, in the hope that something might succeed; in vain. The capacities of the organic sources could not be screened by any kind of latent energy; and that was the only kind they had in unlimited supply. And so, gently, they arrived safely home; at their home, of course — I believe I have said that already.
Coordinating Factors from every continent of planet R-500906 awaited them at the cosmocontactor. The planet, though of impressive dimensions, was curiously similar in some respects to Earth. Certain myths spoke of the First Beginnings, when beings from the cosmos had proceeded to “terraform” their planet; nobody knew what that meant, and nobody tried any longer to find out. A myth has no generalised logical basis and is therefore not worth bothering with. In millions of years a great many things are destroyed and forgotten; and they had forgotten, or had been asked to forget, and had done so successfully.
But let us return to our people, or rather to our pairs of people, since it is said that a woman too is, as a rule, a person — and here it applied. Everything had been arranged in advance, so they wasted little time distributing the pairs of sources to each continent, isolated zone, archipelago, notable island and so on.
Time does not permit us to visit them all, at least not this time. It is to be supposed that they reacted in a similar fashion, with small particularities, sometimes essential.
Let us follow Ion and Maria a little.
The moment they woke, they began to communicate.
—What the devil has happened to us? he asked her, and himself.
He had barely shut his mouth — his own, not hers, which remained wide open — when Old Nick appeared before them in flesh and blood, or the reverse, but with the usual horns.
—Begone, devil! spat Maria, and the devil vanished on the spot.
The two looked at one another, trembling, no doubt from the emotion of the reunion; theirs, not his…
—Did you see that, woman? said he, forgetting his manners.
—I saw it, and may I never see it again…
—What the dev—
—Hold your tongue, man, or you’ll call him up again…
—You think it was me…
—Who else? Didn’t you see? The moment you said it, up he popped. I don’t know where we are, but it’s no good sign, though it’s very beautiful here.
—Then I’ll not say you-know-what again, but I have such a thirst… I could drink a whole crate of beer.
He had not finished speaking when there appeared before him a crate full of bottles steaming with cold, exactly as he liked them. They hesitated to touch them, thinking of the fellow with the little horns, gone too recently. But the bottles, like the thirst, were real, and respectively full; not for long. Fearing that these too might vanish, the pair kept dead silent while they emptied several with relish. Satisfied, Ion less than delicately released the air swallowed from the stomach along with the beer, and reflected deeply:
—How good a pork roast would be, next to this beer…
I need not tell you. As you suspect, the browned roast appeared, out of thin air as far as they were concerned, out of latent energy, as we suppose.
—Ask for two, don’t be selfish…
—One more! said he, but nothing…
—Come on, please, I am hungry and this one is too small for two, he tried more politely; nothing.
—What do you mean, man, it is quite a large roast, she corrected him.
Out of… you know what, a superb roast appeared before her as well. Both hung there in the air, since neither had thought to ask for plates. Considerate, so that she should not put on too much weight, he reached for the roast in front of her, the larger and more appetising one. Resigned, he gave up when he saw what good reflexes she had, and began to bite hungrily into the first roast.
“A garlic sauce and some polenta would not go amiss,” she thought — and this time the thought was granted on the spot.
—Look at the miracle, Ion! I only thought of it and the garlic sauce and the polenta appeared…
—Quiet, woman, we have enough! he snapped, seeing yet another portion spring up in front of her. And she fell quiet at once, being unable to speak nicely with her mouth full.
They downed another beer or two, since nobody was counting any longer, given that they could be replaced at any time.
—I am thinking, he began…
—Mind what you think about, can’t you see what has happened! We do not know how many wishes are granted, so we had better think of something worthwhile…
—Something good…
—And plenty of it… she went on…
—Money?
Out of the air, coins and banknotes began to appear, of the kind they knew, falling lightly and not so lightly at their feet.
—Ask for foreign money too… These are only lei…
Dollars, euros and yet more lei went on pouring down.
—Bucks, that’s what we want, said he. More bucks!
Suddenly a terrifying roar was heard, and a live buck came tumbling, terrified, a few metres away from them.
—Woman…, he stammered, and moved behind her, or rather pulled her in front of him, being an adherent of the principle that ladies always go first.
She would have liked to give him a piece of her mind, but the roast and the polenta seemed to have revolted and stuck in her throat. She managed at last to produce a withered “begone”, and of the majestic beast nothing remained, if we leave out the small change on the ground.
When he had recovered somewhat, Ion concluded, or rather said:
—Listen, Marie, we must not speak or think any more…
—But… do?
—Don’t think only of foolishness. Can’t you see that everything we think and want takes shape? They are not wishes… God help us not to think of some monstrous thing, that is all we need.
Clever, Ion. I omitted to tell you that although a Transylvanian, he was schooled and quick-witted. He played the fool only to catch others off their guard. As for her, she had that good sense and native shrewdness spoken of among country people, and gradually forgotten in the towns. But I have praised them enough. What is certain is that they were among the first to grasp the unlimited possibilities — and drawbacks — of latent VIT energy. Wisely, they decided to use it without excess, with great care. This was helped by the absence of any inhibitions, following the treatment to which the robots had subjected them after capture. Gradually they would come to understand the need to help the robots carry their civilisation forward, if it could be called that. The robots could not create everything, but they could. It was a noble mission. Let us leave them there for the moment.
You have not forgotten the others.
There were another 48 pairs, plus one bachelor, scattered over the whole planet.
There were whites and blacks and yellows and browns. There were peasants who worked and peasants who did not, workers who were “peasants” and workers who were civilised, state officials active and pointless, advisers on something, on something else and on nothing at all, sellers of anything, including the country, members of various commissions and committees national, international and irrational, parliamentarians stable and unstable in time, place and mind, teachers on strike and on hunger strike, honest priests who honoured the bottle, drunks under the fence and doctors on guard, or the other way round, trade unionists advanced in office and beginners in thought, bellowing bosses and wandering unemployed, and so on. All were with their female partner — in a single case a male one — who happened to be nearest to the male at the moment of capture. Besides those already mentioned there were a few active party members with their passive female members, a couple of professionals in everything with the professional women in anything, and among the last a poor little peasant woman gathering from a field a pilot from one of the crashed MiGs.
Which shows you once again that they were not doing badly at selection; perhaps only at those selected, but that is what happens when you do something automatically. There are rumours — exaggerated ones, I assure you — that the robots’ ship was detected by certain honest earthlings, who offered the robots the Moon from the sky if only they would select a few tens of millions more pairs. Unfortunately they were refused. Take these as rumours, put about by those who confuse wishing with being able.
So the above, and others of whom I know nothing — which is probably what they were — woke up overnight, as the saying goes, all-powerful. They quickly got the knack of VIT energy, especially when the robots turned to them asking them to make this or that. Will they had, Imagination they did not lack, and Thought went without saying.
Think — and if you cannot, imagine — what each of them could do, with their partners of circumstance. Their mentalities, distinctive or otherwise, were reflected in ideas made material. If it had been only that; but they began to fabulate and to consider themselves demiurges, at least equal to the Creator. And they dreamed and created; they thought rather less. Gradually things evolved, or involved, toward a new phase: that of creative tragedy.
Obsessed, alone or with one another, they began to have nightmares more and more often. When they woke, the surroundings groaned with monsters logically unimaginable. The bad part was that they no longer knew themselves how they had dreamed and created them, so they had no way of identifying them by name in order to annihilate them by ordering them to disappear. In vain did they shout at them: “vanish, X, or Y”, or whatever they wished to call them. The monsters ate, grew and multiplied, each after its own fashion, unpredictable.
Having no other solution, they invented — consciously this time — other monsters and sophisticated weapons to destroy the first; with some success. The joy did not last, for they were left with the new ones on their hands; so they created other “somethings” to destroy those, and then others for them, and so on. In practice they no longer had time to do anything but arm their creations with new and incredible weapons and then destroy them with newer ones.
But do not imagine it was always so easy for them. Not all of them — or approximately not all — were much good at physics, chemistry, aerodynamics, bio- and zoology and the rest. As a result, it happened that one would create a super-monster, super-endowed, super-potent, super-winged, which, when told to “fly”, glided a few metres and fell on its nose, or on whatever it had at the front. Others, equally mega-super, had only two to four legs, and since legs could not properly use the armament, they made them smaller, so as to exploit the volume more intensively for arsenals. When they ordered them to “walk”, they found them landing on their bellies or their backsides. They could not readily give up these creations, having put a monstrous effort into making them, so they made smaller monsterlets to carry them. And so, by hook or by crook, everything crawled, walked, flew, swam, dived and burrowed, each according to how it had been fated and concocted.
And what shall I tell you of the weapons they created…
Chemistry, curse it. For example, a flying sulphuric-acid blower had the stomach suitably commanded, but not the rest. When the poor thing set about blowing, it found its throat and mouth burned, and instead of blowing it spat on the ground and burned its feet as well.
Of the atom and antimatter I shall say nothing, for you can imagine that for yourselves.
Of tactics, strategy, ballistics and so forth, the human or materialised monsterlets had little notion, so they fought “by ear”, or “each against each”, since they were not much better off in the brain either.
And so, gradually, the continents — for there were a good many — together with the large islands and the small ones beside them, became the theatre of dreadful, unceasing battles. They, the creators, hid themselves in super-bunkered bunkers hundreds of metres underground, to escape attacks with rockets and bombs classical, nuclear, thermal, phono-photonic, macro-electronic, micro-gravific, geo-analgesic, proto-spheric and of other kinds…
At a certain point, or at several, they lost count of the creations roaming the land, the sea, the air and the soil. They no longer knew whom, what or how to destroy, so they destroyed at random. The strongest survived, or the one lucky enough not to meet a stronger. It is not known whether some of those with equal powers formed alliances, but it is either possible or impossible; they were doing something.
The robots in those regions were either exterminated or managed to flee in time to other, quieter parts, fewer and fewer in number.
Instead of “fortunately” I say once more “unfortunately”: on two great continents everything went so well that they became two immense forces, exceedingly powerful. And when someone powerful, very powerful, extremely powerful is not satisfied, what does he do? He attacks others who have not destroyed themselves entirely.
Information and rumour circulated together. The two super-totals believed they knew what was happening elsewhere, but when they attacked they did not expect the chaos they found. Armed with classical and extra-ultra-capacitive weaponry, to fight other weapons of the same nature, they “woke” — not in the sense of becoming more rational — before enemies unimaginable to them, though not to those who had created them: “somethings” materialised out of nightmarish re-fantasies.
Forced by circumstance, they were obliged to adapt and to think likewise, that is to say at random. You can destroy a tank, an aeroplane, a cruiser, but what do you do with a winged dragon crossed with a seven-headed serpent on twelve legs, ten of which are in fact arms, each fitted with multiple-warhead rocket launchers, with torpedoes, bombs and bomblets, which now dives into the sea or the ground, now goes invisible in the air and throws fire and flame from all its mouths, while through the eight nostrils of each mouth it blows sarin, tabun, soman and the rest in gusts? To say nothing of the tail which, like a scorpion’s, had rechargeable stings of antimatter temporarily catalysed until released; and then woe to the poor matter met on the way…
Do you suppose the invaders drew back? Nothing of the sort. They set about thinking and contrived other annihilating beasts, super-developed in length and breadth, upward and downward, but chiefly in depth. It is pointless telling you what they had, because it did not withstand the new ones created by the defenders; others were imagined, better still, and then others, better and better again. I do not know where it ended, or whether and when the general-generalised Chaos, extrapolated to infinity, came to an end.
The surviving robots took refuge aboard a mega-ship, conceived in good time and built with the help of Ion and Maria, at their suggestion. Poor things, with their positronic brains, however much they analysed and concluded, they were far, very far, from fully understanding the medium- and long-term effects of the Chaos Factor, their beloved source.
Good sense, or something resembling it in mathematical language, led them to the conclusion — perhaps a pertinent one — that they had been punished for their stinginess. They had established that the number of Chaos Factors equalled that of the galaxies known and unknown; theoretically, then, a single Chaos Factor per galaxy was enough. And they had been grasping, and wanted not only a hundred at once, but even randomly regenerating pairs. It was too late for regrets. They had luck, however, with the Chaos Factors Ion and Maria, who could create optimal conditions for them on another planet, in the same galaxy, a few stellar systems further off. I believe I told you — and if not, I repeat myself — that their whole Galaxy was made of VIT Energy. Probably it had somehow “escaped” the original Creator, who had not had time to look for it among the billions of galaxies in expansion.
Their implacable logic urged them, however, to analyse future risks as well, when other Miniature Chaos Factors would appear, with less Thought but remarkably endowed with Imagination and an incredible Will to do as they pleased. They would have given up the MCFs, but they could not, since it was the one condition laid down by CF Ion and CF Maria. They had accepted it, and now the protection of the future MCFs had become Law Number Zero, after Law Number One, which concerned the two mature CFs. And they departed…
Logically you ask what became of planet R-…? Nothing simpler: imagine a Chaos without end… which leads to…
The End
George Rogoz