He started to pull himself wearily to his feet, but his aching muscles wouldn't support him and he sagged into a limp heap on the side of the curb. His head dropped into his hands. A couple of tearless sobs shook him.
A man ought to be better prepared for things like this, he told himself. One minute a top-flight spaceman; then a machine gives you a few tests and you're nothing but a bum sobbing in the gutter.
A hand touched his shoulder. Instinctively he shrank away. He was in no shape for further fighting.
"Leave me alone," he said hollowly. "You want my wallet, take it. There's ten bucks in it."
"But I don't want your wallet, Pilot Kendall. I want to help you."
Slowly Kendall turned his aching neck and looked up. The speaker was a blueskin, tall and broad like all his race. He was looking down, smiling warmly.
"You can't call me _Pilot_ Kendall. I'm not a pilot any more."
"That's only temporary," the blueskin said. "Come with me to Das Shamra, and perhaps something can be arranged."
Kendall came awake instantly. He rose to his feet--and his six-three was dwarfed by the blueskin's towering height. "What the hell is this? Who's this Das Shamra, and what can he arrange for me?"
"Das Shamra is a wealthy merchant, Pilot Kendall. Wealth has many advantages. Will you come with me?"
"The Hotel Cosmos. Das Shamra is very anxious to see you. He is a very generous man."
Kendall had been long taught never to trust a blueskin. But in his present state of mind, he didn't give much of a damn. He was numb with cold, and whoever this Das Shamra was, he was indoors. At the moment that was all that mattered.
"Buy me a drink," Kendall told the Martian. "I need a little pick-me-up. Then you can take me to Das Shamra."
The blueskin and Kendall stopped off at a bar at the corner. The Martian ordered a mug of the insipid Mars beer; Kendall smirked at the brownish-green liquid and said to the barkeep, "Give me a double _valdoz_."
"You're really going in for the strong stuff, aren't you?" the Martian asked, as the drink arrived.
"The way I feel, I need it. Besides, why settle for that sludge you call beer when the drinks are on the house?"
"A good point," the Martian admitted. "Das Shamra can afford it." He drained his beer, and, as Kendall poured the fiery _valdoz_ down his throat, the blueskin said, "Have another. I'll pay."