"The prodigal returns," Das Shamra remarked. "To what do we owe this visit, Mr. Kendall?"
Hesitantly, Kendall said, "I've—changed my mind. I'll do your damned job for you."
"Oh? A strange reversal of philosophy."
"I can't help it. I just spent some time with some other guy who turned you down. I don't want to end up like him. I want to get home to my wife, and I don't care how I get there. What do you want me to do?"
Das Shamra seemed to purr. "The terms are as we mentioned before."
"And what about fixing up my reflexes?"
"A simple matter—inasmuch as we happen to be the ones who saw to it that they deteriorated."
Kendall felt a jaw-muscle throb. The Martian's cool words confirmed what the old drunk had told him; they had deliberately cooked up this frame.
Das Shamra said, "This is Murro Lignus. He's our surgeon. He's the man who—ah—surreptitiously placed the distorter in your body while you slept at the spaceport last night. He comes and goes with great stealth."
"You cold-blooded swine," Kendall said. "Okay. We'll be honest with each other. I hate you, and you hate me—but I need you to ungimmick me so I can go home, and you need me to help you hijack that dionate. Okay."