“As for the Machine—What can it say but ‘Do this and it will be best for you.’ But what is best for us? Why, to be an economic appendage of the Northern Region.

“And is it so terrible? No wars! We live in peace—and it is pleasant after seven thousand years of war. We are old, monsieur. In our borders, we have the regions where Occidental civilization was cradled. We have Egypt and Mesopotamia; Crete and Syria; Asia Minor and Greece. —But old age is not necessarily an unhappy time. It can be a fruition—”

“Perhaps you are right,” said Byerley, affably. “At least the tempo of life is not as intense as in the other Regions. It is a pleasant atmosphere.”

“Is it not?—Tea is being brought, monsieur. If you will indicate your cream and sugar preference, please.—Thank you.”

She sipped gently, then continued, “It is pleasant. The rest of Earth is welcome to the continuing struggle. I find a parallel here; a very interesting one. There was a time when Rome was master of the world. It had adopted the culture and civilization of Greece; a Greece which had never been united, which had ruined itself with war, and which was ending in a state of decadent squalor. Rome united it, brought it peace and let it live a life of secure non-glory. It occupied itself with its philosophies and its art, far from the clash of growth and war. It was a sort of death, but it was restful, and it lasted with minor breaks for some four hundred years.”

“And yet,” said Byerley, “Rome fell eventually, and the opium dream was over.”

“There are no longer barbarians to overthrow civilization.”

“We can be our own barbarians, Madame Szegeczowska. —Oh, I meant to ask you. The Almaden mercury mines have fallen off quite badly in production. Surely the ores are not declining more rapidly than anticipated?”

The little woman’s gray eyes fastened shrewdly on Byerley, “Barbarians—the fall of civilization—possible failure of the Machine. Your thought processes are very transparent, monsieur.”

“Are they?” Byerley smiled. “I see that I should have had men to deal with as hitherto. —You consider the Almaden affair to be the fault of the Machine?”

“Not at all, but I think you do. You, yourself, are a native of the Northern Region. The Central Co-ordination Office is at New York. —And I have noticed for quite a while that you Northerners lack somewhat of faith in the Machine.”

“We do?”

“There is your ‘Society for Humanity’ which is strong in the North, but naturally fails to find many recruits in tired, old Europe, which is quite willing to let feeble humanity alone for a while. Surely, you are one of the confident North and not one of the cynical old continent.”

“This has a connection with Almaden?”

“Oh, yes, I think so. The mines are in the control of Consolidated Cinnabar, which is certainly a Northern company, with headquarters at Nikolaev. Personally, I wonder if the Board of Directors have been consulting the Machine at all. They said they had in our conference last month, and, of course, we have no evidence that they did not, but I wouldn’t take the word of a Northerner in this matter—no offense intended—under any circumstances. —Nevertheless, I think it will have a fortunate ending.”