I go back again in my memories to that year in the underwater Marinoid
city of Rax—the year of quiet and peace for Nona and me which followed
the birth of our son. Boy, we called him; everyone called him that, for
he was the only child of his kind in our world.
It was a wonderful, happy time for us both. In all the Universe there
was never another like our Boy. So thought Nona and I. Pink and white,
with his laughing blue eyes, and soft blond hair on his little head, he
would lie cradled in the big white shell that stood in the center of our
living room. The tiny bits of vegetation which often floated in the
water past his face were his toys to snatch at and demolish; and Nona,
who fed him, crooned to him, and when he was no more than a month or two
old guided his baby flounderings into swimming strokes, was the center
of everything around which his infant world revolved.
For myself, almost an outsider with these two, it was enough to watch
them playing together, to see the light of motherhood in my Nona’s eyes,
and the glory of it on her face.
The time—unmarked by daylight or darkness down here in the
water—glided by; and for us the passing days meant only that Boy was
growing larger, his limbs were lengthening, his neck would now support
his head, he could swim and soon he would begin to talk.
Thus can happiness exclude one from the world around. Yet it must not be
inferred that we lived at home in complete seclusion. There were happy
times with our friend Caan and his family—in his home when Boy would
lie there asleep and we others would play at a game of floating shells.
And there were other times when I went hunting with the Prince. He
seemed to like me—and his friendship I must confess, was to me a great
joy and pride. Like many another Prince of your own Earth, Prince Atar
was a sportsman. Occasionally, heading a little party of his friends, he
and I would hunt together, swimming toward the Water of Wild Things,
where, over the cliffs which bordered the Marinoid domain, strange
fearsome creatures would sometimes trespass.
My means of livelihood? Oh yes, I was a worker like the rest. There was
no place in Rax for a drone; and Nona and I were by no means guests of
the city—no longer than the first month or two. When they gave us our
home I was assigned to work with Caan. After each Time of Sleep, we swam
out with our baskets into the open spaces beyond the forest which
surrounded the city. We would gather up the shell-food that lay on the
sea-bottom. It was continually sifting down from above, and what we
collected was later gathered and driven in to Rax, to the government
storehouses.
Caan’s wife worked with us—for women, even though married, were obliged
to work for the public good a portion of the time. After Boy was born
Nona, too, often joined us—though this was not obligatory, for the care
of infant children discharged a woman of the debt of working otherwise.
There is so much that my memory holds to tell you of this strange
Marinoid civilization! But you, with your life to live at high speed,
would weary of me if I were not careful. You want everything at a
glance—and you shall have it.
Let me say then that during this peaceful year there were occurring in
Rax a series of mysterious incidents of an exceedingly sinister
character—incidents which shortly were to lead us into the most
stirring and critical period of Marinoid history. But we did not know
this at the time. Life—wherever in the Universe it may be found—runs
on a similar plan. It’s like a puzzle—a jigsaw puzzle whose picture
remains undefined until you fit the last segment into place.
So it was with these ominous events that now occurred one by one in Rax.
(And the absent Og, I may say, was at the bottom of them.) Each in
itself seemed relatively unimportant. Yet all were part of a plan of
destruction that was menacing us like an unseen sword hung suspended. We
awoke to a realization of the danger, finally. You shall hear how it was
I, who—when the thing at last struck home as a personal tragedy to
me—played a leading part in the stirring scenes that followed.
May I ask you first to bear with me a moment more, while I give you a
very brief summary of conditions in our Marinoid world? I know you will
chafe. A thousand supposedly pressing duties of your own super-civilized
life are forcing themselves upon you even at this moment of relaxation.
Set them aside, I beg you. They are not nearly so important as you
think. If you were to die tonight, leaving all of them undone—your
world would go on as placidly as before.
A moment then—and you shall have action and movement to your heart’s
content.