Myitt's smile fades a bit, and she purses her lips. "Well," she says, "maybe there is something you can do for us." She clasps her hands in front of her, leaning forward conspiratorially in the big creaky metal chair. "See, we've lost quite a few of our inside people in the last few cycles. People we really needed, on assignment on a couple of Blade Ships in a couple of different posts. One of them was a good friend of mine." Without missing a beat, she continues, "We could make the necessary preparations for you to slip into the role of one of our recently deceased comrades, and before you go and whine about memory dumps, this was a key position. A sub-visser position, and no one but us knows he is dead. So, you're exempt from the memory scanning and genetic imprinting, you walk on board with a very realistic cover story about being our friend's replacement in rank and position with all the papers in order, a cover name and a history."
She clears her throat, gesturing offhandedly. "The only catch is, of course, your host would be far too recognizable. You'd have to leave him behind."
