"Because the rest of us couldn't run things. Not for long, anyhow. It's all a question of power."
"Power?" Forrester said.
"Everything we have," Diana said, "is derived, directly or indirectly, from the workings of one machine. Though 'machine' is a long way from the right word for it—it bears about as much resemblance to what you think of as a machine as a television set does to a window. There just isn't a word for it in any language you know."
"And all the Gods have to work the machine at once?"
"Something like that." Diana came back from the window and sat down facing him again. "It operates through the nervous systems of the beings in circuit with it, each one of them in contact with one of the power nodes of the machine. And if one of the nodes is unoccupied, then the machine's out of balance. It will run for a while, but eventually it will simply wreck itself. Every one of the fifteen nodes has to be occupied. Otherwise—chaos."
Forrester nodded. "So when Dionysus died—"
"We had to find a replacement in a hurry. The machine's been running out of balance for about as long as it can stand right now."
Forrester closed his eyes. "I'm not sure I get the picture."
"Well, look at it this way: suppose you have a wheel."
"All right," Forrester said obligingly. "I have a wheel."