He found himself fascinated by the sights and sounds of the city in spite of his reluctant interest. The metropolis was built like a machine itself, with precision-placed masses of pleasant-hued steel and concrete flung against the sky and linked with a lacy network of connecting ways up to the highest levels. There was no darkness or filth or visible deterioration anywhere. “There was a time when big, massed cities like this were considered failures,” Deva said. “It was all the fashion to abandon them, tear them down, and spread the buildings out all over the landscape. That was before we understood the true function of a city. Now we know it can be both a thing of supreme beauty and of maximum efficiency. It’s a device for civilized living. But today’s model compares with a city before the Atom War in about the same way that a starship compares with the first wooden cartwheels.” “Are you trying to sell me something?” Rick asked. Deva shook her head. “I’d like to sell it to myself.” “Why can’t you?” “Because of the Machine. It’s inexplicable. The Machine actually made possible the cities we have now. And yet because of the Machine I can’t bear to live here any longer. It just doesn’t make sense!” “Everybody seems happy enough.” Rick said. And it was true. The people he passed on the street seemed universally content and peaceful--to judge by their expressions. Within a block or two a hundred strangers had smiled and nodded to him. The city was certainly not a place of violent discontent. “It’s me and you!” said Deva bitterly. “Even Barie is happy to conform to the will of the Machine. But you’re not. Gerald is glad to be free of me because he’s convinced that Utopia has come. And maybe it has! No one lacks food, shelter, luxuries, aggressive outlets. Nothing is lacking--except whatever is tormenting you and me.” Rick smiled at her outburst. “In the Agro regions you have a chance to become very wise,” he said quietly. “There’s something lacking, all right--something most people don’t even know exists. The love of something that belongs to you alone. You take pride in moulding it to a state of perfection. Pride in yourself because you’re not _owned_.” “Owned?” “Of course. All men are property now. Don’t you see? They belong to the Machine and can be dispensed and manipulated as the Machine decides through its all-powerful wisdom. A man cannot have pride if he is owned--and by a mere automaton, at that! He can’t even experience love, because he hasn’t the right to offer himself. He’s no longer the proprietor of his own being.” Deva walked slowly beside him, her face sober with thought. “I don’t know. That may be the answer. It _would_ be strange if it took an Agro to show us what was wrong!”