"You can trust us," Falken insisted. He was shaking, and his nerves ached. "Listen. There are thousands of my people, living like hunted beasts in the deserts of the Solar System. They need a world, to survive at all. If you'll build them one in the heart of this planet, I'll bring them here.
"You wouldn't kill them. You'd let them live, to admire and praise you for saving them. It would amuse you just to watch them for some time. Then you could take one, once in a while, for a special game.
"I don't want to do this. But it's better that they should live that way than be destroyed."
"And better for you, too, eh?" The Sun-child swirled reflectively. "Breed men like cattle, always have a supply. It's a wonderful idea...."
"Then you'll do it?" Sweat dampened Falken's brow.
"Perhaps.... Yes! Tell me, quickly, what you want!"
Falken swung to his stunned and unbelieving companions. He gripped an arm of each, painfully hard.
"Trust me. Trust me, for God's sake!" he whispered. Then, aloud, "Help me to tell it what we need."
There was a little laughing ripple of golden notes in the Sun-child's light, but Falken was watching Sheila's eyes. A flash of understanding crossed them, a glint of savage hope.
"Oxygen," she said. "Nitrogen, hydrogen, carbon dioxide...."