These things help us in our work. We do not understand them, but we think that the men of the Unmentionable Times had known our power of the sky, and these things had some relation to it. We do not know, but we shall learn. We cannot stop now, even though it frightens us that we are alone in our knowledge. No single one can possess greater wisdom than the many Scholars who are elected by all men for their wisdom. Yet we can. We do. We have fought against saying it, but now it is said. We do not care. We forget all men, all laws and all things save our metals and our wires. So much is still to be learned! So long a road lies before us, and what care we if we must travel it alone! PART FOUR Many days passed before we could speak to the Golden One again. But then came the day when the sky turned white, as if the sun had burst and spread its flame in the air, and the fields lay still without breath, and the dust of the road was white in the glow. So the women of the field were weary, and they tarried over their work, and they were far from the road when we came. But the Golden One stood alone at the hedge, waiting. We stopped and we saw that their eyes, so hard and scornful to the world, were looking at us as if they would obey any word we might speak. And we said: “We have given you a name in our thoughts, Liberty 5-3000.” “What is our name?” they asked. “The Golden One.” “Nor do we call you Equality 7-2521 when we think of you.” “What name have you given us?” They looked straight into our eyes and they held their head high and they answered: “The Unconquered.” For a long time we could not speak. Then we said: “Such thoughts as these are forbidden, Golden One.” “But you think such thoughts as these and you wish us to think them.” We looked into their eyes and we could not lie. “Yes,” we whispered, and they smiled, and then we said: “Our dearest one, do not obey us.” They stepped back, and their eyes were wide and still. “Speak these words again,” they whispered. “Which words?” we asked. But they did not answer, and we knew it. “Our dearest one,” we whispered. Never have men said this to women. The head of the Golden One bowed slowly, and they stood still before us, their arms at their sides, the palms of their hands turned to us, as if their body were delivered in submission to our eyes. And we could not speak. Then they raised their head, and they spoke simply and gently, as if they wished us to forget some anxiety of their own. “The day is hot,” they said, “and you have worked for many hours and you must be weary.” “No,” we answered.