Star Wars_ MedStar 01_ Battle Surgeons - Michael Reaves [44]
That next part would be a bit trickier, because on this vessel, everyone knew who Admiral Bleyd was-by sight, or, if not blessed with that sense, then by smell, taste, touch, or hearing. In order to continue his plan, Bleyd had to be disguised.
He had pondered this aspect at some length, and had i decided that a simple disguise was better than an elabo-rate one.
He returned to his quarters. There he packed into a small case a long, white robe, hooded with an osmotic veil that would completely conceal his features. The robe was identical to the ones worn by a meditative] caste of siblings-in-service called The Silent. There were usually a few of The Silent to be found on any large medical ship, since the order’s universal mission was to aid the sick and injured. They did not speak aloud, even to each other. They took their meals in private and wore their hoods up in public, effectively hiding their identi-ties at all times. A few days ago Bleyd had surrepti-tiously caused microtransmitters to be placed in their food-tiny devices no larger than grains of sand, which enabled him to track those few of The Silent who were on board, at least for a while. He would not run into one of them by accident, and no one else would be able to sense who was under the ersatz robe.
The refresher next to the library was empty, and it | was one that was not covered by surveillance cams. Ad-miral Bleyd entered the ’fresher; it was a nameless, face-less member of The Silent who emerged.
None of the people he passed on the way to the star-board docking bay did more than nod or smile at him, and he, of course, did not speak. He walked in a slight i stoop, aware that he was taller than most of the robed ones he had seen on the ship.
The Silent would not have the codes, nor the keycards for security doors that were locked, but Admiral Bleyd did. That part could be adjusted later-all traces of those security recordings would have to be altered or erased, leaving nothing that even the most diligent search might uncover. But there would be no such search, because there would be no reason for it. A per-son might remember one of The Silent passing through these doors, but it was unlikely in the extreme that any-body would ever ask about it. And even if someone did, there would be no way to connect that shrouded figure to Bleyd. He was covered.
He smiled at that thought as he strolled, unhurried, about his task. He was covered, wasn’t he? The osmotic veil passed air freely, and allowed him an unimpeded view, but no one could see his face. It was pleasant. He found himself rather enjoying the novelty of being anonymous.
Mathal had been directed to park his small KDY Star-spin in the darkest, least-used corner of the subflight deck, where a light had burned out only moments be-fore, courtesy of a tiny timer that had, not coinciden-tally, vaporized with the electrical flare that killed the lamp. The ship had been precleared-on the admiral’s orders-to leave at any time.
Bleyd smiled again as he approached the vessel. Yes, he had thought of everything. The key to a successful hunt was proper preparation. If you knew your destina-tion before you took the first step, you saved yourself endless amounts of grief.
Once in the ship, he informed the controllers that he wished to depart, and was granted immediate clearance.
He taxied the vessel through the double sets of pressure doors and onto the launch pad, waited for the green lights, and put the craft into space.
Now came the hard part.
Timing was of the essence, if he was to pull this off. He looped under the multistoried keel of the medical frigate and headed aft, staying close enough to the hull so that the sensors couldn’t see him. He rocketed past a few open portholes and smiled; anybody looking out would likely have gotten a sudden and considerable fright as he blew by them almost close enough to touch. In theory, however, that was good. If anyone