"I see I've been tactless again," the Ambassador said regretfully. "Just now, you readily conceded that Earthmen are savages morally, but when I seem to cast aspersions on your mechanical ability, it offends your racial vanity. All right, let's go back to the B-29 pilot and the intelligent bushman. The internal combustion engine that powers the B-29 is a simple device in fundamental principle, isn't it?" "Sure," Jerry said. "Any high school boy who has taken a course in auto mechanics, who has the requisite machine tools, metals, casting equipment, and fuel, could build a working model of an internal combustion engine, couldn't he, even without ready-made parts?" "If he wasn't all thumbs, he could." "All right. Now suppose the B-29 is grounded in the jungle. The bushman is examining the engine. He's just as intelligent as the pilot, remember, but his environment hasn't produced an oil well, let alone a refinery. He has never seen a lathe or a micrometer. He has no mine, no smelter. He can't copy that B-29 engine by whittling wood or chipping stone, even if he's a born mechanical genius, and he can't run it on seawater. So he says the plane flies by magic. Put him in the pilot seat, and you'll admit it's practically inevitable that he'll crash." "Why do you take so much trouble to explain things?" Jerry asked wryly. "I should have my head examined for not understanding it in the first place." "Let's say I'm feebly trying to make amends for what my unfortunate slip of the tongue has done to your business." "You've brought me around to your way of thinking, Mr. Ambassador," Jerry said, recovering enough to carry the ball. "But it would be impossible to sell the public on the idea that they shouldn't have Repositors because they're too hot to handle. Statistics on auto accidents never convinced anybody that he didn't want a nice, shiny, new car. Nobody thinks he personally will get killed in traffic--he's too smart. You can't convince a youngster he doesn't want candy before dinner; he thinks he knows better than his parents. But you can hide the candy, while putting an appetizing meal on the table." "Yes, except that I regrettably didn't hide the fact that the Matter Repositor exists." "You sure didn't. And it puts you on a spot, doesn't it? I don't imagine it will be much fun for you to report to your government that one ill-considered remark, made shortly after your arrival, upset Earth's economy." For the first time, the Ambassador's suavity was ruffled. Sweat stood out on his noble forehead. "I've been hoping the bad-effects would die down before I have to report," he confessed. "They won't die down by themselves. You know damned well they're getting worse and worse, as word-of-mouth advertising about the Matter Repositor spreads." Jerry leaned closer. "But you and I can get rid of those bad effects." "How?"