Mike Barnes knew that something was up, the moment the courier ship attached itself to the base. The light for the airtight look changed from its normal green color, to a blue color, indicating that the inner portion not only was already under pressure, but that it had occupants. Waiting for him, it would seem.

Normally most of Mike’s job was over as soon as his ship exited FTL, and returned to normal space. Most of his cargo was in fact electronic in nature. Email, software updates, fleet bulletins. As such, his AI would immediately start transmitting the data, as soon as it made a secure link with the AI at his destination. Long before he either made landfall, or like today, connection with the in orbit station, all his cargo would be gone. The same way, he would only really receive his outgoing payload minutes before he exited the system. The few physical items he carried, mostly exceptionally small and light items, that could not be easily duplicated by local replicators, would be unloaded and unloaded, while he took is his recommended break off ship.

In fact, if it wasn’t for resupplying his perishables, like fuel, air, water and food, Mike probably wouldn’t land at all. The Fast Courier “Haflinger” was built for speed, and all other considerations were simple not considered. She was not a cargo ship, just a courier. His “Haflinger” carried the least amount of perishable required for any trip, with a small safety margin in case of unusual delays. That, and the recognition that even fairly anti-social individuals like himself, needed to get outside the metal walls once in a while, was the only reason the ship ever stopped moving.

Most courier pilots would rarely ever leave their ships, when docked. They were notorious for this. Mike knew he was unusual from unusual group, that he always left his ship. It wasn’t that he liked to be a tourist. The 12 systems that made up his EarthSat run had become routine for him. He had other tasks outside the look of his AI.

It looked like that might be up though.

He took his time running through the required shut down procedure, before allowing his guest on board. He was in every sense of the word, the Captain and Master of his ship while it was underway. He was pilot, engineer, navigator, communications officer and purser. The fact that his AI automated almost all his task, did not release him from his responsibilities. If the AI was knocked out, a rare occurrence, but it happened, he had to not only do every job himself, he had repair every item too. Besides not requiring others in their lives, courier pilots were picked for their OCD tendencies. The “Haflinger” may have been small, but her, and her sister ships of the “Pony” class, were expensive. Their pilots were a rare, if strange, breed.

This might be why the ships were name after horse breeds.

His responsibilities all changed the moment the ship went to sleep, and he opened the hatch. As an inactive ship, all responsibility switched to the local commander and the local AI. There were legal and historical reasons for this, but had been told, it was mostly for his benefit, so he could relax during his R&R. Mike was sure that the head shrinker did not realize how most Pilots hated their loss of control, when they were docked.

However, he could not put it off forever. “Halfie, the board is green, complete shut down sequence. You have my permission to open the front hatch.”

“Affirmative, Lt.” The change of his title from Captain to Lieutenant Indicated his changed status. “I have 3 passengers entering the ship. Base sensor indicate another one is entering the airlock to board”

“Thank you, Halfie”. Ship AI for couriers were often simple given the name of the ship, but Mike found the name “Haflinger” to be too mouthy. Halfie was his partner in most things, as was intimately aware of all parts of his life. Almost all, that is.

“Who are they?”

““Commander Hall and two marines.” Great, his boss, and a pair of muscleman. This was not good. His ship was not large, they would be at his CNC in a moment. He would rather they meet him here, than in the airlock area. That, the engine room (usually sealed), the med lab (currently filled) and his quarters (also occupied) were all his ship had.

He hoped he still had it by the end of the day.

The senior marine yelled “Attention”, as the trio entered the CNC. That made this an official visit, if not an out right inspection. Mike was already standing, but he straighten himself into a stiffer posture. Commander Hall was prior US Army himself, even though now he was now a Navy officer in the Confederacy. The Commander was responsible for the courier ships in this sector, and would often move between bases. The courier pilots liked his attention to detail, as a group they approved of OCD in others, but generally didn’t like his personally. He had a stick up his tubes. The fact he as here at this orbital base was not unusual, but the fact he was meeting Mike on ship was.

“Sir”, Mike acknowledge, and then waited for his superior to speak.

Hall didn’t not reply in formal greeting, but instead went straight into informal speech, as sure sign of trouble.

“Where is it, Barnes?” Hall had gone for standard Marine body shape, and towered over Mike. “It would go a lot easier on you, if you just admit what you done, rather than having these two gentleman tear apart the ship.” The former MP gave Mike a fake concerned look. “They will find it. And then I will be madder.”

“Sir?” Mike stalled with his questioning tone.

“I am not sure how you are hiding it from your AI, but I know a smart officer like you must have found ways. WHERE IS IT?”

He must think I am smuggling contraband like drugs or something, Mike thought to himself.

“Sir, I do not know what you are looking for. I do not have anything hidden on this ship.” Very true.

Hall looked skeptical at Mike’s innocent expression. “I would believe that, if I hadn’t seen your quarters back at the sector base.” Uh, oh. “I guess you didn’t hear about the maintenance that was being done there. Your pod had to be physically entered to the hardware update, and they called me when they found your stash.” Halls mouth turned into a more evil grin.

Mike swore to himself. Though there was nothing against all the trade goods he had stored there. He had to store them someplace. Nothing there was against regulations, but it must have looked like a treasure vault when opened. There was no way a courier pilot could accumulate what he had, without breaking regs.

Due to the nature of his duties as a courier, he had more contacts out with the fleet than most volunteers. That, combined with his monthly stop at Earth, gave courier access to resources not available to most fleet officers. HQ recognized that a certain amount of trading was going to happen. They thought it was good that someone was filling minor needs, so they allowed it, with the requirement that all items transported had to be registered.

Mike never did that.

Hall was on the wrong track. If Mike made him mad, and he didn’t find anything, he would stay fixated. And Mike would be safe. Well, as safe as anyone is, when you piss off your boss. Playing dumb and innocent was still his best choice.

“Sir, the ship AI can show that I have not smuggled any items. You will not be able to find anything on this ship.” He gave the Commander a slight smile. “You can try.”

If he kept Hall here, yelling at him, while the Marine searched the ship, the Marines might not notice what he was doing. He would deal with the fallout later.

Whatever reaction Hall had to this challenge was stopped by the chuckle heard at the entrance of the CNC. Neither officer, nor the marines, had notice the shorter man who now stepped onto the deck. Tribune Hinata was originally from Japan, and had not modified his original body. You did not underestimate this small man. The Tribune was not Navy nor Marine, but he was two ranks higher than Hall. And he was known to use that rank, when needed.