Taking a deep breath and setting his heavy jaw, Bowdler said, "If The Grandfather is a fake as I am beginning to believe, and the Fathers a pack of self-seeking sybarites who stay in power just because they are the most direct descendants from the original Thirty, and if the Elders are doddering fossils whose intellectual powers are supposed to befuddle us and keep us in place, than I say with Grundy, the time has come to overthrow this foul regime." So there had been a final blasphemy left! This one was so gigantic, the meaning Bowdler's words conveyed, so treasonable, that Comstock found himself waiting for the end. Just so far could men go and no further. These two must be wiped out, destroyed along with their poisonous statements! The idea! Overthrow The Grandfather! The very lightnings would, must come down and blast the two impious villains where they stood. Comstock waited. The lightnings, if they were coming, seemed long delayed. But surely The Grandfather who was everywhere and knew all things must have overheard these infidels. Why then did He not strike them down, limb and body? It was only then, that in the very back of Comstock's mind a nervous little finger of doubt began to twist and turn, and finally asked a question. "Suppose," the little finger scratched on the blackboard of his cortex, "suppose they're right ... suppose The Grandfather is not all powerful and all knowing?" Then he waited for the lightnings to strike him too. And all the while he wrestled with himself his two friends sat in strained silence, waiting ... waiting.... No lightning. Some of the tension began to drain out of Comstock, and as it did, Grundy and Bowdler exchanged knowing looks. Bowdler said at last. "Welcome." "Welcome, Jimmy." Grundy smiled, "now you are one of us." One of them. He had exchanged the peace and security of resting in Grandfather's arms, of putting his weary head against Grandpop's long beard ... Grandpop? How fast he was sliding.... He had exchanged the surety of his life, for what? For the friendship of two drinking companions. Somehow the swap did not seem to his advantage. Bowdler seemed almost to be able to read his mind, for he said, "Buck up, Jimmy. You're going to find it's good to be a whole man. There are rewards!" But all Comstock could remember was the ease and safety of that which he was surrendering. It came hard. Very hard. "Growing up is always difficult," Bowdler said, his voice soft and full of understanding. "But I promise you there are rewards." What rewards? Before Comstock could put his question into words, there was a crashing sound at the door, the real door, not the hidden one by which they had entered the sacred precincts of the Gantry's room. The primapara of the door trembled beneath the assault that was being launched on it. Through the heavy wood they could hear the voice of authority. "Open up in the name of the R.A."