An office’s worth of tests run by a fleet of the CSC’s most talented doctors, and Toussaint still wasn’t sure what to make of her. Or Besca, for that matter. Modium tumors on the brain were rare, and unfailingly fatal almost as soon as they appeared. By all rights, Quinn should have been a corpse inside a containment casket bound for Illun’s hottest crematorium. No one with a pulse should have been within a hundred feet of her without a turducken of hazmat suits. 

Inert. Ridiculous. modium had been as lethal to humanity as the Modir—more, depending on who you listened to. But, even if he didn’t believe she’d had this growth for so long, the fact was, even if she’d suddenly sprouted it the second they ran their scans, she’d have been dead before they finished. Either it was inert, or it wasn’t modium. In either case, she wasn’t dangerous. For now. 

“Hm,” he sighed, then stepped aside and opened the door for her. “Just…alert us if anything changes. If you feel ill, or…I don’t know, [i]anything[/i]. And really, I don’t know if Commander Darroh put you up to it, but, no more secrets. We’re allies, Ms. Loughvein.”

The hallway had slowly repopulated while she waited, everything seemed on its way back to normal. Toussaint had clearly made sure to keep the details of the incident under wraps, and aside from a few stray looks, the personnel all went on with their busy schedules. Quinn took the lift down, and on the way the alien thoughts stirred. It wasn’t discomfort, and it wasn’t urgent danger, it was more…excitement. 

The doors opened and Quinn emerged into the cathedralesque expanse of the Ange’s hangar. The Saviors all stood in their alcoves, encased in scaffolds and walkways, flanked by platforms rife with all kinds of equipment. [i]Spectre[/i] and [i]Enavant[/i] were housed next to one another, and on the opposite side, beside [i]Foudre[/i], was the familiar sight of [i]Ablaze[/i]. 

There were twice as many techs scurrying about her Savior than any of the others, especially around its head. Every last one of them wore a pale-blue hazard suit, even the ones on the platforms around it. They prodded [i]Ablaze[/i]’s flesh, took scrapings from its modium plating, sampled saliva from its gums. Mostly, though, they clustered around its face, dividing themselves between its eyes in clusters of loud curiosity. 

All except for one at the bottom, who wore a hazard suit as well, only it wasn’t blue. It was bright orange. They turned, like they’d sensed her, and despite that they were entirely obscured, they became obviously and incredibly excited.

“[color=f26522]Quinn! Hey![/color]” came the muffled, but familiar voice as jogged over, suit squeaking with every step. “[color=f26522]Quinn! Uhm! It’s me—it’s Tillie! Commander Darroh sent me over to be our tech liaison! [i]Me![/i] Can you believe it? I get to work on the Ange with you![/color]”