ultrawave, all right. "Back to the wall," he said. "Okay, you three. If any of you makes a false move while I'm calling, Henderson dies—and you'll get the arm around your throat next."

He dialed the radio into operation with the muzzle of the blaster. There was a crackling sound, and then an operator's voice said, "Yes?"

"I want the Interstellar Police," Thornwald said.

"IP," said a metallic voice a few moments later.

"This is Mac Thornwald, retired captain. You know me?"

"Sure, Mac! What's up?"

"Listen carefully," Thornwald said. "Get a patrol-ship right down here now—Bleekman's Planet. There's trouble here. It's under control now, but the planet will need a complete mopup."

"That's the place you were supposed to live, isn't it? The quiet little secluded planet out in a corner of the galaxy?"

Thornwald smiled grimly. "It'll be that way soon," he said. "Just as soon as you clean up a bunch of cheap crooks who can't beat a one-armed man."

 Prev. P 11/11