Skid Row Pilot — A Closer Reading

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_."

"Sure thing, friend."

"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."

"No thanks," Kendall said. "_Valdoz_ isn't something you swill like beer. And I'd just as soon face Das Shamra sober, thank you. Let's go."

The Martian spun a coin and left it on the counter. They went out into the street again--but with the potent brew within him, Kendall felt much happier about having to face the Martian winds.

He was just a little unsteady. The beating had helped, of course, and so had the drink. Normally he wasn't a drinking man; alcohol played hell with the reflexes, and his reflexes were his most valued property. But not any more, he thought dully. Not now, when he'd been kicked out of the Service.

The blueskin led him down the twisting byways of Mars City, through heaps of filth and dark alleys. Mars was an old planet, cold and arid; its cities were thousands of years old, its people well skilled in the arts of evil. It wasn't the sort of planet an Earthman liked to stay on for long.

Kendall scowled. The way it looked, he'd be here longer than he was counting on. Hell, it would cost fifty dollars just to radio Earth and tell Kathy what had happened.

But he couldn't tell her. Not now, when she was about to have the baby. Not when she was so proud of the spaceman she saw only a few weeks out of each year. How could he tell her that he'd flunked the six-month exam?

"In here," the Martian said. "Das Shamra's suite is upstairs."

The Hotel Cosmos looked to Kendall like one of the better establishments on Mars. But even so, it wasn't very appetizing. Its hallways were dark and narrow: occasionally a groan or a harsh whisper could be heard coming from behind a thick wooden door. He didn't like the place.

"This is the floor," the blueskin said.

He opened the door and stepped inside. Moving cautiously, ready to turn tail and get out if something looked wrong, Kendall followed him.

The blueskin knelt. "This is Pilot Kendall."

"Pleased to meet you, Pilot Kendall," said an immensely fat Martian humped in an encircling webwork cradle. His small eyes were burned in rings of fat; his slit-like mouth was spread in a broad, unsavory grin. "I am Das Shamra," he said, in a deep, harsh voice.

Kendall poised himself on the balls of his toes, waiting uncertainly. "Why did you bring me here?"

"All in good time. Sit down, won't you? Care for a drink?"

He indicated a dark bottle of _valdoz_ by his side. Kendall shook his head immediately.

"No, I don't want any."

"Ah, I see. A spacepilot must beware lest he damage the all-important reflexes. Very well, then; I shall drink alone unless you object."

"Go right ahead," Kendall said tightly. "And I'm not worried about my reflexes. I just want to keep a clear head while you tell me whatever you want to tell me."

"You sound as if you don't trust me," Das Shamra wheezed. His fat body quivered as the liquor went down. "A most unfortunate attitude."

Kendall drummed on the edge of his chair impatiently. "You sent your boy out to bring me here. What for?"

The Martian smiled bleakly at him. "How badly would you like to get back to your native world, Mr. Kendall?"

Kendall was silent for a moment. Then he said, "What the hell do you mean?"

"I mean that I'm aware of your unfortunate run-in with several of the local police this morning. They happened to be in my employ, and they told me your motive for causing a disturbance. I offer my sympathies, Mr. Kendall."