Later there was the sound of a key in the lock. When the door opened a heavy-set man carrying a blaster stepped inside.
"Stand back, Bud, and keep your hands in sight."
Hanlon raised his hands while the messcook brought in a tray and set it on his bunk. As they were going out Hanlon spoke. "You got any books on board? I don't mind being locked in and won't make any trouble, but please give me something to do."
They made no answer, but when they returned for the empty dishes they left a couple of dog-eared magazines.
Late the following afternoon the siren warned of landing, and Hanlon strapped himself down again. After he had felt the landing, one of the ship's officers came and unlocked the door.
He was very apologetic. "Sorry, sir, about this, but we had our orders."
"It's okay with me," Hanlon said cheerfully. "Don't make a bit of difference with me where I am, long's I get well paid."
"I see you've put on your light clothing. That's good—this is a hot planet. These your bags?"
Hanlon nodded, and each carrying one, the officer led the way to the airlock and they climbed down onto this new world.
The air was thick and muggy—at least 110° Fahrenheit, Hanlon guessed. There was a great bustle of activity on the landing field. Automatic machinery was unloading cargo, and loading it into trucks. There were several men, with their luggage, standing about.