_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." "What do you mean?" "I mean that you're now the private property of Governor Lloyd Henderson and his paid thugs. I mean that Henderson runs this world, and there's nothing you or I or anybody else can do but knuckle under." Thornwald sprang to his feet. "How is it the outside world doesn't know about this? How'd it happen? Who is this Henderson, anyway?" "One question at a time," Miller said. "Why doesn't the outside world know? Simple. No one leaves Bleekman's Planet, and so nobody finds out. Not even a space liner lands here; it's too unimportant for that. A shuttle comes down. "As for how it happened--well, do you know anything about thylomine?" "The cancer-curing drug?" "That's the one. It's made from the _narkos_ tree, which is found on Bleekman's Planet and a couple of other places. The leaves of the plant are rich in it. All you have to do is gather them and process them, and the drug can be made in quantity. Henderson's got the monopoly on _narkos_-growing here. He was a big farmer originally, who just bought everyone else out. Now he's the governor, and the thylomine trade is in his back pocket, along with the rest of the planet." Thornwald kicked his foot against the wall angrily. "Of all the lousy worlds I had to pick to come to live on--" He turned to his cellmate. "Why are you here?" Miller shrugged. "Why are _you_ here? Why is anyone here? Anyone who crosses Henderson gets dumped in here." "But I didn't cross him," Thornwald protested. "I wasn't on the damn planet more than a minute before they grabbed me." "There must be a reason. Maybe they think you're a spy from the Galactic Federation. That's what they fear worst of all--someone getting in here and spilling the beans to the rest of the universe." "That must be it," Thornwald agreed. "I'm a retired Police officer. They must think I'm here as a spy." He shook his head. "I've got to get out of here!" "How are you going to do that?" "Just wait and see." He cupped his hand. "Guard! _Guard!_" * * * * * He yelled a second time and a third. The sound of his shouting echoed down the prison corridor, reverberated from the walls hollowly. "Guard! Guard!" "Okay," a bored voice said. "Quit yelling. What's the trouble in there?"