We knew all this; but we could do nothing about it. There was no police force, or army, or anything of the kind in this crude Marinoid civilization. Soon the King would organize an army—we were planning to do that almost at once—as soon as the final preparations in the cavern were complete. And meanwhile the King wished to do nothing that might precipitate further trouble with the half-breeds. An internal revolt, on the ere of foreign warfare—that was what we most dreaded. It was at this juncture that some of the King’s councillors suggested a public celebration, such as was always held at the birth of a child to the royal family, or on other festive national occasions. A celebration! When we were at the brink of war! To me, it was a mistake. It could do nothing but humiliate—antagonize—the half-breeds. They could not take open part in it; the Marinoids would not permit that. Yet, said the King, we had our own people to think of. There is a certain human quality of mind which turns to merry-making on the eve of danger. You on Earth have seen that in your own history. The Marinoid morale would be helped. To laugh, sing, shout, and make love—and then go to battle. That was what the people wished; and against my advice, the celebration was to be held. Now, in Caan’s house—where Boy was asleep with Caan’s children—we were planning to go to the cube of water before the palace where the festival was to be held. “Take me,” cried Nona. “I want to go with you, my Nemo.” Never had my Nona seen public merry-making; the woman in her was very eager to go, to take part in it. And I took her. With Caan, we started after that next meal; and Caan’s woman stayed at home with Boy and her own children. My last moment decision to take Nona seemed somewhat superfluous, for all that day she had been getting ready to go! Clothes! My Nona was as interested in them as any woman of your own Earth. She had made every preparation, and soon she swam before us, laughing with excitement and delight. I gasped. For the first time, I saw her usually up-flowing hair bound down to her shapely head, coiled and braided, and with a garland of tiny marine flowers in it. A new, close-fitting suit, with a girdle. And anklets of dull green, which by contrast made her smooth skin shine like polished pink marble. “You like me, my Nemo?” she laughed. And she eyed me sidewise through lowered lashes—as though I were not her mate, but only one who wished to be. * * * * *