I'm hungry. When I'm hungry, I eat. Before we continue, I think I'll go get a sandwich, and, perhaps, you would like to do the same. I'm also impatient. On all sides, prophets of doom vie to become the first modern Cassandra. When I hear them speak, I develop the engineer's characteristic sense of urgency. Can the human species really destroy itself twelve times over? I hope not, for evolution has not adapted man to be an Atlas. Who? How many? And what is the mental health of those into whose hands is thrust the power to unleash this force? I also worry about a species that has members who resort to unbridled terriorism. I become equally concerned when I stop to consider genetic engineering and the possibility of an escaped virus destroying us all. I worry when I stop to consider the self-inflicted slow death of our species as pollution and overpopulation change our hospitable ecosphere into a subtler torturer than any of the Inquisition. We must not consider these problems now, however, for they are only what concern me. I must restrict my interest to what concerns you instead. Surely there is something you would see changed. I ask you yet again: Would you establish global peace or squelch an impending family feud? Would you improve your nation or modify your local government? Would you feed the one quarter of the world population that goes to bed hungry or decide what to serve for dinner? If so, the...