"Yes, and that's just the stranglehold you've got on all of your hundred and thirteen worlds!" Stine had leapt to his feet, and the President-General's gavel banged furiously, but he paid it no heed at all. "'Be good boys and do what we tell you and leave us alone while we're busy playing God or we'll let you go back to stone axes and caves'--that's what you're trying to say, isn't it?" The gavel clamored deafeningly through the President-General's lectern-mike, and the gray, bald man was now standing himself. But there was a sudden surge of voices and a scattered applause throughout the entire chamber that had begun quickly to swell, drowning out even Stine's own voice. Then died slowly, so that his words could be heard again. "Playing God might be all right if you can prove all the time to all the people that you've got all the answers to all the problems! But it might not be so easy if you begin to lose your touch; lose some of the answers! I hope the ITA representative isn't trying to tell us that the organization for which he works is no longer capable of repairing a Gravity-Justifier so that it will keep the planets in their orbits where they belong! Or am I right?" "That is a preposterous accusation and--" The gavel thundered. "--and I demand its retraction immediately!" "Friend, I was born on this planet the same as you were but I work for it. I'm not standing idly by to see it destroyed because your buddies are afraid to admit they might be slipping a little and don't want it to show! I--" Thunderous applause. Half the chamber was on its feet, now, and even without the jeepmikes the cheers would have been deafening. "I say, Mr. President, if we're to believe the ITA is what it pretends to be--a technological service organization dedicated to the galactic welfare--it be called in immediately for a Project AA, and, if it refuses, that it be publicly denounced by this government as no longer competent in that capacity!" When Stine sat down this time, the ovation that followed his words left the chief executive little choice. A vote was called, and Stine realized that somehow, his laborious weeks and months of propagandizing and mass proselytization had at last taken root. It had been comforting to know, at least, that had he failed, there was a well-appointed, powerful space-cruiser waiting for him at a secret place in the mountains to the north. It was still comforting to know. Because the Tinkers would have to come, now, if only to save face. And, of course, they wouldn't be able to deliver. And then-- He stirred restlessly in his seat as the vote was being tallied, was nearly thrown from it once as a great tremor shook the massive building; excited knots of men who had begun crowding the aisles were bowled in scrambled confusion to the floor. And Stine smiled a tight, small smile to himself. Even Nature was doing her bit.