The Martian's chubby face was darkened momentarily by a frown. "Very well," he said. "Here's the job: a cargo of dionate extract is going to be unloaded at Phobos Depot tomorrow night. Some--friends of mine--are actively interested in securing this cargo. They've gone to the extent of securing a small spacecraft for the purpose of intercepting the incoming ship. Unfortunately, we Martians are completely unable to operate the ship, inasmuch as Earth's Space Service has reserved interplanetery commerce as a monopoly for itself. However, you are both a skilled pilot and a free agent without loyalty to the organization that so rudely ejected you. Therefore--" Dionate extract was the newest of the wonder drugs. A cargo of it was probably worth millions. "You want me to pilot a hijack ship, is that it?" "Not so loud, please. Yes, that's it, crudely." "It won't work, Das Shamra. I'm not a qualified spaceman any more. The computer said I don't have the reflexes--and computers don't lie. There's no telling what might happen if I got behind the control panel of a spaceship." Das Shamra squinted one eye contemplatively. "And what if your lack of reflexes were a temporary condition--one that perhaps could by remedied by some Martian medical genius? Would you take the job, then--eight thousand dollars, and a chance to re-enter the Space Service?" "You mean you think you can cure me?" "I'm sure of it." Kendall stood up. His nostrils quivered; he hung on the brink of decision. It was tempting--but part of him argued that it was a filthy crime, that he'd never be able to live with himself afterward. So what if he got the eight g's and was able to return to Earth? Could he ever face Kathy and the kid, knowing that he had returned home because of--of-- "No," he said. "I like the price, but I won't do it." He turned and headed for the door. Das Shamra uttered a quick, curt syllable and the Martian who had found him suddenly stepped out of the shadows. "You know too much to leave now," he said. Kendall didn't bother to reply. He kicked out viciously with his heavy booted foot, then leaped into the air to drive a fist into the Martian's mouth. Teeth crunched. The blueskin yelled in pain, and Kendall heard the thunder of Das Shamra pounding across the floor toward him. He threw open the door and dashed out into the filthy corridor. He found the stairs, and raced down them without looking back, out into the cold, chill late-afternoon air. * * * * * He ran. He didn't know how far he ran, nor how long. All he knew was that he paced through the narrow streets of Mars City for block after squalid block, feeling his heart pounding as if trying to break through the cage of his ribs. Finally, exhausted, he paused on a street-corner, gasping for breath, and looked around.