The faces he looked into were the stony faces of graven idols. Beards and tresses fell in marble coils. They were cold, but not impassive- passionately frozen, angry. "What have you done?"
"Nothing but what had to be."
"Fool!" "Traitor!" "Heretic!"
From the center of the line of faces came The Voice. "Prometheus, do you deny the charges set against you?" Silence fell over the assembly.
"No." A titter of voices rose up again, and again, they fell silent when The Voice spoke again.
"Before the King of the Gods pronounces sentance, let me explain something. We held the secret of fire for a reason, not from caprice. I am the first to admit that we are not free of whimsy and carelessness. But we can be reasonable. Prometheus, we held back that secret from man lest they hurt themselves.
"It is our job to look after them, to protect them, and nurture them. At the very least, we can't expose them to, pardon the pun, inflammatory ideas."
"If that is the truth," Prometheus said, "put me to Death now, for that world is not the World I would live in."
The Voice, if anything, sounded tired. "Don't be petulant or melodramatic, it doesn't bode well here."
"You wish to protect man from inflammatory ideas? I think you're trying to protect this company from the ideas. You are disparaging me, but I present a new idea..."
"Enough!" shouted The Voice. Prometheus continuned undaunted, "...the idea that Man does not need our parentage any more. You fear that the assembled gods will learn that they are like Man, that they will learn from Man, and your parentage will be just as useless."