“The trader who taught you English,” Anita said, “must have been a very unscrupulous character. It’s against interstellar law, you know, to sell firearms to natives. Someday he’ll be caught and—”
“Firearms?”
“Certainly. You couldn’t use them very accurately, of course. But Simeon said that sheer firepower—”
“1 suppose all your casualties were from gunshot wounds.”
“Yes. The men didn’t let you get close enough to use knives and spears.”
“I see,” Danton said. His proof was utterly demolished. But he felt enormously relieved at having regained his sanity. The disorganized Hutter soldiery had ranged around the jungle, firing at everything that moved—each other. Of course they had gotten into trouble. It was more than a wonder that some of them hadn’t been killed. It was a miracle.
“But I explained that they couldn’t blame you,” said Anita. “You were attacked first and your own people must have thought you were in danger. The Elders thought this was probable.”
“Nice of them,” Danton said.
“They want to be reasonable. After all, they realize that natives are human beings just like ourselves.”
“Are you sure of that?” Danton asked, with feeble irony.
“Of course. So the Elders held a big meeting on native policy and decided it for once and for all. We’re setting aside a thousand acres as a reservation for you and your people. That should be plenty of room, shouldn’t it? The men are putting up the boundary posts now. You’ll live peacefully in your reservation and we’ll live in our own part of the island.”
“What?” Danton said.
“And to seal the pledge,” Anita continued, “the Elders asked you to accept this.” She handed him a roll of parchment.
“What is it?”
“It’s a peace treaty, declaring the end of the Hutter-New Tahitian war, and pledging our respective peoples to eternal amity.”
Numbly, Danton accepted the parchment. He saw that the men who had accompanied Anita were setting red and black striped posts into the ground. They sang as they worked, happy to have reached a solution for the native problem so quickly and easily.
“But don’t you think,” Danton asked, “that perhaps—ah assimilation might be a better solution?”
“I suggested it,” Anita said, blushing.
“You did? You mean that you would—”
“Of course I would,” said Anita, not looking at him. “I think the amalgamation of two strong races would be a fine and wonderful thing. And, Danta, what wonderful stories and legends you could have told the children!”
“I could have showed them how to fish and hunt,” Danton said, “and which plants are edible, and things like that.”
“And all your colorful tribal songs and dances.” Anita sighed. “It would have been wonderful. I’m sorry, Danta.”
“But something must be possible! Can’t I talk to the Elders? Isn’t there anything I can do?”
“Nothing,” Anita said. “I’d run away with you, Danta, but they’d track us down, no matter how long it took.”
“They’d never find us,” Danton promised.
“Perhaps. I’d be willing to take the chance.”
“Darling!”
“But I can’t. Your poor people, Danta! The Hutters would take hostages, kill them if I weren’t returned.”
“I don’t have any people! I don’t, damn it!”
“It’s sweet of you to say that,” Anita said tenderly. “But lives cannot be sacrificed just for the love of two individuals. You must tell your people not to cross the boundary lines, Danta. They’ll be shot. Goodbye, and remember, it is best to live in the path of peace.”
She hurried away from him. Danton watched her go, angry at her noble sentiments which separated them for no reason at all, yet loving her for the love she showed his people. That his people were imaginary didn’t count. It was the thought that mattered.
At last he turned and walked deep into the jungle.
He stopped by a still pool of black water, overhung with giant trees and bordered by flowering ferns, and here he tried to plan the rest of his life. Anita was gone; all commerce with human beings was gone. He didn’t need any of them, he told himself. He had his reservation. He could replant his vegetable garden, carve more statues, compose more sonatas, start another journal....
“To hell with that!” he shouted to the trees. He didn’t want to sublimate any longer. He wanted Anita and he wanted to live with humans. He was tired of being alone.
What could he do about it?
There didn’t seem to be anything. He leaned back against a tree and stared at New Tahiti’s impossibly blue sky. If only the Hutters weren’t so superstitious, so afraid of natives, so....
And then it came to him, a plan so absurd, so dangerous....
“It’s worth a try,” Danton said to himself, “even if they kill me.”
He trotted off toward the Hutter boundary line.
A sentry saw him as he neared the vicinity of the spaceship and leveled his rifle. Danton raised both arms.
“Don’t fire! I have to speak with your leaders!”
“Get back on your reservation,” the sentry warned. “Get back or I’ll shoot.”
“I have to speak to Simeon,” Danton stated, holding his ground.
“Orders is orders,” said the sentry, taking aim.
“Just a minute.” Simeon stepped out of the ship, frowning deeply. “What is all this?”
“That native came back,” the sentry said. “Shall I pop him, sir?”
“What do you want?” Simeon asked Danton.
“I have come here to bring you,” Danton roared, “a declaration of war!”
That woke up the Hutter camp. In a few minutes, every man, woman, and child had gathered near the spaceship. The Elders, a council of old men distinguished by their long white beards, were standing to one side.
“You accepted the peace treaty,” Simeon pointed out.
“I had a talk with the other chiefs of the island,” Danton said, stepping forward. “We feel the treaty is not fair. New Tahiti is ours. It belonged to our fathers and to our fathers’ fathers. Here we have raised our children, sown our corn, and reaped the breadfruit. We will not live on the reservation!”
“Oh, Danta!” Anita cried, appearing from the spaceship. “I asked you to bring peace to your people!”
“They wouldn’t listen,” Danton said. “All the tribes are gathering. Not only my own people, the Cynochi, but the Drovati, the Lorognasti, the Retellsmbroichi, and the Vitelli. Plus, naturally, their sub-tribes and dependencies.”
“How many are you?” Simeon asked.
“Fifty or sixty thousand. Of course, we don’t all have rifles. Most of us will have to rely on more primitive weapons, such as poisoned arrows and darts.”
A nervous murmur arose from the crowd.
“Many of us will be killed,” Danton said stonily. “We do not care. Every New Tahitian will fight like a lion. We are a thousand to your one. We have cousins on the other islands who will join us. No matter what the cost in human life and misery, we will drive you into the sea. I have spoken.”
He turned and started back into the jungle, walking with stiff dignity.
“Shall I pop him now, sir?” the sentry begged.
“Put down that rifle, you fool!” Simeon snapped. “Wait, Danta! Surely we can come to terms. Bloodshed is senseless.”
“I agree,” Danton said soberly.
“What do you want?”
“Equal rights!”
The Elders went into an immediate conference. Simeon listened to them, then turned to Danton.
“That may be possible. Is there anything else?”
“Nothing,” Danton said. “Except, naturally, an alliance between the ruling clan of the Hutters and the ruling clan of the New Tahitians, to seal the bargain. Marriage would be best.”
After going into conference again, the Elders gave their instructions to Simeon. The military chief was obviously disturbed. The cords stood out on his neck, but with an effort he controlled himself, bowed his agreement to the Elders and marched up to Danton.