y don't
dare oppose the Fanatics. But there's an old political maxim you would
do well to consider very carefully since it's our only hope, Han,"
Virginia Merrick said, "'If you can't beat someone--join him.'"

* * * * *

She dragged deeply on her cigarette, blue smoke curling from her
gold-tinted lips. "This has been coming on for ten years. I tried to
warn you then, but you wouldn't listen. Remember?"

How like a woman, Merrick thought bitterly, to be saying I told you
so.

"What would you have me do, Virginia?" he asked, "Help the bigot
peddle his robot-hate? That can't be the way. Don't you feel anything
at all when the reports of pogroms come in?"

Virginia Merrick shrugged. "Better they than we, Han."

"Has it occurred to you that our whole culture might collapse if
Erikson has his way?"

"Antirobotism is natural to human beings. Compromise is the only
answer. Precautions have to be taken--"

"_Precautions_!" exploded Merrick. "What sort of precautions can be
taken against pure idiocy?"

"The founding board of Psychotechnicians--"

"No help from that source. You know that I've always felt the whole
premise was questionable. On the grounds of common fairness, if
nothing else."

"Really, Han," Virginia snapped, "It was the only thing to do and you
know it. The Creche is the only safeguard the race has."

"Now you sound like the Prophet. In reverse."

"We needn't argue the point."

"No, I suppose not," the Director muttered.

"Then what are you going to do when he gets here?" She ground out her
cigarette anxiously. "The procession is in the ravine now. You had
better decide quickly."

"I don't know, Virginia. I just don't know." Merrick sank down behind
his desk, hands toying with the telescreen controls. "I was never
intended to make this sort of decisions. I feel helpless. Look here--"

The image of the ravine glowed across the screen in brilliant relief.
The densely timbered slopes were spotted with tiny purposeful figures
in the grey robes that all Fanatics affected. Here and there the
morning sun caught a glint of metal as the Fanatics labored to set up
their projectors. Along the floor of the ravine that was the only land
approach to the Creche moved the twisting, writhing snake of the
procession. The enraptured Fanatics were chanting their hate-songs as
they came. In the first rank walked the leonine Erikson, his long hair
whipping in the moisture-laden win