"Our beliefs are firm, O Jackson!" cried a hundred metallic voices.
"Thou are the Supervisor!" declared 204 resolutely.
"For God's sake," urged Drummond, "tell 'em you're their Jackson and then lay down the law."
"No. Can't do it that way."
"Why not? Unfair advantage, I suppose?" There was a cutting edge on the younger man's words.
Angus stared thoughtfully at the robots. "If we only knew how they forgot their origin, how they got religion, we might find a way to get through to them."
Drummond laughed contemptuously. "You figure it out. I'm going to play Jackson and get back to the ship." He turned toward the robots.
But McIntosh caught his arm. "Let me try something else first." He faced the horde below. "Who made you?"
"Thou hast, O Supervisor!" the robots chanted like a gleeful Sunday school class.
"And Thou hast put us on this world and robot begot robot until we were as we are today," added 204 solemnly.