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.
He wasn't being followed. Not now. But he knew his life wasn't going to be worth much unless he got off Mars in a hurry. And he had no way of doing that. He couldn't even radio Earth for money. There was no such thing as a collect call between planets—the cost of transmission was too great to risk a refusal—and in his present battered condition he knew he would never find anyone who'd lend him enough to call Kathy.