Bleekman's Planet

MacKenzie Thornwald had landed on Bleekman's Planet less than eight hours before. He was a young man, tall and dark and hard-looking, with the deep tan of the veteran spaceman. Ten years with the Interstellar Police had strengthened him and taught him to take care of himself.

He'd still be in the service except for the loss of his left arm, which had been burned off by a Mark X rifle during a skirmish. It had earned Thornwald a medal and a fat retirement pension. So he had decided to take it easy for the rest of his life.

He had picked Bleekman's Planet. It was well out of the more civilized areas of the Galaxy, a frontier planet out on the Rim. Bleekman's Planet had, as yet, only one city--Velliston.

The setup had looked good. There was money to be made on a frontier planet, away from the main stream of Galactic civilization. Mac Thornwald had wanted to settle down in a small, sparsely-populated area and just take it easy the rest of his life. And Bleekman's Planet had looked like just the place.

He couldn't have been wronger. Trouble started the moment he got off the space shuttle from the liner.

"Here you are, pal," the shuttle pilot said. "All set?"

"Sure," Thornwald said. He scooped up his baggage with his one good arm and walked down the ramp. Behind him, the shuttle blasted off, heading back to the mother ship above. Thornwald paused at the landing, with his suitcase dangling from his arm and his trunk at his side, looking at the Bleekman's Planet Spaceport.

"Over here, you," said a cold voice.

Thornwald glanced over and saw two men approaching him in uniform. "We're the customs inspectors," the taller of the two said. "We'll have to look at your baggage."

"Fair enough," Thornwald said. "You'll find I'm not carrying anything prohibited. I'm coming here to settle."

"We'll decide whether your stuff's okay," the smaller inspector said. The two men hoisted Thornwald's baggage and carried it to the depot. Thornwald followed.

"Let's have the keys," the tall one ordered. Mac handed over the keys and they opened the trunk. The first thing they discovered was Thornwald's prosthetic arm.

"What's this?" The inspector's voice registered shock.

"Haven't you ever seen a prosthetic arm? I lost mine in combat, and this is my spare."

The inspector's eyes narrowed. "How come you're not wearing it, then?"

"It's thought-attuned. It's controlled directly from my neural centers, and the linkage isn't completely smooth yet. It takes time to learn how to use one of those things, and it's a strain learning. I don't wear the arm all the time."

The inspector nodded. He turned back and continued to check through Thornwald's luggage. Finally, the two inspectors held a whispered conference and looked up.

"What are you doing on this planet, Mr. Thornwald?"

"I'm--I've come here to live. 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."