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Lips puckered and eyes flitting, pensive; Tourmaline couldn't gravitate to that sense of soldierly stoicism. It's hardly 'investigating' when the threat's already determinable, for you're aware the war's concluded— she ceased. It was superfluous, as her Quartz companion stalked towards that voluminous light down the hall.
Tourmaline stalled in the chamber. A low hum of activity was, internally, obstructive to the voices within the temple. The technician registered only a suffusion of solid hue, a radiant color of which both walls and floors consisted. The result was an open room that felt claustrophobic. A vacant space with a single module, just off-center, betraying that sotto voce of underlying technical working. Betraying what she knew about Homeworld infrastructural tech.
A pundit overwhelmed with fresh wonder and a terrific anxiety, Tourmaline hovered to the control panel jutting from the floor. "As usual." She matched the palm profile with her own, Hand Robonoid suspended over top, a few-inches distance retained with care. "Do you require authorization, little one?" in a soft, goading voice.
To attempt a scan so soon after the first had failed — it took no part of wisdom to be an intellectual. But Tourmaline knew to brace, all the same, unprepared for how whichever iteration of engineering she had would react in the midst.
All the same, she had an inkling there was fortune to reap from risking.