Star Wars_ MedStar 02_ Jedi Healer - Michael Reaves [86]
He held it so the man could see it clearly. “Do you recognize this?”
“Y-y-y—”
“Good,” Kaird said, cutting him off. “I have a transmitter for the detonator that has a range of two hundred kilometers.” He produced a small device, held it up, then pocketed it again. “If, as I leave in the stolen ship—yes, I am stealing it—anything awry happens with the codes you give me, and I mean anything at all—then I will trigger this.” He stood, moved to the holoprojector, and set the thermal bomb on top of the device.
Bogan had begun sweating, which was good.
“Now, I know you’re a pilot and thus a brave fellow, Bogan, and probably not afraid to die yourself,” he said. “But your Twi’lek Strag mate here is an innocent non-combatant. You wouldn’t want her to be turned into bloody paste now, would you?”
“N-no…”
“Well, then, we’re in accord. The codes?”
After Bogan had spoken the words and numbers aloud—a long and slow process—“Mont Shomu” took several of the couch cushions and used them to prop the boneless couple up and against each other, so that they were looking at the holoproj. He wiped the sweat from Bogan’s face. “Enjoy the match. I’ve set the projector to repeat, so you won’t get bored—at least, not for the first dozen or so times.” Kaird bowed slightly, then exited.
He could have killed them outright, of course, and there were many in his profession who would have done so without a second thought. Nor would it have bothered him particularly to do so; he had sent more than his share of people back to the Cosmic Egg in his time, so two more would hardly affect the total very much. But there were reasons not to kill them. First off, nobody had paid him to do so; second, it wasn’t necessary. The two were out of commission, inside a locked kiosk, and by the time anybody missed them, Kaird would be long gone. They had no idea he was a Nediji, and the fat human they had met would be recycled synthflesh in a few minutes. He’d made sure there were no currents leading to his nest.
He grinned inside his disguise. Actually, the thermal detonator was a trainer—mechanically and electrically identical to a live grenade, but without an explosive charge, and thus harmless. The “transmitter” he had waved at Bogan was a personal featherette groomer. As far as Kaird knew, there weren’t any handheld transmitters that size with a range anywhere near two hundred klicks. More importantly, if the codes didn’t work and he was somehow captured, he certainly didn’t want to be brought back to answer charges of intentional murder. They’d jam him into the brig for stealing a ship, of course, but that wasn’t a death-sentence crime, even for stealing an admiral’s rig during a war. Eventually, Black Sun would send somebody to find out what had happened to him, and they would get him released. A wartime tribunal that found him guilty of murder, on the other hand, would have him cooked and recycled long before Black Sun even began to wonder where he was.
In addition, there was the matter of that former MedStar admiral he had taken out, the Sakiyan Tarnisse Bleyd, and it wouldn’t do at all for them to be prying into his brain and discover that. But even in war, there were rules, and brain scans were not supposed to happen without proper authorizations. If it did come to that, it would be better to shut himself down than talk, Kaird knew, since he’d be dead either way, and doing it himself would be quick and painless—which was not at all how it would be if Black Sun was unhappy and involved.
The best plan was, of course, to not get caught.
Kaird headed for a ’fresher to lose the last of the heavy human suits. And good riddance. Mont Shomu, like Hunandin the Kubaz, had served him well, but he was quite happy not to have to wear the heavy disguise again. He wondered how humans who really did carry that much extra fatty tissue functioned. As far as Kaird was concerned, he’d rather be plucked and roasted over a slow fire.
Jos was as angry