It had been mere minutes since Kezal left Rainman and he was already tempted to call it quits. It was not because the task was hard; it just required him to check the paperwork and if necessary, bring up relevant or extra details on his visor. A cakewalk compared to actual police work, but much more tedious. Kezal swore he could feel his brain slowly shutting down, synapse by synapse, as he flipped through paperwork care after crate. It was a wonder how the personnel working in the cargo bay were not all comatose from this lack of mental exercise, and Kezal found himself respecting them a little bit more.

Most of the crates contained the usual items: Food, water, construction materials and other basic necessities. Whether they actually contained those items were a whole other matter, but until Kezal found sufficient evidence to support the idea that there was a contraband AI on board the station, he was unwilling to lock down the entire cargo bay and have the crew start opening every crate. He had already laid out just what would make him take that action. A mismatch in the location of origin between the physical and digital logistic papers were usually a good indicator that something was amiss, or a large crate for an object that could otherwise be transported via soft packaging.

He heard Rainman call for him. Thanking his ancestors for the chance to stop his repetitive task, he rushed towards the worker. "What is-" He began, but then immediately saw the reason for his presence. In the long, oddly-shaped crate directly in front of them laid a human body. It was quite obviously a she, completely nude and was either dead or in a drug-induced or cryogenic sleep. "[i]Vaskrin mak zihal![/i]" Keval swore in his native tongue, thankful that the translator had declined to translate that particularly rude and vulgar phrase. He sprang into action immediately, kneeling down and placing a finger to the woman's neck. He pumped the sensitivity in his gloves to maximum, and even then he could barely feel a pulse. "Alive, but barely."

He stood back up, returning the sensitivity settings to normal levels. "Rainman, I want all paperwork related to this crate." He said quickly. Trafficking was as bad as a crime got. With drugs and arms smuggling, it usually just involved throwing the offending items off the station and looking for the person who had decided to bring them into the station. When it came to living things, it became more complicated. No one would attempt to smuggle in a person for the fun of it. It was expensive and required plenty of help both inside and outside. Last but not least, the station was still under construction. It was incredibly weird for someone to put so much effort into smuggling a person onto a station that was still not fully operational and had only a population of only a couple dozen people.

"Someone lock this damn place down! I want every crate of a similar make and shape to be opened and inspected!" Kezal barked. "On authority of Sergeant Kezal Vazarik'Sikalaz, Station Security division!"

He looked back down at the woman. "Rainman, see if your boys can get her out of that crate. Don't do anything too rough. We don't know about her physical condition yet. She could be falling to pieces for all we know." He said, then looked at the rest of the workers. "And someone bring that surgeon, doctor Blake, down here!"