"Only major heresy," Sulen says, gesturing at the mothling. Then they slam the.... uh... thing with the data [cube? disk? lokwor? if this was mentioned I'm sorry I'm an idiot] down on the probably-not-cloudwood desk, and stifles a wince when the meditation focus falls over. "One of your scientists is using alien creatures to destabilize the local calendar. With the collaboration of your magistrate. What we haven't determined yet is your level of complicity." They lean over the desk, eyes burning gold.