Alix looked again at his hands, the hands that had taken him to the first mixed fight in history, to a title fight. 'Man Versus The Machine' most of the sports scribes had labeled it, though not Joe Nettleton. Machine? A machine that had assimilated Voltaire? A machine that had listened to Brahms? What differentiates man from his machines? Supremacy? Supremacy would be established tonight. No, it wasn't physical supremacy. And there were robots far beyond man's mental powers. The spark, then, the spark from their God? How did they know they had it? In all the wrangling mysticism that had gone through so many directed misinterpretations, where could they find their God? "Thinking it over?" Manny asked. "Why so quiet, Alix?" Alix's grin was saturnine. "Believe it or not, I was thinking of God." "_Their_ God?" Alix frowned. "I suppose. Theirs' and the sparrows'." There were three spaced knocks at the door. Manny said, "Joe Nettleton. He wants to talk to you. We've got about eight minutes, Alix." He went to the door. Joe Nettleton was tall, and pale and brown-eyed. The eyes should be lumagel, and Alix studied them, but could note no difference from those of a man. Joe said to Manny, "He knows?" Manny nodded. Joe turned back. "Well--Alix--?" "I don't know. It's--it's--monstrous, it's--" He shrugged his shoulders and pounded one hand into the palm of the other. "You're _it_, Alix. King, god, what you will. For six years, I've built you up--in _their_ papers, in _their_ minds. Clean, quiet, hard working Alix. And humble. Oh, the humility I gave you has made me cry, at times." Manny said in mild protest, "You didn't have to build that angle much. Alix is humble. Alix is--he's--he's--" And the articulate Manny had no words. Joe Nettleton's pale face was cynical. He said, "The way you feel is the way they all feel--the black ones out there and the brown ones and the yellow ones." "They've got their rights," Alix said. "Have they? Take a look at the first twenty rows, ringside. You'll see what rights they have, word rights, paper rights. But not in the hearts of men. Oh, the grapes of wrath are out there, Alix, beyond the twentieth row. Haven't you any sense of history, of destiny?" Alix didn't answer. Manny said, "He's been thinking of God, he tells me." Joe Nettleton's face was blank. "God? Their God?" He looked at Alix wonderingly. "This Superman they scare us with? You don't eat that malarkey, do you, Alix?" Alix shrugged, saying nothing. "They don't believe it themselves," Joe protested. "It's one of those symbols they set up, to make them superior. They ever tell you what He looks like? Oh, they give Him a prophet, sure, and the prophet gives them words to live by. Don't kill, don't steal, don't lie, don't lust, don't envy--Words, Alix, words, words, words--Judge them by their actions." Alix looked up. "I'm not--cut out to be a leader."