“On your feet, arms out to the sides at shoulder height,” Tom said to Arrin.

“Why?” Arrin asked warily. Was Tom going to beat him now, like every other jailer he’d ever had?

“I must check you for drugs. We neglected to do so before.”

“You think I have drugs on me?” Arrin asked incredulously. “I’ve just come from a Martian jail.”

“You’re resourceful. If you wanted PMZ, you would’ve found some way to get it even though you were in jail.”

Arrin came to his feet, keeping his weight off his broken ankle and bracing his left hand on the wall for support while raising his other arm to shoulder height as requested.

“Fine. Search me.”

Tom conducted a rough, thoroug...

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