“Agreed, Marae. Everyone should get another check up, even if they didn’t go into the Cradle last night.” Freyr slurped her coffee, sitting on an unoccupied edge of the big middle table. “I felt very peculiar after coming out. Did you feel the same, Dr Wetherall?” The old man shrugged from behind Freyr, on the other side of the table. He was attacking a bowl of ramen with particular gusto. “About the same, I suppose. A bit tired. Achy.”

“Ok. Do we have any facilities on hand right now?”

“There’s a med-clinic on the floor below, I think.” Dr Dlamini offered.

“That could work. Did we manage to bring any of our own scanner gear with us?”

“No clue. We leave in rush - these boys in black packed everything strangely.” Dr Apalkov boomed, motioning to one of the two OCI operators currently guarding the door.

Freyr looked at the lead Rothians assembled nearby. “What do you think Rareth could get a hold of?” She instinctively looked around for the Agent, who would’ve been staring daggers at the mention of Rothian aid. But she wasn’t here. Freyr didn’t know whether to feel elated or worried by that.