"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?"
Suspiciously, Kendall said, "Where to?"
"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.