[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Imagination Stories of Science and Fantasy
February 1957
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
Looking around cautiously, Mac Thornwald eased himself down from the
window ledge where he had been crouching. It was less than a ten-foot
drop, but because of the pain in his left ankle he didn't dare to drop
too heavily. His right leg would have to take the brunt of the shock.
As he struck the plastosteel pavement, he clamped his lips together
to cut short the moan of pain that welled up as his left foot twisted
under him.
He staggered a little and then straightened to look around. No one had
heard anything. The city around him was still silent. He still had a
chance. Only the ghostly whispers of the air-reptiles drifting through
the sky could be heard.
Taking a deep breath, he reholstered the pistol he was clutching and
began limping up the dark street toward the Governor's Mansion.
Eventually, the numbing pain began to leave his foot. The stun beam had
hit the nerves near the ankle, but the effect wore off after several
minutes of walking. _Okay_, he thought. _I'm back in business again._
The Governor of Bleekman's Planet had reckoned wrong when he tried to
take personal property away from an ex-Patrolman.
* * * * *
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."