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diff --git a/old/65666-h/65666-h.htm b/old/65666-h/65666-h.htm deleted file mode 100644 index 590c252..0000000 --- a/old/65666-h/65666-h.htm +++ /dev/null @@ -1,1091 +0,0 @@ -<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" - "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> -<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> - <head> - <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=us-ascii" /> - <meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> - <title> - The Project Gutenberg eBook of Bleekman's Planet, by Ivar Jorgensen. - </title> - <link rel="coverpage" href="images/cover.jpg" /> - - <style type="text/css"> - -body { - margin-left: 10%; - margin-right: 10%; -} - - h1,h2 { - text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ - clear: both; -} - -p { - margin-top: .51em; - text-align: justify; - margin-bottom: .49em; -} - -hr { - width: 33%; - margin-top: 2em; - margin-bottom: 2em; - margin-left: 33.5%; - margin-right: 33.5%; - clear: both; -} - -hr.chap {width: 65%; margin-left: 17.5%; margin-right: 17.5%;} -hr.tb {width: 45%; margin-left: 27.5%; margin-right: 27.5%;} - -.center {text-align: center;} - -.right {text-align: right;} - -/* Images */ -.figcenter { - margin: auto; - text-align: center; -} - -div.titlepage { - text-align: center; - page-break-before: always; - page-break-after: always; -} - -div.titlepage p { - text-align: center; - text-indent: 0em; - font-weight: bold; - line-height: 1.5; - margin-top: 3em; -} - - </style> - </head> -<body> -<p style='text-align:center; font-size:1.2em; font-weight:bold'>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Bleekman's Planet, by Ivar Jorgensen</p> -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online -at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you -are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the -country where you are located before using this eBook. -</div> - -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: Bleekman's Planet</p> - <p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Ivar Jorgensen</p> -<p style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: June 22, 2021 [eBook #65666]</p> -<p style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</p> - <p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em; text-align:left'>Produced by: Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net</p> -<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BLEEKMAN'S PLANET ***</div> - -<div class="titlepage"> - -<p>Thornwald had done his tour of duty for the<br /> -Solar Service; now it was time for him to retire<br /> -But a life of relaxation would not be simple on—</p> - -<h1>Bleekman's Planet</h1> - -<h2>By Ivar Jorgensen</h2> - -<p>[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from<br /> -Imagination Stories of Science and Fantasy<br /> -February 1957<br /> -Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that<br /> -the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]</p> - -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>Taking a deep breath, he reholstered the pistol he was clutching and -began limping up the dark street toward the Governor's Mansion.</p> - -<p>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. <i>Okay</i>, he thought. <i>I'm back in business again.</i> -The Governor of Bleekman's Planet had reckoned wrong when he tried to -take personal property away from an ex-Patrolman.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>He couldn't have been wronger. Trouble started the moment he got off -the space shuttle from the liner.</p> - -<p>"Here you are, pal," the shuttle pilot said. "All set?"</p> - -<p>"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.</p> - -<p>"Over here, you," said a cold voice.</p> - -<p>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."</p> - -<p>"Fair enough," Thornwald said. "You'll find I'm not carrying anything -prohibited. I'm coming here to settle."</p> - -<p>"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.</p> - -<p>"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.</p> - -<p>"What's <i>this</i>?" The inspector's voice registered shock.</p> - -<p>"Haven't you ever seen a prosthetic arm? I lost mine in combat, and -this is my spare."</p> - -<p>The inspector's eyes narrowed. "How come you're not wearing it, then?"</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"What are you doing on this planet, Mr. Thornwald?"</p> - -<p>"I'm—I've come here to live. I'm a retired Interstellar Policeman."</p> - -<p>"We noticed that. But this stuff looks suspicious. I think we'll have -to hold you for questioning."</p> - -<p>Thornwald backed away. "What's that? What kind of questioning? Is this -a shakedown of some kind?"</p> - -<p>"Orders of the Governor," the inspector said. "Come on, now—we'll put -you away until the Governor can talk to you himself."</p> - -<p>"Hold it, fellow," Thornwald warned. "I'm a policeman, and I know the -law. You can't lock me away without a writ."</p> - -<p>The other chuckled. "Oh no? Want to see how?"</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>Helpless, Thornwald tried to duck. The butt cut into his flesh just -above the cheekbone, and he sagged limply.</p> - -<p>"You'll come now, I think."</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>"In here, Thornwald."</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p><i>Nice welcome</i>, he thought. <i>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.</i> He rubbed his head and groaned.</p> - -<p>"They give it to you bad?" a voice said.</p> - -<p>"Who's there?"</p> - -<p>"Don't jump," the voice said. "I'm your cellmate. The name is Miller. -I've been here a week."</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"Just arrive?" Miller said.</p> - -<p>"Yes. And I'm pretty puzzled about this damned rough stuff. What kind -of a world is this, anyway?"</p> - -<p>Miller chuckled hollowly. "A lousy one. You're new here; you haven't -felt the worst of it yet."</p> - -<p>"What do you mean?"</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>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?"</p> - -<p>"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.</p> - -<p>"As for how it happened—well, do you know anything about thylomine?"</p> - -<p>"The cancer-curing drug?"</p> - -<p>"That's the one. It's made from the <i>narkos</i> 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 -<i>narkos</i>-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."</p> - -<p>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?"</p> - -<p>Miller shrugged. "Why are <i>you</i> here? Why is anyone here? Anyone who -crosses Henderson gets dumped in here."</p> - -<p>"But I didn't cross him," Thornwald protested. "I wasn't on the damn -planet more than a minute before they grabbed me."</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>"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!"</p> - -<p>"How are you going to do that?"</p> - -<p>"Just wait and see." He cupped his hand. "Guard! <i>Guard!</i>"</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>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!"</p> - -<p>"Okay," a bored voice said. "Quit yelling. What's the trouble in there?"</p> - -<p>"It's my arm," Thornwald gasped. "It's haemorrhaging—I'm bleeding to -death!"</p> - -<p>"You that one-armed fellow they just brought in?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, yes! Come on! Get me a doctor before I bleed to death!"</p> - -<p>There was a note of desperate urgency in Thornwald's voice that was so -convincing he could almost feel his stump throbbing.</p> - -<p>"All right, I'll take a look," the guard said finally. He fumbled with -his keys and inserted one, while Thornwald threw himself to the floor -and lay there, writhing in apparently hideous pain.</p> - -<p>"Where are you?"</p> - -<p>"Down here," Thornwald said weakly. "I can't stand up. I—"</p> - -<p>The guard bent to see what was wrong, and Thornwald kicked upward at -him. His boot took the jailer on the side of his jaw and knocked him -backward against the wall. As he staggered there, stunned, Thornwald -sprinted past him and out the cell door into the corridor.</p> - -<p>"Get him, Miller!" he yelled as he broke away.</p> - -<p>A bright stunbeam light spurted out as Thornwald left. He winced as it -nicked him in one ankle, almost hamstringing him, but he kept going. -Behind him, he heard the sound of Miller fighting with the bewildered -guard.</p> - -<p>Thornwald dashed down the corridor as well he could with one foot -nearly crippled, reached the window, hoisted himself up with his arm, -and crawled up to the ledge.</p> - -<p>He smashed open the window and shimmied through.</p> - -<p>He was out of jail now—or would be when he dropped the ten feet to the -ground. But he wasn't out of trouble yet—not by a long shot.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>The building up ahead was the Governor's Mansion—and that was the -first stop, and, he hoped, the last.</p> - -<p>The customs inspectors had said something about taking his trunk to the -Governor. Good. Thornwald had to get to his trunk before much more -time elapsed.</p> - -<p>His arm was in the trunk—the prosthetic arm. He was almost helpless -one-armed, except where he could capitalize on the weapon of surprise. -Once he got the prosthetic from his trunk—</p> - -<p>He faded into the shadows as a uniformed figure passed by. One of -Henderson's policeman, no doubt, making the night rounds. Thornwald let -the man go by, then continued to glide among the shrubbery toward the -impressive mansion that was Henderson's home.</p> - -<p>Thornwald's mind revolved the situation over and over as he moved -along. This world was Henderson's private property, and anyone who said -different was jugged instantly. It was a world of terror in which a -harmless stranger could become a hunted fugitive in a matter of minutes.</p> - -<p>He reached Henderson's place. It was a walled mansion, as he expected. -There were ways to get over walls, though, Thornwald reflected. He -glanced around, found a strange-looking red-leaved tree whose angular -limbs had the consistency of rubber, and dragged himself upward.</p> - -<p>He reached the bough he wanted, grasped it firmly, and swung out over -the wall. He landed—</p> - -<p>A foot away from a snarling, blazing-eyed ball of fury. Even in the -darkness, he could see the animal clearly—a Vegan <i>ghoslik</i>, all teeth -and ferocity and mindless hatred. It snapped at the intruder.</p> - -<p>Thornwald launched a vicious kick at the animal, and there was the -sound of needle-sharp teeth splintering against his boot. The creature -howled and bounded away into the darkness.</p> - -<p><i>So much for your watchdog, Henderson. Now for the real job.</i></p> - -<p>He tiptoed to a window and peered in. A uniformed man was in there, -pacing up and down in a corridor. Thornwald smiled, picked up a rock, -and hurled it through the window.</p> - -<p>The guard whirled instantly, presenting his blaster. "Who goes there?"</p> - -<p>Thornwald made no reply. The guard continued to peer out into the -night. "Who's there?" he repeated.</p> - -<p>As if in answer, Thornwald hurled another rock through the window. This -time the guard dashed out of the corridor, up the stairs, and out into -the courtyard—where Thornwald was waiting for him with a third rock.</p> - -<p>"It's a good thing it wasn't my pitching arm I lost," he muttered -gratefully as the guard crumpled. Swiftly Thornwald extracted the -guard's blaster and stepped inside the building.</p> - -<p>He edged down the corridor, blaster ready, and turned the corner. There -was the sound of laughter coming from a room at the end of the hallway.</p> - -<p>After a moment's thought, he crashed the butt of the blaster against -a window in the corridor, then flattened himself against the wall and -waited.</p> - -<p>A few seconds later, a man appeared from the room beyond. "What was -that noise?" he asked loudly.</p> - -<p>Thornwald glanced down the hall. The man who approached was one of the -customs inspectors who had beaten him up that afternoon. He fingered -the blaster stud and stepped out to block the hallway.</p> - -<p>"What—?"</p> - -<p>"Put your hands up," Thornwald ordered quietly. "And if you say a word, -I'll roast your brains in your skull."</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>He glared at the man. "All right, where's my luggage?"</p> - -<p>The customs man met his stare grimly. "I don't know."</p> - -<p>Thornwald's one arm whipped out and the blaster's barrel slapped the -inspector across the face. A trickle of blood dribbled down. "Where's -my stuff?" Thornwald repeated.</p> - -<p>"Henderson's got it," the customs inspector said sullenly.</p> - -<p>"And where's Henderson?"</p> - -<p>"I'm not telling."</p> - -<p><i>Crack!</i> with the gun barrel. "That's for this afternoon," Thornwald -said. "Where's Henderson?"</p> - -<p>"Fourth floor," the man gasped. Thornwald hit him again. "You sure?"</p> - -<p>"I'm telling the truth! Fourth floor!"</p> - -<p>The gun descended once again. Satisfied, Thornwald left the other -crumpled on the floor, and started up the stairs to the fourth floor.</p> - -<p>He wanted Henderson, now.</p> - -<p>More than anything, he wanted his missing left arm back. Half a -dozen times in the last thirty minutes he had cursed the frustrating -necessity of fighting with only one hand. Even the prosthetic would do, -the steel-thewed robot hand that he controlled with his mind. But for -the present he'd have to manage with one hand.</p> - -<p>He mounted the stairs and emerged on the fourth floor. An array of -rooms confronted him. Which was Henderson's? He didn't know.</p> - -<p>He started to enter one, picking it at random. Then he felt a cold -pressure in the small of his back.</p> - -<p>"You can stop right now," a deadly-sounding voice said. "There's a -blaster in your back. Close that door."</p> - -<p>Without turning, Thornwald backed up and closed the door.</p> - -<p>"Now come with me," the voice said. "I'm taking you to Henderson."</p> - -<p>The blaster prodded and he headed down the hall to another door.</p> - -<p>"Mr. Henderson?"</p> - -<p>"Yeah?" said a voice from within.</p> - -<p>"It's me. Leswick. I caught a prowler wandering around up here."</p> - -<p>"Right out," Henderson said.</p> - -<p>The guard named Leswick prodded the blaster harder into Thornwald's -back. "Mr. Henderson'll take care of you," he said ominously.</p> - -<p>The door opened and Henderson stood there. He was a short, pudgy man -with thick jowls and a soft, fleshy pink throat. He was wearing a black -dressing-gown, flaked whitely with dandruff.</p> - -<p>"Who are you?" Henderson asked coldly.</p> - -<p>"I think he's the cop who landed today," Leswick said. "Didn't they say -he had only one arm?"</p> - -<p>"That's the one, all right," Henderson said. He reached out, grabbed -Thornwald by the collar, and yanked him into the room. Covering him -with a blaster, he said, "Go downstairs and get a couple more of the -boys, Leswick. We'll see what we can get out of this fellow."</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Thornwald glanced up at the trio of uniformed men facing him. "I'm not -saying anything."</p> - -<p>"Hit him again," Henderson commanded boredly.</p> - -<p>A guard's fist flashed down and smashed into Thornwald's jaw. Thornwald -spat blood and glared defiantly at Henderson.</p> - -<p>"What do you expect to get out of me, Henderson?"</p> - -<p>The Governor whirled and sneered at him. "You're a cop, aren't you?"</p> - -<p>"I was."</p> - -<p>"You still are! And you're down here to spy on us! Where's your -transmitter?"</p> - -<p>"I don't have any transmitter," Thornwald said. "I was fool enough to -think I'd want to live here. I'm no more a spy than that bookcase is."</p> - -<p>"Hit him again," Henderson said. "Give it to him until he tells us -where the transmitter is."</p> - -<p>A cascade of blows descended on Thornwald from all three of them. His -head rocked dizzily beneath the assault. He stood it as long as he -could.</p> - -<p>Finally, he yelled, "<i>Okay!</i> I'll tell you!"</p> - -<p>"Step back and let him talk," Henderson ordered. "All right, Thornwald. -Where's the transmitter?"</p> - -<p>"It's ... in ... my ... trunk," he said weakly. "The trunk."</p> - -<p>"Go get the trunk," Henderson said to one of the men. "Bring it here."</p> - -<p>A few minutes later, the man returned with Thornwald's trunk. "Force it -open," said Henderson. "See if there's a transmitter in there."</p> - -<p>The guards cracked the trunk's lock, threw open the lid, and searched -the interior. Thornwald watched impassively as his shirts, tunics, -ties, cloaks came flying out to land in an untidy heap on the floor.</p> - -<p>"Well?"</p> - -<p>"There's nothing in here but clothes and things," the guard reported. -"And"—he gulped—"there's some kind of <i>arm</i> in there?"</p> - -<p>"Arm?" Henderson repeated in surprise.</p> - -<p>"It's a man's arm, boss."</p> - -<p>"My prosthetic," Thornwald said. "I lost my arm in a space battle."</p> - -<p>"And where's the transmitter, then?"</p> - -<p>"It's concealed in the arm," Thornwald said.</p> - -<p>Henderson frowned. "In the arm? How?"</p> - -<p>"Surgically implanted," said Thornwald. "Take a look, if you don't -believe me."</p> - -<p>"Give me that arm," said Henderson.</p> - -<p>The guard fished the prosthetic reluctantly from the trunk, and, -handling it with the utmost delicacy, carried it over to Henderson. The -Governor took the arm, examined it curiously, flexed the curled fingers.</p> - -<p>"Where's the transmitter?" he asked.</p> - -<p>Beads of perspiration sprang out on Thornwald's forehead. His neural -network leaped out, made contact with the nerve-mesh of the arm. He was -just five feet away from Henderson. That was close enough to activate -the prosthetic.</p> - -<p><i>Now!</i> he thought.</p> - -<p>The arm suddenly came alive in Henderson's hands. Before he could do -anything, the fingers spread, grasped, reached upward, and wrapped -themselves around Henderson's fleshy neck in an iron grip.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>"That thing's got the chief!"</p> - -<p>Thornwald held up his hand. "Tell your men to drop their blasters, -Henderson. I assure you they can't kill me quick enough for me not to -crush your throat with that arm."</p> - -<p>Henderson emitted choking, strangling sounds that might almost have -been, "Drop the guns!" The Governor's florid face was bright red, and -where the fingers dug into his throat the skin was a bloodless white.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="figcenter"> - <img src="images/illus.jpg" alt=""/> -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p>The three guards looked around in dismay.</p> - -<p>"Don't shoot him!" Henderson ordered. "Drop the guns!"</p> - -<p>The blasters clattered to the floor. Thornwald picked one up, kicked -the others away into the corner. Henderson remained transfixed in the -center of the room, the bodyless arm clinging to his throat bizarrely.</p> - -<p>"Where's your ultrawave radio?" Thornwald asked.</p> - -<p>Henderson glared angrily and made no reply. Thornwald smiled -apologetically and tightened his mental grip on the Governor's throat -ever so slightly.</p> - -<p>"Where's the ultrawave?" he repeated.</p> - -<p>Henderson gestured to a niche in the wall. Warily, Thornwald stepped -over to it. It was an 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 <i>you'll</i> get the arm around your throat -next."</p> - -<p>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?"</p> - -<p>"I want the Interstellar Police," Thornwald said.</p> - -<p>"IP," said a metallic voice a few moments later.</p> - -<p>"This is Mac Thornwald, retired captain. You know me?"</p> - -<p>"Sure, Mac! What's up?"</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>"That's the place you were supposed to live, isn't it? The quiet little -secluded planet out in a corner of the galaxy?"</p> - -<p>Thornwald smiled grimly. "It'll be that way soon," he said. 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