Inspectors

“Docking procedures complete, initiating clamp-down,” Junk said. Byrnhildr, my starship. latched onto a docking bay on the outside of the fourth ring of Terminus IV, settling in with a weighty clunk. Junk was an excellent pilot, even if he was a bit of an asshole.

I stretched, standing from the pilot seat. Now that I knew I was in a different body, I began noticing things I had not before. I was taller, and roped with muscle I never had on Earth, my shoulders were wider, as were my hips. My hand unconsciously went to my face again, but I caught myself and shook my head to clear it.

“Can you tell me anything about this station?” I asked.

“Certainly. I have already made contact with the central station AI and trawled the computer banks for information. Terminus IV is a manufactury and mining station orbiting the largest gas giant in the system. We are presently located 238.1 light years from the central systems. Terminus IV itself has a population of—“

“Okay okay, not what I really wanted,” I sighed. “I mean, what should I do now? Where do I go to collect the bounties, or sell the ship?”

“Your first step will be a ship inspection. You should know, the inspectors are already on their way now. Afterward, I have reason to believe you will be taken into custody for questioning, considering your logs are empty. I predict you will be released prior to the end of day operations,” Junk said, and I caught a hint of scorn in his tone.

“Great, I just got here and I’m already being arrested. Is there anything I should know about the process?” I asked.

“Your best option would be to present yourself as a mercenary or star seeker,” Junk said. “Both are acceptable roles in society for someone of low standing, and would help explain your powerful ship. If you tell them you went off course during a jump and landed nearby with fried memory banks, they very well may believe you—that happens from time to time when passing through dense electromagnetic fields, like those found near Neutron stars.”

“Got it, anything else?”

“The Byrnhildr will need maintenance,” Junk said. “In your indecisive idiocy, we took a glancing blow that took a piece out of the ablative armor.”

“My what now?” I shot back. “I’m certain now, you are definitely being snarky on purpose.”

“Of course not, Captain. I am merely an adaptive AI, I could never be on your level of intellect.”

“Such an asshole,” I said, and waved him off. “Whatever. Are there any fresh clothes around here? I’d like to change before I go to the slammer for the day.”

“Check the captain’s quarters,” Junk said. “Not that fresh clothes will improve your standing. Pigs and lipstick and whatnot.”

I rolled my eyes, and climbed the steps into the isolated captain’s quarters. It was a larger room than the four other bedrooms, with furniture to match—a bed, a wardrobe, a writing desk, and a couch.

I pulled open the drawers on the wardrobe, and selected some fresh clothes. It was not fancy fare, just a pair of black jeans, a green T-shirt, and a black bomber jacket, but I instantly felt better in clean clothing.

“Hey Junk, what do I do with the dirty laundry?”

“There is a laundry chute in each bedroom. The ship will automatically wash, press, and fold everything at the end of each day.”

“Wonderful,” I said, and located the hatch, tossing my clothes in.

“Warning, the inspectors have arrived,” Junk said.

“Got it,” I said right as I heard a banging on the hatch inside the cockpit.

*****

The ‘inspectors’ looked more like hardened soldiers. There were two of them, clad in bulky silver power armor that covered everything except what their clear visors showed. The added height of their gear made them tower over me, and their boots made soft clinking noises on the metal floor. One of them, a woman with short cropped blonde hair, glared at me

“Are you the pilot of this ship?” She asked, her voice modulated through her helmet.

“I am,” I said. “My name is Gerhardt, and my ship is Byrnhildr.”

“I must ask you to come with me,” she said. “We have some questions for you.”

“What’s with the robocop getup?” I asked, cracking a smile.

“What is a robocop?” The other soldier asked. He was a man with a shiny bald head, and severe eyebrows.

“Never mind. May I ask what this is about?” I asked.

“Just come along,” the woman said in a tone that threatened immediate violence if I did not comply.

Jeez. Cops.

Our docking bay was on the third ring of Terminus IV. People in garish orange vests busied themselves loading and unloading cargo, inspecting goods, and doing spot repairs on the dozens of ships attached to the side of the station. A pale blue, semi-transparent force field closed off the loading areas from the vacuum of space, keeping the oxygen in while allowing ships to enter and exit. I did not see the shielding from the outside, and wondered if it was invisible from space.

The soldiers led me through the fray, past a gargantuan blast door that connected the docking bay to the rest of the ring, and into an office building set into the steel framework of the ring itself. Inside was a long, low-ceiling corridor with doors lining either wall.

“Where are we?” I asked.

The man glanced back at me, then continued walking. “These are the offices for traffic control, inspections, and visas,” he said.

“This one,” the woman said, and opened a door, gesturing me to go inside. “Don’t cause trouble, we’re right outside.”

“Yeah, thanks,” I said, and rolled my eyes.

The room inside was an eclectic mix of familiar and foreign. At first blush, it was like any office on Earth—a desk, a computer, an office chair, all the trappings of soul crushing bureaucracy. But it was not identical. A humanoid robot busied itself sweeping the floors, the skull of some unidentifiable monstrosity hung on the wall like a hunting trophy, and a tiny holoprojector on the desk showed video of a Japanese-style idol dancing on repeat.

I settled into one of the two chairs on the client side of the desk, and resigned myself to waiting. “I guess government offices are the same everywhere,” I said, and looked up at the ceiling in annoyance.

“Ah you must be the one who came in with a pirate pirate ship,” a young man said, entering the room with an armful of datapads. He had a badge on his left breast that said ‘TermSec,’ which I assumed stood for Terminus Security.

“Yes, my name is Gerhardt,” I said, and gave him a polite wave.

“Good good, a polite one for once,” he said, and sat down, leaning back like he had nowhere else to be. “Now tell me, what are you doing on my station?”

I had not expected the interrogation to be so casual, and it caught me off guard for a moment. Then, I recounted the lie Junk had formulated for me, adding in that I was suffering from some sort of amnesia as I could not remember where I had been before. The security officer stared at my face for a long moment, then smiled.

“You’re lying,” he said. “And you’re good at it. Of course, I can’t prove you're lying, but I’ve interrogated enough people to see through things like that. Now, be honest with me, are you here to cause trouble?”

I blinked at his words, and shook my head. “Of course not.”

“Good. We get all types here in Terminus, and I don’t really care if you’re lying about your history—mercenaries often do. You military dropouts types have served your terms and can’t find work elsewhere. We’ve come to expect some rowdy behavior from your kind, lying included. But let me warn you, make one wrong step and I’ll be up your ass so fast you won’t have time to fart. Understood?”

I nodded once, and he waved me away. “Your logs indicate the first thing you did in this system was take down a couple of really mean pirates. You can collect your bounties on them from Central at your leisure.”

“Is that all?” I asked. “I expected—“

“Let me guess, you thought I’d arrest you, make your life a little uncomfortable for a few hours, and when I got nothing from interrogating you, I’d let you go?”

“Well, uh, yes,” I said, feeling stunned.

“Yeah, not gonna waste my time. Don’t cause trouble and you won’t ever see me again.”