These were his memorable words: I report them faithfully. Possibly in times to come, when civilization among us shall have advanced to a higher level—always assuming that the present problem will be solved—these words will be fully understood and appreciated by a generation of as yet unborn but much more intellectualized Plookhh. To them, therefore, I dedicate this speech of the Great Civilizer.
“Now,” he said, turning to me. “You know what stereos are?”
“No, not quite. You see only one of us has ever conversed with humans before this, and we know little of their glorious ways. Our Book of Twos is almost bare of useful information, being devoted chiefly to a description of your first six explorers, their ship and robots, by the nzred fanobrel. I deduce, however, that stereos are an essential concomitant of an industrial civilization.”
He waved the bottle. “Exactly. At the base of everything. Take your literature, your music, your painting—”
“Pardon me,” I interposed. “But we have been able to build none of these things as yet. We are chased by so many—”
“I was just spitballing,” he roared. “Don’t interrupt my train of thought. I’m building! Now, where was I? Oh, yes—take your literature, music and painting and you know what you can do with them. The stereos comprise everything in art; they present to the masses, in one colossal little package, the whole stirring history of human endeavor. They are not a substitute for art in the twenty-second century—they are the art of the twenty-second century. And without art, where are you?”