Temple had never seen a dead man before. Arkalion's heart did not beat. Arkalion had no pulse.
Arkalion was dead.
Yelling hoarsely, Temple plunged from the room, soaring off the floor in his haste and striking his head against the ceiling hard enough to make him see stars. "This guy is dead!" he cried. "Arkalion is dead."
Men stirred in the companionway. Someone called for one of the armed guards who were constantly on patrol.
"If he's dead, you're yelling loud enough to get him out of his grave." The voice was quiet, amused.
Arkalion.
"What?" Temple blurted, whirling around and striking his head again. A little wild-eyed, he re-entered the room.
"Now, who is dead, Kit?" demanded Arkalion, sitting up and stretching comfortably.
"Who—is dead? Who—?" Open-mouthed, Temple stared.
A guard, completely at home with weightlessness, entered the cubicle briskly. "What's the trouble in here? Something about a dead man, they said."