 Why does Sias believe that the ancients declared 70 as the minimum age for a member of the Conclave?
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Worlds of If Science Fiction, August 1957. It was a day soft and clear; a day accepted by the young, cherished by we old. I do not, of course, believe in the gods per se; still there is a grandeur in the very stones that transcends their human sculptors, and it is no wonder to me that many cling tenaciously, and ignorantly, to the old religion. In whose names Man finally left this earth, to seek his cousins among the stars. Saddened, but resigned and content to live in peace with his knowledge and his power. And indeed it was but a moment before Melia slipped through the high grass to stand at his side. "Sias," they were saying, "the Maternite's gone." Everything has evaporated in Maternite. A man my age does not hurry in the heat of the midday sun—maddugs nenglishmin go out in the midday sun, as the ancients say, although I often wonder why—but Xeon and Melia ran all the way down to the city. They are of an age to enter manhood, and have all the energy such young men do. They were aware that they stood in the midst of an unprecedented happening; indeed, an emergency. They were created so long ago, indeed, that the ignorant believe them to have been constructed by the gods themselves. Indeed, the watcher is more a tradition than a necessity. They accompanied me past the marble pillars into the cool recesses of the Hall, then seated themselves on the floor as I took my place by the great table. At such a time, many men feel impelled to make speeches, and one must not be disrespectful. Prayers and supplications were offered to the gods, priests were sent to sacrifice, and finally, as the light of the sun was falling between the pillars, the High Priest of the Maternite Machine was heard. He rambled through the customary opening remarks and then, continually smoothing his white beard—of which he is excessively proud—approached the crux of the matter and the Conclave finally heard the facts it had assembled to hear. By this time, unfortunately, many of the Conclave had departed for home and supper. Yet perhaps it is for the best, for those left were the most earnest and intelligent. The machines bear the exact number of children each year to balance the number of us whom the gods claim. Such it has always been from time immemorial."
 They do not have the energy to riot amongst themselves
 They are the ones who remember things from previous generations that get lost to time  They do not have the energy to riot amongst themselves  They are closest in lineage to the predecessors that generated the machines  They have had sufficient life experience at that point