The car moved smoothly from the Defense Force Base, down the broad sixteen-lane highway, through the surrounding slum area and into Grants. Sight of the slums gave Shaeffer mixed emotions. It was not a feeling of superiority to the inhabitants; those he had always regarded with a circumspect indifference. The slums were there. He supposed they always would be there. But now, for the first time in his life, he could truly say that he had escaped their omnipresent threat once and for all. He felt relief and guilt. During the last three years, he had earned $750,000. As a civilian stationed on a Defense Force Base, he had, of course, to pay for his clothing, his food and his lodging. But the charge was nominal. Since he had been given only infrequent and closely supervised leaves, he had been able to spend, altogether, only $12,000. Which meant that now, after taxes, he had accumulated in his savings account a total of nearly $600,000 awaiting his return from Itra. * * * * * Shaeffer's ship stood off Itra while he prepared to disembark. In his cramped quarters, he dressed himself in Itraian-style clothing. Capt. Merle S. Shaeffer became Shamar the Worker. In addition to his jump equipment, an oxygen cylinder, a face mask and a shovel, he carried with him eighty pounds of counterfeit Itraian currency ... all told, forty thousand individual bills of various denominations. Earth felt this would be all he needed to survive in a technologically advanced civilization. His plan was as follows: 1. He was to land in a sparsely inhabited area on the larger masses. 2. He was to procure transportation to Xxla, a major city, equivalent to London or Tokyo. It was the headquarters for the Party. 3. He was to establish residence in the slum area surrounding the University of Xxla. 4. Working through student contacts, he was to ingratiate himself with such rebel intellectuals as could be found. 5. Once his contacts were secure, he was to assist in the preparation of propaganda and establish a clandestine press for its production. 6. As quickly as the operation was self-sufficient, he was to move on to another major city ... and begin all over. The ship descended into the atmosphere. The bell rang. Shamar the Worker seated himself, put on his oxygen mask and signaled his readiness. He breathed oxygen. The ship quivered, the door fell away beneath him and he was battered unconscious by the slipstream. Five minutes later, pinwheeling lazily in free fall, he opened his eyes. For an instant's panic he could not read the altimeter. Then seeing that he was safe, he noted his physical sensations. He was extremely cold. Gyrating wildly, he beat his chest to restore circulation. He stabilized his fall by stretching out his hands. He floated with no sensation of movement. Itra was overhead, falling up at him slowly. He turned his back to the planet and checked the time. Twelve minutes yet to go.