_Which goes to prove that, in some
instances, being heroic is easy!_
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Worlds of If Science Fiction, August 1957.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
I was wandering among the tall grass of the slopes, listening to the
soft whistling of the wind; allowing the grass to caress my toga and
thighs. It was a day soft and clear; a day accepted by the young,
cherished by we old. Across the gently undulating hills stood the
magnificent Melopolis, encradling the Oracle of Delni. 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.
Cling to the gods of old, who drew man upward from wherever he began.
In whose names Man killed and plundered, while struggling up. In whose
names Man finally left this earth, to seek his cousins among the stars.
But of course there were no cousins. There was nothing. And Man
returned, and settled down to live. Saddened, but resigned and content
to live in peace with his knowledge and his power. Gone now are all the
ancient evils, wars, emergencies.
"Sias! Sias--" And they were upon me.
That is, Xeon was upon me. But I knew that where Xeon is, Melia must
soon appear. And indeed it was but a moment before Melia slipped
through the high grass to stand at his side. Their youthful voices were
babbling in excitement.
Melia was a She, with the swelling breasts that were, so tradition
states, quite prevalent among members of the race long ago, and are
seldom seen today. Indeed, Melia was on this account made the butt of
many jokes and, I fear, would have had a lonely life of it had it not
been for the friendship of Xeon.
"Sias," they were saying, "the Maternite's gone."