"Gentlemen." He clicked his heels. "The situation is?" He had no patience with ceremony. It wasted time.

"Static, Commander. The Traveler was brought to dock and locked in, per directive. STASIS seals were placed, quarantine was established. Not an electronic whisper has escaped. We awaited your arrival before proceeding."

"Satisfactory. WarAvocat will be pleased. Let's examine this Traveler that spits mythical aliens."

"Mythical, Commander?"

"Legendary and extinct, if you prefer. Probe showed the pod occupied by a krekelen shapechanger."

"But that's..."

"Exactly. Impossible. Yes. Soldiers are searching Cholot Varagona now. We'll have the thing soon. Then we'll see if it's genuine." Third WatchMaster continued to scan the dock, struggling with discomfort. He had not been off VII Gemina in too long. He had forgotten how mongrelized Canon space had become.

The Station Master sensed and misinterpreted his malaise. "Pardon the confusion and gawking, Commander. We see your people so seldom, curiosity tends to cause chaos dockside."

Third WatchMaster loosed a dry chuckle. "Diplomatically said, Station Master."

Station Traffic had brought VII Gemina's courier gig in four bays from the Cholot Traveler. The walk was shorter than Third WatchMaster's daily trek to his station in Hall of the Watchers. It gave him no time to regain his equilibrium.

The quarantined dockhead was properly sealed and cordoned. Third WatchMaster overheard onlookers discussing his party.

"Bunch of bloody zombies."

"Think if one of them smiled, his face would break?"

Third WatchMaster looked at the man. He flushed, lost interest, hurried away.

The STASIS Director returned the comm to its cradle. "They're going to open up now."