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.
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?"