"Simple," Sid Masters said in answer to Jane's question half an hour later. "I thought it would be a good idea to set up camera equipment on the island itself, to show the galaxy the last sun-worshipping rites of the Mandmoorans—before their god killed them. Maybe it's heartless, but it's good journalism. Besides, it isn't up to me to get the Mandmoorans off their island. I'd gladly film their exodus instead, and first-hand, not with automatic equipment. Anyhow, Colonel, what's his name at P.I.O. said no."
"And you didn't take no for an answer?"
"I didn't take no for an answer. Hell, all I have to do is set up the equipment so the Mandmoorans don't see it and get off the island. It shouldn't be hard."
"I want to get a final impression of the Mandmooran sun-worshippers as they wait for the end," Jane said. "As you said, Sid, it isn't pretty but it's good journalism. Sure, I'd rather not get my story and see them saved—"
"But if they're going to die you want the story. Right?"
"Yes," Jane said. Then: "I want to thank you, Sid—"
He grinned. "You looked so helpless there on the end of the quay. You were wringing your hands, did you know it?"
"What a sight that must have been. Sid!" Jane cried abruptly. "Sid! We're being followed. That boat—"
"Of course we're being followed. But this runabout's got good speed. They won't catch us before we reach the island. And once we reach it, they probably have orders not to land under any circumstances. They—hey wait a minute! Look behind them."
At first Jane didn't get it. She looked ahead and saw the green smear of the sun-worshippers' island, expanding out from the horizon toward them. They'd be beaching the light-weight, lithium-alloy runabout in a matter of minutes, she thought. Then, after that....