Goa darts to and fro in the busy roads, causing minor traffic problems, but nothing greater than the irritation of a few fellow cars. It's clear that in his CPU, he's still concentrating on maximum speed from point to point, like he would've back in the day. It'd taken him a while to collect the data -- chatting with a couple of the other soldiers, a hat tip or two from Cubicron -- but he was reasonably sure he was on the right track. The smell of medical credentials was getting ever stronger, the shanties a little less shanty, and finally, he finds his destination, a medical tent in a cranny. Goa pulls up outside, and stops to listen.