Mac and I and some of the other crewmen went down on the field to handle the unloading. Jeks on self-propelled cargo lifts jockeyed among us, scooping up the loads as we unhooked the slings, bringing cases of machinery from their own ship. They sat atop their vehicles, lean and aloof, dashing in, whirling, shooting across the field to their ship and back like wild horsemen on the plains of Earth, paying us no notice. We were almost through when Mac suddenly grabbed my arm. "Look!" The stoker was coming down on one of the cargo slings. He stood upright, his booted feet planted wide, one arm curled up over his head and around the hoist cable. He was in his dusty brown Marine uniform, the scarlet collar tabs bright as blood at his throat, his major's insignia glittering at his shoulders, the battle stripes on his sleeves. The Jeks stopped their lifts. They knew that uniform. They sat up in their saddles and watched him come down. When the sling touched the ground, he jumped off quietly and walked toward the nearest Jek. They all followed him with their eyes. "We've got to stop him," Mac said, and both of us started toward him. His hands were both in plain sight, one holding his duffelbag, which was swelled out with the bulk of his airsuit. He wasn't carrying a weapon of any kind. He was walking casually, taking his time. Mac and I had almost reached him when a Jek with insignia on his coveralls suddenly jumped down from his lift and came forward to meet him. It was an odd thing to see--the stoker, and the Jek, who did not stand as tall. MacReidie and I stepped back. The Jek was coal black, his scales glittering in the cold sunlight, his hatchet-face inscrutable. He stopped when the stoker was a few paces away. The stoker stopped, too. All the Jeks were watching him and paying no attention to anything else. The field might as well have been empty except for those two. "They'll kill him. They'll kill him right now," MacReidie whispered. They ought to have. If I'd been a Jek, I would have thought that uniform was a death warrant. But the Jek spoke to him: "Are you entitled to wear that?" "I was at this planet in '39. I was closer to your home world the year before that," the stoker said. "I was captain of a destroyer. If I'd had a cruiser's range, I would have reached it." He looked at the Jek. "Where were you?" "I was here when you were." "I want to speak to your ship's captain." "All right. I'll drive you over." The stoker nodded, and they walked over to his vehicle together. They drove away, toward the Jek ship. "All right, let's get back to work," another Jek said to MacReidie and myself, and we went back to unloading cargo. * * * * * The stoker came back to our ship that night, without his duffelbag. He found me and said: "I'm signing off the ship. Going with the Jeks." MacReidie was with me. He said loudly: "What do you mean, you're going with the Jeks?"