"Yarr is the creation of one man, a man hungry for power, for the authority, and the strength to dominate everything about him; to hold the lives of men and women in the hollow of his hand. That man, you will recognize, is Magogar. In his creed strength is right; in fact, it is everything. It is the philosophy that controls him, and through him, the city. Under his rule the unfit are killed, or at best, allowed to perish on the ragged confines of our artificial civilization." "What is your opinion of that philosophy?" "Magogar is wrong, beyond a doubt," the Brain answered unhesitatingly. "Any species survives and develops through cooperation, and self-restraint of its individual members. Ruthless self-assertion is a stumbling block to human progress. Magogar is right when he says that the world belongs to the strong. It must, by the very constitution of man. But a ruler who is merely strong will inevitably be overthrown. Eventually the world will be governed by the strong, but by the strong who are noble as well." "Magogar's philosophy seems to me to be the outgrowth of an overweening pride," Ostby said. "Perhaps. Up to a point self-admiration is not to be deplored. But in excess it is an evil thing." * * * * * Now, Ostby decided, was the time to ask his vital question. "Don't you think that you and your people would be better off if the 'door' between the worlds were closed?" He held his breath while he waited for the answer. "You are making a mistake if you associate me, in your mind, with my world's people," the Brain said. "Not having a body to inspire emotion, wants and desires, I am tied to them by nothing. Whether they are better or worse off concerns me not at all. Whether they are happy, or even all die, concerns me equally as little. But you are right. The 'door' is a bad thing for them. This city is a parasite. All its technology, its customs, its sins, its vices, are copied from your Earth. Without the 'door' this city, this artificial oddity, would vanish. Its inhabitants would disperse and resume their pastoral life, where, I assure you, they would be much happier. "And the solution to this is, as you say, the closing of the 'door.' Because every machine we have, that we did not steal, is manufactured by captives from Earth." He was in too deep to back out now, Ostby decided. He plunged recklessly into the next question. "Can you tell me something about the operation of the 'door'?" "This is not the first time the 'door' has appeared between our worlds," the Brain said, "though I know very little about its original appearance. Practically all I know about that is the result of abstract speculation. It appeared at least once before, thousands of years ago. My own theory is that at that time there was a mass migration from our world to yours, and that the present Earth people are descendants of our own ancestors."