"Not here, not yet. Someday, perhaps."
"I don't want to be blunt, but you're playing hob with the whole structure of our society."
Three sets of arms spread out before Channing in a very human gesture. "We call it progress, don't you see?"
"But that's interfering with the internal affairs of another planet."
"Is it? We're not foisting anything on you. What we sell is exactly as claimed. There is no compulsory—"
"But how many people can resist?"
"How many should, Mr. Channing?"
"How do we know what you're creating is real, or permanent? I'll tell you this, sir: you're in trouble if it's all an illusion."
"My dear Mr. Channing, I'm surprised at you. Your culture has created or accepted—or that strange combination of both which is the religious zeal—a First Principle, a Prime Mover, a deity culturally endowed with the ability to create. Your culture then supposes this deity did his creating once, long ago, and now is content to rest through all eternity. I say the first half of it is anthropomorphic wish-fulfillment. I say the second is a lack of cultural imagination."