After an hour he entered the cave, opened a container, drew from it a well-worn leather case of indisputable Sirian manufacture. There’d be no sharp eyes noting something foreign-looking about that piece of luggage; it was his own property purchased in Masham, on Diracta, many years ago.

Making an easy jump across the little stream he went into the forest and headed westward, frequently checking his direction with the aid of a pocket compass. The going proved rough but not difficult. The forest was wholly a forest and not a jungle. Trees grew large and close together, forming a canopy that shut out all but occasional glimpses of the sky. Luckily, undergrowth was sparse. One could walk with ease and at fast pace providing one took care not to fall over projecting roots. Also, as he soon realised, progress was helped quite a piece by the fact that on Jaimec his weight was down by most of twenty pounds while his luggage was raduced in the same proportion.

Two hours before sunset he reached the road, having covered twenty miles with one stop for a meal and many brief pauses to consult the compass. Behind a roadside tree he upended the case, sat on it and enjoyed fifteen minutes rest before making wary survey of the road. So far he’d heard no planes or scout-ships snooping overhead in frantic search of Terra’s one-man task force. Neither was there any abnormal activity upon the road; in fact during his wait nothing passed along it in either direction.

Refreshed by the sit, he tidied himself, brushed dirt and leaves from his shoes and pants,. reknotted his typical neck-scarf as only a Sirian could knot it. Then he examined himself in a steel mirror. His Earthmade copy of Sirian clothes would pass muster, he had no doubt of that. His purple face, pinned-back ears and Mashambi accent would be equally convincing. But his greatest protection would be the mental block in every Sirian’s mind; they’d just naturally not think of an Earthman masquerading as a Sirian because the idea was too ridiculous to contemplate.