And Dolora explained: In the time of the Traveler Siege the whites of this planet had embarked upon conquest and plunder, recognizing no law but force. The blacks of the neighboring less-technological world had been defeated and subjugated. Great numbers of them had been brought to this world as slaves.
“But you are both human!” Beatryx protested. “How could—”
“We are of the same stock, yes,” Dolora said, misunderstanding the nature of her objection. “There must have been a prior siege, before the dawn of history, and one world colonized the other. We could not have evolved independently. But this world is not so good for us as was our own; its sun is too dim.”
Beatryx had meant to protest the enslavement of one human race by another, rather than the genetic probabilities. Now she remembered how similar it had been on Earth, and did not bring the matter up again.
When the siege ended (Dolora continued) and the Traveler signal was gone, the slaves were stranded on the alien world. But, deprived of foreign conquests, the whites returned to planetary matters, and gradually a liberalizing sentiment grew among them. In time they formally abolished the institution of slavery. But there followed a considerable minority reaction against this, as certain economic interests suffered; and trouble was continuous. The blacks had mastered the white technology but were refused admittance into white society.
At last a compromise was achieved. The blacks were given a country of their own — under the water. They built tremendous dome-cities there, with artificial sunlight approximating that of their homeworld, and they cultivated the flora and fauna of the sea-floor efficiently. They traded with the landborne whites, shipping up ocean produce and metals from undersea mines in exchange for grams and wood.
The separation was not complete. A few blacks had elected to remain on land in spite of stringent discrimination there, and a few whites had joined the undersea kingdom. Both minorities had a difficult time of it, being under constant suspicion, though their motives had been high. Periodically some land-blacks would give up and seek the sea, and some sea-whites would return to land. These were welcomed by both groups as rescued personnel, and encouraged to publish lurid narratives of their hardships among the barbarians.
Beatryx realized at this point what the whites had taken her for.
But gradually this supposedly ideal compromise had soured. Too many on each side believed they somehow had the worst of the bargain. Politicians forwarded their careers by making a scapegoat of the other culture, and after a time polemics became policy. Trade became disrupted, and the blacks found their diet lacking in trace elements that only land-grown produce could provide, while the whites’ industry suffered for lack of the sea metals. It seemed to each that the other was maliciously trying to destroy it.
White militants made preparations for what they claimed would be an effective solution to the problem: not a kind one. But they acted subtly, because the great majority still believed in the double-culture compromise, and would protest if the truth were to become known. Meanwhile the black militants were also making their moves. They had almost achieved control of their government, and would take military action against the whites as soon as the proper power was theirs. They, too, believed in simple solutions.
At best, somebody was going to be badly hurt. At worst…
“We don’t want this strife either,” Dolora said. Her voice had become lower and sadder, as though she were very tired, and Beatryx had to strain to hear. “It will be the end. We have to establish lines of communication. To put the reasonable blacks in touch with the reasonable whites, acquaint them all with the leadership crisis, reintegrate the two societies. This two-culture compromise is sundering the planet…”
“But why don’t you just send a — a message? Telling them? Or talk with—”
“Governments do not listen very well,” Dolora said, her voice a whisper. “Particularly ‘conservative’ governments. And as for talking — that is what the two of us set out to do. We were not the first. For many years people like us have been trying, but none has returned, and no one has come to us from the whites. But my husband and I — we did not believe that the average white would actually refuse to listen, if approached without malevolence. So we came without weapons, spreading out in the hope of making individual contact sooner, thinking good intentions were enough—”
And had met savagery. And Beatryx herself, caught up in the fever, had cried “Kill it!” with the others.
And thus this girl’s well-meaning husband had been butchered, and she pursued through the forest by a killer mob — all because the man had seen Beatryx and come to talk with her.
“But I see now that we were wrong,” Dolora whispered. “They do not want to listen. So there is nothing to be done.”
Beatryx herself had been so ignorant. She had screamed instead of listening. What could she say?
“Dolora, I—”
But the girl was not paying attention. She lay still, her head resting in dry leaves. Asleep?
Beatryx picked up the lantern and shone it on Dolora. Then she touched the flaccid hand.
The girl appeared to be dead.
Now, too late, Beatryx realized the significance of the capsule. Dolora had taken it after she was assured that her husband was dead…
Beatryx looked for something to dig with. It seemed important that the girl be buried before the fire came. Then she realized that something more important remained. No whites had gone to the undersea city…
Tediously she stripped the remainder of the suit from the dead girl’s body. She experimented with the various attachments and controls, learning how the air supply operated. She fitted in the alternate face-plate. The suit was well designed and largely automatic; otherwise, she knew, she could never have succeeded in using it. Probably if the face-plate had not been designed to pop out without disturbing the goggles, it would not have come loose.
“You were not wrong, Dolora,” she said.
She put on the suit and all its equipment, sealed herself in, and made her way to the water. It was almost morning.
Beatryx was not a proficient swimmer, but her strong new body and the diving equipment made the endeavor possible. She was tired, she was clumsy, she was afraid, but she could do it because she had to. She entered the water, her feet stinging as the salt brine pried into the multiple scratches. She submerged, relieved to discover that she could breathe well enough, and followed the coastal shelf down. The suit was heavy, holding her down, so that she actually walked as much as she swam.
She pushed forward for what seemed like many hours. Her arms and legs became tremendously weary, and the unfamiliar suit chafed, but she kept on. She fought down her mounting and unreasonable fear of sharks, stingrays, octopi, huge-clawed crabs, murky black crevices in the ocean floor…
If she could only reach the dome-city, wherever it was—
“Ahoy!” The voice startled her. It was coming from her helmet!
Someone was addressing her over the suit’s radio. She had made contact!
A pair of shapes came out of the murk, bearing search beams. “Identify yourself, stranger! Don’t you know this is restricted water?”
“I — I am Beatryx. I — I borrowed this suit so that I could come and tell you—”
“That’s a white!” the voice said, shocked.
“Kill it!” another voice said, charged with loathing. “Don’t let it contaminate our waters.”
“But you don’t understand!” Beatryx cried. “You have to listen—”
Then the powered spear transfixed her, and she died.