Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.

<passage>:
The Anglers of Arz By Roger Dee Illustrated by BOB MARTIN Fiction January 1953. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] There were two pinkish, bipedal fishermen on the tiny islet. In order to make Izaak Walton's sport complete, there must be an angler, a fish, and some bait. All three existed on Arz but there was a question as to which was which. Marco Four's but in spite of his vigilance he had not exposed a film when the inevitable pre-dawn rainbow began to shimmer over the eastern ocean. Sunrise brought him alert with a jerk, frowning at sight of two pinkish, bipedal Arzian fishermen posted on the tiny coral islet a quarter-mile offshore, their blank triangular faces turned stolidly toward the beach. "They're at it again," Farrell called, and dropped to the mossy turf "Any sign of the squids yet?" he asked. "They won't show up until the dragons come," Farrell said. He adjusted to that islet every night, when they must know damned well what will happen next morning?" entire globe in the scouter and found nothing but water and a scattering of little islands like this one, all covered with bramble. It wasn't a city these pink fishers could have built, either. The architecture was beyond them by a million years." Stryker and Farrell traded baffled looks. The city had become something of a fixation with Gibson, and his dogged insistence—coupled with an irritating habit of being right—had worn their patience thin. They stooped like hawks upon the islet offshore, burying the two Arzian fishers instantly under their snapping, threshing bodies. Then around the outcrop the sea boiled whitely, churned to foam by a sudden uprushing of black, octopoid shapes. "The squids," Stryker grunted. "Right on schedule. Two seconds too late, as usual, to stop the slaughter." A barrage of barbed tentacles lashed out of the foam and drove into the melee of winged lizards. The lizards took the air at once, leaving behind three of their number who disappeared under the surface like harpooned seals. No trace remained of the two Arzian natives. "A neat example of dog eat dog," Farrell said, snapping off the Chattering pink natives straggled past from the shelter of the thorn forest, ignoring the Earthmen, and lined the casting ledges along the beach to begin their day's fishing. Arthur is off duty after standing watch last night. Help yourself, but Marco's planetfall one of the pink fishers had fallen from a casting ledge into the water, and had all but drowned before his fellows pulled him out with extended spear-shafts. Which meant that the fishers could not swim, else some would surely have gone in after him. And the Marco's crew had explored Arz exhaustively without finding any "I'll be damned," he muttered. "No boats, and they don't swim. He fell asleep with the paradox unresolved. cubicle and broke a packaged meal from the food locker. The visicom over to ground Gib tomorrow, much as I dislike giving him a direct order. Farrell shrugged. "I'd agree with you offhand if it weren't for Gib's Farrell lit his pipe and turned to the inconsistencies he had uncovered. The Arzians did not swim, and without boats.... It occurred to him then that there had been two of the pink fishers on the islet each morning, and the coincidence made him sit up suddenly, startled. Why two? Why not three or four, or only one? enigmatic relation that linked the Arzian fishers to the dragons and squids, and his desire to understand that relation was aggravated by the That is, he thought wryly, if Terran colonists could stomach the weird found it not too unnatural until he came to the motivation and the means of transportation that placed the Arzians in pairs on the islet, when his whole fabric of speculation fell into a tangled snarl of inconsistencies. He gave it up finally He went inside again, and the sound of Stryker's muffled snoring fanned He did not choose a weapon because he saw no need for one. The torch center of the island without further discovery and was on the point of last conscious thought was not of his own danger, but of Stryker—asleep Marco's He was standing erect when he woke, his back to the open sea and a he caught the pinkish blur of an Arzian fisher standing beside him, and cried out hoarsely in sudden panic when he tried to turn his head and could not. He was on the coral outcropping offshore, and except for the involuntary but for some seconds his shuttling mind was too busy to consider the Panic seized him again when he remembered the green flying-lizards more His arm was like a limb of lead, its inertia too great to budge. He On shore he could see the Marco Four beach, its silvered sides glistening with dew. The port was still open, and the empty carrier rack in the bow told him that Gibson had not yet He broke off, seeing for the first time the octopods that ringed the outcrop just under the surface of the water, waiting with barbed tentacles spread and yellow eyes studying him glassily. He heard the moment, Arthur—blinded the whole crew with the exhaust, I think. Stand The scouter darted for shore with Farrell lying across Gibson's knees in the cockpit, his head hanging half overside. Farrell had a last dizzy glimpse of the islet against the rush of green of the octopods were swimming strongly for shore, holding the rigid Arzian native carefully above water between them. "Gib," Farrell croaked. "Gib, can you risk a look back? I think I've Marco painful pricking of returning sensation. "I might have known it, damn himself over some private stupidity. "I'd have found it sooner if I'd had any brains. It was under water, of course." Marco Four of being permanently disabled. when I took the scouter up far enough there it was, at the ocean submerged later by a sinking of land masses that killed off the original builders and left Arz nothing but an oversized archipelago. The squids took over then, and from all appearances they've developed a culture of their own." "I don't see it," Stryker complained, shaking his head. "The pink fishers—" "Are cattle, or less," Gibson finished. "The octopods are the dominant race, and they're so far above Fifth Order that we're completely out of "Invasion of a squid world?" Farrell protested, baffled. "Why should surface colonization conflict with an undersea culture, Gib? Why couldn't we share the planet?" "Because the octopods own the islands too, and keep them policed," Gibson said patiently. "They even own the pink fishers. It was one of the squid-people, making a dry-land canvass of his preserve here to pick a couple of victims for this morning's show, that carried you off last suddenly, a great irrepressible bellow of sound. "Arz is a squid's pink fishers for—" Farrell swore in astonishment. "Then those poor devils are put out there deliberately, like worms on a hook—angling in reverse! No wonder I Gibson got up and sealed the port, shutting out the soft morning breeze. "Colonization being out of the question, we may as well move on before the octopods get curious enough about us to make trouble. Do you feel up don't think I want to stick here and be used for bait again, do you?" blasted the Marco Four

<question>:
What likely happened to the squid once the Marco departed?

<options>:
A There was no change
B One of them was in the hold of the Marco
C They went to war with the pink anglers
D They stopped associating with the pink anglers

<answer>:

A