Making up her mind suddenly, Jane didn't wait for the running corporal to reach her. Instead, she turned and jumped off the quay.
She came up sputtering. The water was tepid, was typical harbor-water, fouled with gasoline and debris. Masters' gas-turbine driven boat was very close now. The sound of its motor almost drowned out the corporal's shouts as Jane treaded water.
"Going to the island," Masters shouted. "You?"
"They don't want me to, Sid!"
He smiled. She couldn't hear all of what he said, but she got the last part of it. "... want me to, either. Hop in, beautiful."
There was a splash behind her. Jane turned and saw the corporal break surface, yelling and waving his arms. She stroked for Sid Masters' runabout. The electronics technician shouted his encouragement, but as she got one hand on the gunwale of the idling runabout, Jane felt something grab and tug at her leg.
She lashed out with her free leg, churning water. But the corporal clung grimly to her ankle. Then an old, half-rotted oar appeared alongside Jane's heel, and with it—guiding it—Sid Masters' arms. The oar went out over the water and probed and a moment later the corporal shouted and Jane felt the pressure leave her ankle.
"Hop aboard and be quick about it," Masters yelled.
Jane needed no urging. She scrambled ungracefully over the gunwale. She was dripping wet and thought she looked a mess. But Masters merely said, "Pleasure to have you aboard, beautiful," and the runabout roared and headed out across the harbor to the island, to the last redoubt of the three thousand sun-worshipping Mandmoorans who waited for a miracle which would not come to save them.