A/N: I keep feeling that this one is missing something but I'm uncertain as to what. Any thoughts would be greatly appreciated. If you are interested in the first two of the series, you can find them easily by clicking on my profile name. If you already knew that, my apologies.

Her name is Franny Castenedas or at least she thinks it is. Occasionally there is a woman in her dreams who is addressed as Mrs. Castenedas. There is no face attached to the name, no particular emotion, but she’s decided that it’s her mother. Why else would she dream of this woman? She knows for certain that her given name is Franny, the memory of the nun screaming the name and the beating is quite clear. She doesn’t recall a church, but the many figures shrouded in black make her confident that they were nuns. She starts singing to herself.

Blue Sun loves the little children All the children of the worlds Red and yellow Black and white They will keep you warm at night Blue Sun loves the little children of the worlds

A strong smell assailed her nostrils and she buried her face into her sleeve as she looked for the cause. It was coming from the floor. It was coming from the man lying on the floor. She knew he had been dead but there was nothing to be done about it. She had ignored him for the past day or so, doing her best not to step on him. She was one of the many who didn’t have the rank or strength to fight her way to the ventilation shafts where there was more room. Apparently the others had smelled it as well, for there was a grumbling and cursing as the throng attempted to move away. For once she had enough room to sit comfortably. She almost felt grateful to the stinky thing.

They had been in the cargo hold for near a week. The stench of unwashed bodies, overflowing commodes and general malaise had effectively camouflaged the process of decomposition. They were all at one level of decay or another: rotting teeth, weeping sores, lice-ridden rags that barely hid the diseases of malnutrition and addiction. She had never seen death up close. The man looked fat, although, she remembered him being quite thin and sickly when they had all been driven into this hold. She took a bit of the hardtack, she had stashed in her pocket, and nibbled thoughtfully while staring at the body. The others kept pressing forward, which allowed the ventilators to circulate the dead air. She scratched and hummed and daydreamed about a woman named Mrs. Castenedas.

She awakened to a shuddering that made her teeth chatter. The others were also waking up and the raspy sounds of voices long neglected began to speculate whether they had reached their destination. Mr. Stinky had nothing to offer in the way of comment. She stood up on shaky legs and stumbled toward the water blivet hanging from a hook in the wall. It was starting to get very loud and she was forced to brace herself against the hull when the shuddering turned violent. The blivet was swinging wildly so she waited for the noise and shaking to stop and the heavy feeling to start. When she was finally able to grab the water tube, she sucked greedily at the stale, flat water. Her thirst quenched, she gargled and spat then scrubbed at her teeth with the edge of her shirt.

An intercom came to life with a squeal followed by an announcement that they had landed and were expected to be ready to leave within ten minutes. Everyone began shuffling and weaving, gradually forming lines. Franny spat the last of the water out and hurried over to the nearest line of women that had formed. Finally, the door to the hold opened, fresh air whooshed in to greet them along with 5 large men brandishing guns. The men with guns all began yelling and threatening, two of them came over to the lines of women and ordered them to fall behind the others as they exited. She fidgeted as she waited her turn to get outside; it suddenly seemed unbearably warm and moist in the hold. She forced herself to look at nothing but the floor as the line slowly moved forward. There was an awfully large amount of trash heaped about and she wondered why the others would leave their belongings behind. A bright red splash on one of the piles, caught her eye, and it reminded her of a pretty scarf she had dared to touch once. She hated to think of someone leaving such a thing behind and desperately wanted to go over and pick it up. She fretted briefly over the consequences but a glimpse of the exit and hint of open air were enough to forget all thoughts of the pretty red.

They moved as a group towards a nearby warehouse where they were allowed to clean up and given fresh tunics and cursory health inspections. Franny was delighted to be clean again and stroked the faded jacket she was wearing and smiled at its soft texture. The women were all wearing clothing similar to hers while the men wore a darker version. They were all given placards to hold that had numbers stenciled on the face and then placed into smaller groups. She traced the number with her finger, silently in awe of what it could mean. She recognized that everyone had a different character but could glean no information from them, everyone else held their placards listlessly as if they were not the mysterious secrets of the ‘Verse. Hours passed as the small groups were taken to another room, never to reappear. Finally, it was her group’s turn. The room was filled with men sitting in bleachers that formed a semicircle. A man standing behind a podium spoke rapidly and called out a number, whereupon one of the women walked out to the center. The speaker blathered on for a few moments before the bidding began. This occurred twice more; each time the person called was led to another door.

The speaker spoke more gibberish and paused, Franny was roughly shoved forward and she stumbled toward the center of the room. Laughter followed the mocking words of the man behind the podium and she frowned in confusion. The bidding began and eventually another man came and led her to the door where the others had gone. It made her sad when her placard was taken, she was ready to pout until a large fierce man came and gestured for her to follow him. She obeyed and found herself in a group of four others who were then shackled to each other. They were all led, blinking and squinting out into the sun, the big man occasionally yanking the chain when their shuffling was slower than he liked.

They were taken to an area behind the port where large storage containers were kept for pickup. He motioned for them to wait and disappeared into the shadows. When he returned he motioned again for her to follow him. They walked through a makeshift tunnel and into a room where four other men lounged. The big one walked over to a smaller man sitting a desk and muttered into his ear, handing over a sheaf of papers to the outstretched hand. Squinty eyes assessed her and she glanced shyly away, looking down at the floor. Footsteps brought the little man to within her peripheral vision and a hand reached out to pick her chin up.

“’Ere, look at me.” She raised her eyes and focused on the odd little bird that adorned his lapel.

“Says ‘ere you don’ tawk. Well, ‘at’s a’ right, they won’t be needin’ conversation outta you where your ‘eadin’. Lemme see your teeth.” She raised her lips in a grimace as she heard footsteps to her right.

“Yes.” He glanced at the big man to her side who turned her around and pushed her back towards the entryway from which she came. He walked casually back to the desk where he had been perusing the latest cortex bulletin. Over the blurb regarding a rogue firefly, spotted pulling illegal salvage from a derelict, was a headline paying homage to the late stage and screen actress, Franny Castenedas, who had died that morning of plastic surgery complications.