"I'll try not to feel mildly insulted Mr. Tinker." Maddox smiled.

De Coursey was enough of a natural show-off not to have been too fazed by the unexpected - and meticulously planned - attention that their landing had attracted. Also, he was realistic enough not to be too disgruntled at the unimpressive size of his "spike" compared to his more dashing looking male companions or their pretty space-lady.

However, something was making him frown.

"Say, it's not all about money though, is it Mr Tinker? You said something to us up on the ship that implied that there's a political angle to this racket, too. Am I right?" he asked between sips of something half bitter, half sweet, and incredibly alcoholic.

It was one thing appearing on a few vid casts and maybe making a few extra bucks for a private company (although there were rules and regulations on that buried deep within some dusty Starfleet manual) - but if their "spikes" meant rocking the political balance of a civilization, even that of a non-federated planet, then they were straying into waters not entirely safe.

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