"And my pad and pencil," Jane said.
"—go to work."
Moments later they could see a throng of the Mandmoorans waiting on the beach for them, the brilliant purple of their bodies gleaming metallically against the dead white sands.
The Mandmooran chief was a big fellow six and a half feet tall. He was old: the shock of stiff yellow hair had faded to a corn-silk color, the purple skin was wrinkle-creased and had lost some of its sheen. But he carried himself straight and tall and he looked every inch a chieftain.
"We stay here," he told Sid in English. "Lord Sun no kills worship people. You tell soldiers?"
"They're coming," Sid said. "See? We have nothing to do with that."
"You not with them?"
"Not us," Sid said.
"What then you want?"