“We have to thank the mathematicians for that one,” the inspector said. “To a topologist a phonograph record or a teacup or a drink container all have the same shape, a solid with a hole in it, and any one can be deformed into any of the others by a continuous one-to-one transformation. So we made the containers out of memory plastic that return to their original shape once they’re dry-there, you see.”
The container had finished its struggles and now lay quietly on the floor, a flat and finely grooved disk with a hole in the center. Inspector Jeyes picked it up and peeled the Alco-Jolt label off, and Bill could now read the other label that had been concealed, underneath. LOVE IN ORBIT, BOING! BOING! BOING! SUNG BY THE COLEOPTERAE.
“Ingenious, isn’t it? The container has transformed itself into a phonograph record of one of the more obnoxious top tunes, an object that no Alco-Jolt addict could possibly discard. It is taken away and cherished and not dropped down a chute to make another problem for us.”
Inspector Jeyes took both of Bill’s hands in his, and when he looked him directly in the eyes his own were more than a little damp. “Say you’ll do it, Bill-go into research. We have such a shortage of skilled, trained men, men who understand our problems. Maybe you didn’t finish your fertilizeroperating course, but you can help, a fresh mind with fresh ideas. A new broom to help sweep things clean, hey?”
“I’ll do it,” Bill said with determination. “Refuse research is the sort of work a man can get his teeth into.”
“It’s yours. Room, board, and uniform, plus a handsome salary and all the refuse and rubbish you want. You’ll never regret this …” A warbling siren interrupted him, and an instant later a sweating, excited man ran into the room.
“Inspector, the rocket has really gone up this time. Operation Flying Saucer has failed! There is a team just down from astronomy, and they are fighting with our research team, just rolling over and over on the floor like animals …”
Inspector Jeyes was out of the door before the messenger finished, and Bill ran after him, dropping down a pig-chute just on his heels. They had to take a chairway, but it was too slow for the inspector, and he bounded along like a rabbit from chair back to chair back, with Bill close behind. Then they burst into a laboratory filled with complex electronic equipment and writhing, fighting men rolling and kicking in a hopeless tangle.
“Stop it at once, stop it!” the inspector screamed, but no one listened.
“Maybe I can help,” Bill said, “we sort of learned about this kind of thing in the troopers. Which ones are our G-men?”
“The brown tunics-”
“Say no more!” Bill, humming cheerfully, waded into the grunting mob and with a rabbit punch here, a kidney crunch there, and maybe just a few of the karate blows that destroy the larynx he restored order to the room. None of the writhing intellectuals were physical types, and he went through them like a dose of salts, then began to extricate his new-found comrades from the mess.
“What is it, Basurero, what has happened?” Inspector Jeyes asked.
“Them, sir, they barge in, shouting, telling us to call off Operation Flying Saucer just when we have upped our disposal record, we found that we can almost double the input rate…”
“What is Operation Flying Saucer?” Bill asked, greatly confused as to what was going on. None of the astronomers were awake yet, though one was moaning, so the inspector took time to explain, pointing to a gigantic apparatus that filled one end of the room.
“It may be the answer to our problems,” he said. “It’s all those damn disposa-steins and trays from prepared dinners and the rest. I don’t dare tell you how many cubic feet of them we have piled up! I might better say cubic miles. But Basurero here happened to be glancing through a magazine one day and found an article on a matter transmitter, and we put through an appropriation and bought the biggest model they had. We hooked it up to a belt and loaders”-he opened a panel in the side of the machine, and Bill saw a torrent of used plastic utensils tearing by at a great clip-“and fed all the damned crockery into the input end of the matter transmitter, and it has worked like a dream ever since.”