The flashbang exploded, the hostile slumped, the all-clear sounded. The security door leading to the bridge ground open, and I stepped inside to greet the captain.

I saw something. A movement. Not invisibly fast, but fast enough that in my unprepared state I missed everything apart from its occurrence. But it kept me on guard, when hundreds of combat drills pressured me to stand down in the presence of a job well done.

The captain was dressed in a nondescript Bulk Freight flight suit, a red stripe indicating his rank. The printed squarecode pulled a confirmed identity and valid license. As so many unstructured free-form exercises had taught me, however, it was the less-than-obvious which was critical.

The first thing I noticed – a weapon. He was armed. Secondly, the pose. The man had been sitting facing the door, not the controls. There was a degree of stiffness there too, a remnant of military discipline difficult to bury completely.

I took a step forward to shake his hand.