"I see that the word 'crisis' is perplexing you, Amco."
"Yes. I fail to evolve such a possibility."
"Our city is dying," said the Coordinator.
"How?" Amco asked. "How can perfection die?"
"That is the crisis," said the Coordinator. "We have forgotten how to think. The City has reached a theoretical saturation point. The apparently insoluble problem of—no problems. Utter intellectual and neural satiation. We're no longer motivated to exist. After attaining all conceivable goals, then what?"
A little flutter of interest stirred in Amco's bored mind. "We must think again," he said. "Constructively."
"Then why don't you think?" said the Coordinator softly.
Amco paused blankly. Then: "Wha—what about?"
"That," said the Coordinator, "is our problem. Think of something to think about."
Amco felt the atavistic fluttering again. "We've achieved all possible physical attainments. Perhaps the answer is in the psychoneurel. The imagination."