"What the ...," he complained, eyebrows knit, mouth twisted.

"Looks like gum," observed a wizened old man with a wild shock of yellow-white hair that was falling into his face. The man reached into a pocket for a thin comb and smoothed it back with a sweeping arc that came full circle and ended with the comb aimed at the director.

Bob Jakus looked at him, foot still poised mid-air.

"And," the man continued. "That is just another indication of the problems we have. No organization. No respect for the rules." He waved his hands, and the comb, around his head.

"Staz," Bob said. "Relax. What's the problem?" Jakus pumped his foot like he was working a bellows, not wanting to spread the goo. He looked around for something to wipe it on.

"Problem? What's the problem? I'll tell you the problem," Staz shook the comb then aimed it behind him toward the customs station. "We're backed up, that's the problem. Nobody has their paperwork for this station, half of the paperwork that is for this station is filled out incorrectly, they are sneaking counterfeit artifacts into the time zone and what's not counterfeit is contraband."

"Work with me here, will you Staz?" Bob asked, still balancing on one foot, still searching for a rag or paper or something to wipe away the goo. "With Epsilon 12, 18 and Delta 63 out of commission, we have to expect some of these things."

"Yeah," Staz said in short staccato tones, nodding. Bob got the feeling he didn't mean it as 'yeah, I'll work with you'.

"No," Staz continued, the nod rotating into a shake. "We don't have to expect these things, they've been in the staging area long enough to follow the directives." Staz pulled a form from another pocket.

"This," he pronounced, "this is an example of what I mean." He shook the paper in Director Jakus's face. "Not one thing correct. Misspellings, incorrect custom declarations, bogus artifacts."

Bob grabbed the paper from his hand. "Let me," he said. He glanced at the form, its questions answered in haste but with no real evidence of subterfuge or deceit. He shook his head. "Staz, we'll just have to let it go, there's not much more we can do right now. Just make sure you record all this stuff in the system."

Staz turned, brushing the director off with a wave of the hand and a bah. Bob swore he heard him mutter something about the system.

"You *are* documenting all this in the system, aren't you?" the Director called out, as Staz disappeared into the station. Bob took the form in his hand and wiped away the goo from his foot.