I'm a retired Interstellar Policeman."

"We noticed that. But this stuff looks suspicious. I think we'll have to hold you for questioning."

Thornwald backed away. "What's that? What kind of questioning? Is this a shakedown of some kind?"

"Orders of the Governor," the inspector said. "Come on, now—we'll put you away until the Governor can talk to you himself."

"Hold it, fellow," Thornwald warned. "I'm a policeman, and I know the law. You can't lock me away without a writ."

The other chuckled. "Oh no? Want to see how?"

Thornwald stepped forward and cracked his fist into the man's face without waiting for further conversation. The man went toppling backward, but the second one moved in and quickly caught Mac's arm. He lifted his blaster and whipped it across Thornwald's face.

Helpless, Thornwald tried to duck. The butt cut into his flesh just above the cheekbone, and he sagged limply.

"You'll come now, I think."

"In here, Thornwald."

The door of a cell opened, and rough hands hurled Thornwald inside. The metal door clanked closed. Thornwald sat down on the hard cot in the corner of the cell and tried to rub the pain away.

Nice welcome, he thought. Half an hour on Bleekman's Planet and I've had my baggage confiscated, gotten a pistol-whipping, and got tossed into the jug. Pleasant planet. He rubbed his head and groaned.

"They give it to you bad?" a voice said.

"Who's there?"

"Don't jump," the voice said. "I'm your cellmate. The name is Miller. I've been here a week."

Thornwald squinted in the darkness and made out the dimly-visible form of a man huddled up against the wall in the far corner of the cell.

"Just arrive?" Miller said.

"Yes. And I'm pretty puzzled about this damned rough stuff. What kind of a world is this, anyway?"

Miller chuckled hollowly. "A lousy one. You're new here; you haven't felt the worst of it yet."

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