ything. What did I say?"

"Let's see," Cercy said. "Pattern. Matrix. Everything about the
Ambassador is capable of change. There must be some unifying force
that retains his personality. Something that _doesn't_ change, no
matter what contortions he goes through."

"Like a piece of string," Harrison murmured with his eyes closed.

"Sure. Tie it in knots, weave a rope out of it, wind it around your
finger; it's still string."

"Yeah."

"But how do you attack a pattern?" Cercy asked. And why couldn't he
get some sleep? To hell with the Ambassador and his hordes of
colonists, he was going to close his eyes for a moment....

* * * * *

"Wake up, Colonel!"

Cercy pried his eyes open and looked up at Malley. Besides him,
Harrison was snoring deeply. "Did you get anything?"

"Not a thing," Malley confessed. "The philosophy must've had quite an
effect on him. But it didn't work all the way. Darrig knew that he
_had wanted_ to kill the Ambassador, and for good and sufficient
reasons. Although he felt differently now, he still had the feeling
that he was betraying us. On the one hand, he couldn't hurt the
Ambassador; on the other, he wouldn't hurt us."

"Won't he tell anything?"

"I'm afraid it's not that simple," Malley said. "You know, if you have
an insurmountable obstacle that _must_ be surmounted ... and also, I
think the philosophy had an injurious effect on his mind."

"What are you trying to say?" Cercy got to his feet.

"I'm sorry," Malley apologized, "there wasn't a damned thing I could
do. Darrig fought the whole thing out in his mind, and when he
couldn't fight any longer, he--retreated. I'm afraid he's hopelessly
insane."

"Let's see him."

They walked down the corridor to Malley's laboratory. Darrig was
relaxed on a couch, his eyes glazed and staring.

"Is there any way of curing him?" Cercy asked.

"Shock therapy, maybe." Malley was dubious. "It'll take a long time.
And he'll probably block out everything that had to do with producing
this."

Cercy turned away, feeling sick. Even if Darrig could be cured, it
would be too late. The aliens must have picked up the Ambassador's
message by now and were undoubtedly heading for Earth.

"What's this?" Cercy asked, picking up a piece of paper that lay by
Darrig's hand.

"Oh, he was doodling," Malley said. "Is there anything written on it?"

Cercy read aloud: "'Upon further consideration I can see that Chaos
and the