“I escaped from a prison world,” she said. “I entered the body of a guard and stole a garbage scow. That’s what they construct there. Stinger’s masters want me returned to”—here she encountered another difficulty of translation—“Rock Seven,” was the best she could do. “Sounds like a radio station,” Rick said. “Rock Seven is an approximate name. It does not translate. Nothing can live there outside the prison.” A grim smile crept across her mouth, and the eyes in the child’s face looked very old. “It’s a caldron of murderers, the diseased, plunderers, and pirates—and even criminals like me.”
