Free Ethan of Athos by Lois McMaster Bujold

you, do they? What with your being a doctor and all, I mean.”
    Okita's fixed stare was exactly like that of a dead fish, glassily reproachful. Ethan swallowed. “I actually never cared much for that end of the life-cycle,” he explained. “Pathology and anatomy and so forth. That's why I went for Rep work, I guess. It was more, um... hopeful.” He paused a while. His intellect began to crunch on in spite of himself. “/* it hard to get rid of a body on a space station? Can't you just shove it out the nearest airlock, or down an unused lift tube, or something?”
    Her eyes were bright with stimulation. “The airlocks are all monitored. Talcing anything out, even an anonymous bundle, leaves a record in the computers. And it would last forever out there. Same objection applies to chopping it up and putting it down an organics disposer. Eighty or so kilos of high-grade protein leaves too big a blip in the records. Besides, it's been tried. Very famous murder case, a few years back. The lady's still in therapy, I believe. It would definitely be noticed.”
    She flopped down beside him to sit with her chin on her knees, arms wrapped around her boots and flexing, not rest but nervous energy contained. “As for stashing it whole anywhere inside the Station -- well, the safety patrols are nothing compared to the ecology cops. There isn't a cubic centimeter of the Station that doesn't get checked on a regular schedule. You could keep moving it around, but...
    “I think I have a better idea. Yes. Why not? As long as I'm going to commit a crime, let it be a perfect one. Anything worth doing is worth doing well, as Admiral Naismith would say...”
    She rose to make a wandering circuit of the docking bay, selecting bits of equipment with the faintly distracted air of a housekeeper choosing vegetables at the market.
    Ethan lay on the floor in misery, envying Okita, whose troubles were over. He had been on Kline Station, he estimated, just about a day, and had yet to have his first meal. Beaten up, kidnapped, drugged, nearly murdered, and now rapidly becoming accessory-after-the-fact to a crime which if not exactly a murder was surely the next best thing. Galactic life was every bit as bad as anything he had imagined. And he had fallen into the hands of a madwoman, to boot. The Founding Fathers had been right..... “I want to go home,” he moaned.
    “Now, now,” Commander Quinn chided, plunking down a float pallet next to Okita's body and rolling a squat cylindrical shipping canister off it. “That's no way to be, just when my case is showing signs of cracking open at last. You just need a good meal,” she glanced at him, “and about a week in a hospital bed. Afraid I shan't be able to supply that, but as soon as I finish cleaning up here I will take you to a place you can rest a bit while I get the next phase started. All right?”
    She unlatched the shipping canister and, with some difficulty, folded Okita's body into it. “There. That doesn't look too coffin-like, does it?” She made a rapid but thorough pass over the impact area with a sonic scrubber, emptied its receptacle bag in with Okita, hopped the canister back onto the pallet with a hand-tractor, and replaced everything else where she had found it. Lastly, and somewhat mournfully, she collected all the pieces of her stunner.
    “So. That gives the project its first deadline. Pallet and drum must be returned here within eight hours, before the next scheduled docking, or they'll be missed.”
    “Who were those men?” he asked her, as she had him crawl onto the pallet and settle himself for the ride. “They were insane. I mean, everyone I've met here is crazy, but they -- they were talking about bombing Athos's reproduction clinics! Killing all the babies -- maybe killing everyone!”
    “Oh?” she said. “That's a new wrinkle. First I've heard of that scenario. I am extremely sorry I didn't get to listen in on that interrogation, and I hope you will, ah, fill