"Natsa!" a voice shouted. There was the thump of heavy feet behind him. * * * * * Case whirled. Just in time. A big orange-skinned man in a metallic suit came bursting out of the next row of grain. He took one look at Case, and reached for the holstered weapon at his side. But few men could outdraw and out-shoot Case Damon. A flash of green played about his opponent's head. And then there was no head. "Natsa to you," Case grunted at the body. He was used to death in many forms, and it upset him not at all to handle the body. The fellow had been about his own size. At least he would now have a suit that wouldn't attract attention. He decided to keep his own gun rather than trust a strange one, but he exchanged holsters with the corpse. "Now, if only Natsa doesn't show up, I'll make tracks out of here," Case said to himself. But the Damon luck was wearing thin. There were shouts from along the road. More than one voice now, and all using a strange language. They must have come over from the field across the way, Case thought. He flattened himself against the last row of stalks and took a deep breath. With the first sight of somebody coming through the row of grain, he stepped out and onto the road. There were three of them, all big men, and none were looking his way. By the time their cries of consternation rose at sight of the body, Case was across the road and into the grain on the other side. He ran until his heart began to hammer, and then he slowed to a fast walk. When the field curved around a bend, he breathed easier. Along the road there was activity now, and the sound of vehicles moving fast. They were looking for him. Then the field ended, and Case was in a grove of wild fruit. Heavy brush caught at his face, but he stuck close to the road. Voices drifted in toward him. He had to chance a look. Stretching himself full length, Case parted thick brambles and peered out. More men, all wearing the same metallic suits. This group was walking slowly, munching on the same sort of fruit that grew overhead. Case thought it over. He didn't have a chance. His own tanned skin would stand out like a sore thumb against the orange brightness of these people. But he was not without resources. The fruit had given him an idea. It dripped an orange liquid. If the stuff was good enough to eat, it certainly couldn't hurt to smear a little over his face and hands! * * * * * When he hit the road again, Case Damon was as orange as any man he'd so far seen in this new world. Maybe he wouldn't get away with it, but he had to try. Vehicles sped by and nobody gave him a second glance. So far, so good. When he passed the group he had seen from the grove without drawing undue attention, he relaxed.