The programmer brings up a long series of three-dimensional data displays on the holotank. "It doesn't make any sense," you mutter, your eyes fixed on the tank.
A soft pop interrupts your thoughts. You turn to see the chief and the programmer, unconscious on the floor. You look up into the muzzle of a laser pistol. The four technicians have you surrounded.
"Enough of your snooping," snorts the Yazirian.