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."
i stared in amazement.
"gone? it cannot be gone. it has always been—"
"oh my gods!" xeon shouted. "i tell you it's gone! will you—"
melia interrupted him quietly. "xeon, will you lose all respect for the elder?" then turned to me, and said calmly, "the watcher at the maternite machine, it appears, has been drunk. the heat rose above the warning, continued to rise, and then—poof. everything has evaporated in maternite. all the prelife is gone."
"all of it?" i asked.
"there is nothing left," melia insisted. "can more be made? and if not, what will happen with no more children?"
"that is for the priests to say, not i," i replied. in moments of emergency, it is wise to speak with caution. that is, i suppose so. i have never before been in a real emergency.
