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Each side of the cabin had a bank of windows, but they were covered with a mish-mash of cloth that blocked most of the light. Holes in the fabric and inexpertly sewn seams allowed what light she needed. Boxes lined each wall, and a line of tables went down the center of the room. All were occupied except the one right in front of her.
    She hurried to the first occupied table and pulled aside the fabric to check the identity. It wasn’t Akamu, but an old Chinese woman. The wrinkles and creases in her sun-hardened face were smooth in death. A slight gray pallor colored her tanned skin. A faint odor emanated from her that was both sweet and awful.
    She covered her again and went on to the next one. A young boy, couldn’t have been more than ten years old. Before she knew it, she’d cupped the dead boy’s cheek. She pulled the fabric entirely free, searching for what killed him. His body appeared unmarked, except for bruising along the legs. She felt them and then knew. He’d fallen. The bones beneath the skin had shattered like a sheet of glass. His fall must have been from a great height.
    She replaced the fabric, shaking her head. She was about to move to the next body when she heard voices. She stopped cold and spun toward the door. The voices grew louder.
    Merde!
    She searched frantically for a place to hide. Everything was too damned well-organized. Then she saw her only chance. She ran towards the door as the handle began to turn, and leaped atop the empty table as the door opened. She slammed her head back and pushed her dress down where it’d slid up, wiped sweat from her forehead with her left hand, and—as the door swung wide and washed the interior with light—turned her head, staring dull-eyed and holding her breath. It wasn’t until two people were entering the room that she realized that all of the other bodies were covered in fabric and here she was laid out on the table in all of her wannabe transvestite glory.
    Merde!
     
     
    K AVIKA AND S PIKE entered the gloom of the morgue ship. The smell hit Kavika immediately; sweet and pungent, it wasn’t altogether unpleasant until he reminded himself that it was the smell of death. Then suddenly it became intolerable. He glanced at Spike and saw that she was about as nonplussed as could be. Why shouldn’t she be? After all, she’d grown up aboard this ship, her parents and brother working the morgue, feeding the fishes and paying back the families of the dead.
    “You look green.”
    “I feel green. Where is he?”
    A row of tables ran down the length of the ship’s interior. All were occupied, and all but the first was covered with a length of fabric. The table nearest them held a Hispanic girl who couldn’t have been more than twenty. Her sharp features were pleasant to look at, but he forced himself to turn away, unwilling to disrespect the dead.
    “Farther down, I think.” Spike took a step and then made a face. “This isn’t right. She should be covered.”
    She turned to look for the fabric that must have fallen to the ground and as she did, the eyes of the dead girl shifted.
    Kavika held his breath and stared. Had he really seen that or was it his nerves? He stepped closer to the body. Her dress lay rumpled against her lean body and her feet were bare. Spiked shoes had been tied to her waist. Her dark hair still held a luster as it splayed across the cold stainless steel. He stared at her eyes for a long moment, but they didn’t shift again. Maybe it was her blood settling or something. Still...
    “Hold on. Got to get a sheet. Not like my brother to forget something like this.” Spike stepped to a long box on the floor, on the right side of the cabin.
    Kavika nodded, but never took his eyes off the dead girl. It was almost imperceptible, but it really seemed as if her chest had moved. Was she breathing? Had someone put a living girl in here, thinking she was dead? He stepped closer to the edge of the table and leaned down until his face was