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raised me not to cuss in front of the young 'uns. Your mama, on the other hand— Linus bit his lip.
    "I won't call you kid," he said. Then added, "On purpose."
    "Attention! Attention!" said Linus's onboard in his ear. "Incoming call from Dr. Karen Fang."
    "Take it now," Linus said. "Put on three-way with Noah Skyler."
    "Hoy, Linus," came Karen's voice.
    "What have you got for me, K?" Linus said. "The ki— Noah's listening in."
    "I ran a DNA sample from our victim through the identification database. "
    "And?"
    "I came up with nothing. Zip. Naught."
    "What?" Linus was shocked. "That's not possible, K. No one's ever avoided giving their DNA to immigration. Security down there's as tight as a gnat's ass."
    "I know that. Maybe he never went through immigration."
    "Everybody goes through. Oh, you mean he landed
    here but didn't stay?"
    "Exactly. That happens. Shuttle crews sometimes just turn right around and go back to Earth."
    "Immigration policy covers that sort of thing. Everyone who lands on Luna, even for 30 seconds, is registered with the ID database. No exceptions. Ever. So the victim has to be in there somewhere."
    "Apparently not," Karen said. "The victim is registered nowhere in Luna City."
    "Which means he can't exist," Linus said slowly.
    "Tell him that."

Chapter Four
    The Luna City Medical Center was, like most important buildings in Luna City, located near the University, and in accordance with the unspoken rule of hospitals everywhere, the designers had put its morgue in the basement. Noah trailed Linus down the white-tiled corridor, tension stiffening his muscles until each one ached. He had screwed up, and royally. Of course, it wasn't as if he really had to prove anything to himself. Proving himself to Linus, however, was another matter. If he wanted to study here he had to hold on to his grant, and if he wanted to hold on to his grant he had to impress Linus. Four years of police work had taught Noah that no matter how pleasantly the boss might react, a major mistake meant the sere wee—Noah, in this case—would be watched like an ant beneath a magnifying glass for weeks, or even months, to come.
    How could he have been so stupid? Rule number one of moving bodies: exercise extreme caution. Sure, this corpse had been brittle and fragile, but that should have made Noah even more cautious. He remembered the sickening sensation of the foot snapping off in his hand, and he surreptitiously wiped his palm on his trousers as he followed Linus through the sliding double doors into the morgue.
    The place was small, barely big enough to grant space to two autopsy tables and the associated equipment. Sinks lined one wall, and a bank of nine people-sized refrigerators lined the other. Noah guessed they didn't get many deaths in Luna City. The room was a little chilly, but the lighting was bright and harsh, and the air carried the familiar strong smell of antiseptic and chemical preservatives.
    One table was occupied. The twisted brown body of the John Doe lay on it inside a sealed, transparent case that reminded Noah of a rounded coffin. The victim's right foot lay like an accusation beyond the ragged edge of the ankle. Even as Noah watched, bits of dry tissue flaked off and fluttered down from the body like brown snowflakes.
    Behind the table stood Dr. Karen Fang. Noah hadn't seen her out of a vacuum suit yet and he tried to look at her without appearing to stare. She was quite a lot shorter than Noah and Linus, and pretty, with a definite Asian cast to her features. Her eyes were brown, almost black, and she wore her black hair in a loose ponytail. Lithe build, wiry hands, competent air.
    The autopsy table looked just like the ones Noah knew back on Earth. A pair of holographic projectors were mounted on the short ends of the table like two snakes looking down on a bird's next. A small computer console jutted out for the examiner to use.
    "I'm keeping him in vacuum for now," Dr. Fang said. "Abrupt exposure to a full