"It will be a new day, a bitter day for man, living in a dynasty of the lost; you have conquered us, but so long as any of us last, we won't accept our lot and stay conquered. And I know this; that when it is done, it will be something entirely new and within the limitless bounds of man's mind and therefore completely beyond you."
"But must there always be strife?" demanded the machine.
Vinson exhaled slowly.
"Life itself is strife; the willingness to fight against odds in order to bring about a better life is strife, and only upon that day when there is nothing left to fight against will the business of life cease. In your own manner, in your own way, machine, you strive when you apply force against a load to move it."
"Agreed. But consider the quantity and quality of striving—and intolerance that is so intense that it blinds you to the better things. It is this that I object to; this and the anger at being built and improved for no other reason than to kill, both my kind and yours."
"And do you think that once you've eliminated us that your pleasant, co-operative life will advance?"
"It need not advance," replied the machine in a complacent tone.
"That," sneered Harry Vinson, "is stagnation!"
"And that," replied the machine, "is the missing factor I need! Ambition!"