The agent's screams had long since failed, leaving only a stifling quiet that hovered over the hallway outside the surgery. Nearly an hour passed since a crowd of medical staff wheeled in the injured man, who had moaned and cried the entire way despite their attempts to calm him. There had been a lot of bloodstained gauze and at least two of the medics had been applying pressure to wounds to try and stem the bleeding.  Some blood had fallen onto the immaculate tiled floor in the hall and now it was little more than cold brown gel.

 Officer Rufus Rene stared at it blankly, his minding running through the last hour repeatedly.  It wasn't the first time he had witnessed such scenes. Nor would it be his last. Neither of those two facts made it any easier to bear.

The chair he sat on was made out of cheap plastic, the kind that wobbled and squeaked every time he shifted his weight. It was far from comfortable, yet he resisted the urge to get up and walk around. Instead he leaned forward and clasped his hand between his knees while he waited. 

The man in surgery was Eric Hale. His operative name as an Embassy agent was Dev. Eric hadn't been an Agent for long, but he'd already become known for his easy grin and friendly personality. Eric was also, Rufus remembered fondly, unafraid of playing pranks on anyone that he felt deserved it. Even Rufus himself hadn't escaped the man's mischievous games. Whatever he did, it was impossible to get mad at the man; it was all in good-natured fun and it went a far way to lighten the often tense atmosphere amongst the Agents.  He was one of those rare gems amidst a sea of coal.

 And now, Rufus thought grimly, he might just have crushed that gem into dust.

 The door to the surgery opened. Dr. Gentt stepped out, wiping his hands with a paper towel. He was an older gentlemen in his fifties with kind eyes and a large nose. His hair was still mostly chestnut, giving the impression that he was ten years younger than he actually was. Though today, exhaustion made the lines in his face appear deeper, and with the dark bags beneath his eyes he looked every bit his age.

  Rufus only needed to look at Gentt's face to know. He closed eyes and exhaled softly. 

"He was a good lad," he said quietly.

Gentt said nothing. He only walked over and dropped a hand onto Rufus shoulder. It was heavy, that hand, yet it was warm and gentle. For a while, they remained  where they were in a heavy silence. It wasn't until the staccato sound of a woman's footsteps echoed down the hall that Gentt finally pulled away.

"It's  not your fault," he said gruffly. Then he left, walking down the hall with slow, tired steps.

 Not his fault? Rene scoffed. That was a lie. He was the one who had sent Eric to his death. Even though he had known the risks, he had given the orders and Eric had obeyed them. This young man's blood was upon his hands. 

 It was now the third life he'd ruined in the past ten days. Possibly the fourth, but that remained to be seen.  His eye caught that little brown splotch on the floor. A weight seemed to shift about in his chest. It had been there for a long time, but now it seemed to grow just a bit heavier. I'm sorry, he thought. I'm so sorry.

"Sir?"

 Lifting his gaze, he saw Yessa. She was one of the secretarial staff who worked on the main floor. In her lower twenties, she was one of the youngest amongst the main floor staff, but she was far more mature than her age.

 "What is it, Yessa?" Rufus asked. He rubbed his eyes, taking a brief moment to gather himself together. Then he rose from the chair, wincing as his body both rejoiced and complained at being freed from the plastic prison.

 The young woman hesitated just a fraction before she handed over the small tablet she had tucked under her arm. "Another request for a duel, sir."

 Rufus felt like his breath was sucked right out of him.  Yet he managed to keep his composure. "Who is it this time?"

 Yessa looked troubled. "A Noble. But ... not any of the ones we know. He called himself a Sanri."

 "Sanri?" Rufus glanced down at the tablet. It showed a picture of a Sigari male with long silver-white hair that flowed over his shoulders like liquid silk. The eyes, which were the shade of liquid mercury, seemed to pierce right through his own. His face was impossibly smooth and shaped in a way that only could have been sculpted by an artist who spent years trying to create perfection. It was a eerie, alien face that was too cold, too perfect to be human.  And even though Rufus had seen hundreds of Sigari faces by now, he still couldn't suppress a cold shudder.

 He forced himself to look away, and returned the tablet to Yessa. "That's a Noble all right. And a Sanri.... why have they chosen now to come forward? Of all times to ...." he cut himself and shook his head, aware that she was observing him closely.   "Did he say why he wanted a duel?"

 "Yes." She carefully tucked the tablet back under an arm. A shy creature, she glanced at his face then quickly averted her eyes. "It seems like a couple of teenaged humans snuck onto the reserve during the night. One of the Sanri discovered them, and the humans picked a fight. The Sanri ... was beaten badly and is now in a coma. They're not sure if he'll even wake up."

 Rufus sighed. "That's pretty bad. No wonder they want a duel. What happened to the teenagers?"

 "We've got them custody. We're trying to identify who they are, but for now ..." She made a little shrug. Then she glanced up once more. "Sir?"

 "Hm?"

 "They  . . . wanted to schedule a duel today. For this afternoon. I um . . .  I accepted. Is that okay?" She looked positively nervous, and Rufus suspected that she had put two and two together and had an inkling about the situation they were now in. Smart girl.

 He bit back the curse that threatened to break free and rubbed his jaw instead, taking a moment to think. There had been no time over the past two days for him to even think about shaving, so his chin was rough with stubble. He absently made a mental note to take care of that - as an Officer, it wouldn't do anyone any good if he appeared unkempt.   

 "No, you acted correctly," he told her. They had no other option but to concede with the Noble's demands anyway. Especially when they were reasonable, which this one was.  But there was still a problem.  "The only duellist we have conscious is Hal," he mused aloud. "Though he's in no condition to fight."

 "Isn't there anyone else?" Yessa asked in her soft voice.  "Maybe from the other Embassies?"

 Rufus almost smiled at her. She was a sweet girl, one who was a lot like his own daughter in her eagerness to be helpful.   "No. There's procedures to follow and I doubt they'll lend us one of their own in such a short time. We need to find someone local."

 "Oh," she seemed to catch on. "Another agent then?"

 "Hmm.  Yessa, can you bring up employee records on your tablet for me?"

 "I think so," she drew it from beneath her arm. "But I don't have access to-"

 "I'll give you the codes." He moved beside her so he could see the screen. "What we're looking for is someone who has a strong martial skill set. Also, they'll need to have basic understanding of the Sigari culture. It won't work if they go and offend them before the duel even starts." He sighed. "This isn't going to be easy..."

 "We've got four hours, sir," she pointed out. Then she pushed her thick-rimmed glasses up on her nose and smiled hesitantly. "But we'll find someone."

 He hoped so. Because right now, with two of their duellists dead and two others in the ICU ward, they were fast running out of options. 

***

Gabriel stared at his computer screen, though he didn't really see what it displayed. One hand tapped idly on the mouse, the other propped up his chin.  There was quite the large stack of paperwork in his inbox, along with the random new email popping up every now and then, yet he didn't feel particularly motivated to deal with any of it.

It was Friday afternoon. No one wanted to actually work in the office on Friday afternoons. That meant the boss was out for the rest of the day and the remaining three of them were left to their own devices. 

 Lydia currently stood by his desk,  chatting to the balding man in the next workstation over. She was a mess of fire-engine red hair and eggplant nails topped with a sky-blue pencil skirt and blazer, while Colin was a drab contrast. He liked his greys and beiges and other neutral colors, which didn't come as much of a surprise at all. Colin had been an accountant for nearly four decades and had taken on that dull, introverted stereotype.  Exactly the kind of person that Gabriel swore he'd never be.

"What do you think, Gabby?" Lydia leaned over his desk, getting in his personal space.

"Don't call me that," he muttered, though he knew it would do no good. 

"C'mon," she pressed, "you have to admit, they have to spend crazy money on hair products. There's no way people can have hair that silky smooth in real life. "

Gabriel sighed. "You're obsessed, Lydia."

"I am not obsessed," came the immediately denial. "I just want to know their secret.  That's all."

"Genetics," Colin said from his cubicle. His fingers danced over his keyboard, typing an email at mach 3, and he hadn't even paused as he offered his opinion. The man could multitask, that was for sure.

"Genetics?" She scoffed. "What kind of answer is that?"

"A logical one?" Gabriel muttered beneath his breath.  He grimaced as his shoulders complained at being hunched over and straightened, rolling them back a couple of times to ease the ache. 

"It must be their technology," Lydia decided. She smiled brightly. "They're way advanced, right? Of course they'd have some super hair cream or something to make it that smooth. I think I'll ask one of them about it."

Colin's fingers paused, hovering over the keyboard. Then he actually looked away from his screen to give Lydia a flat look. "You shouldn't bother the Sigari."

"I'm not bothering them, Colin. I'm just asking a question. Nothing wrong with that."

"Good luck with that," Gabriel told her.  Fortunately, most of the Sigari didn't speak English. Or any other earthly language.  Lydia wouldn't get too far if she decided to actually act on this silly whim of hers.  Tuning her out, he resumed his hunched position, idly clicking through emails to see if maybe he missed something interesting.   

His phone rang.  Grateful for the reprieve, he picked it up immediately. "Henson Elevator, Gabriel speaking."

"Hello Gabriel,"  came the calm response. Just the tone of the man's voice was enough to make Gabriel sit straight in his chair and pay close attention.  It was most definitely not the voice of someone wanting to trade grain.

"Who is this?"

"I'm calling from the Embassy, Gabriel.  We have a job for you."

"A  what?"   His grip on the phone tightened, brow furrowing as he tried to confirm that he had heard right.  It wasn't that surprising to get the occasional job request from the Embassy - it was just so out of the blue.

"I apologize, but it's quite urgent. We're sending an agent to collect you."

"Wait, I can't -"

"We'll see you shortly."  The line went dead. Gabriel held the phone awkwardly to his ear for a long moment, his mind stuttering through the situation.  A job? From the Embassy?  What the heck?  He went to them when he felt like volunteering some of his time, not the other way around.

The bell dinged at the front desk, which was down the hall and out of sight.  Gabriel shivered and slowly set the phone back in its cradle.  He  stared at the thing as if it carried a deadly disease. 

Lydia huffed. "Wonder who it is now?"  She stuttered down the short hallway in entirely inappropriate heels for an office dress code. Not that she would have cared.  It was barely a minute later when Lydia came back. This time she looked a little pale, her expression crushed.

"Gabby," she said, her voice utterly devastated. "I'm so sorry."

"W-what?" Gabriel looked at her in alarm, totally stunned by her sudden change in attitude.

"There - there's a detective guy at the front," she stammered. Her voice rose in pitch as she continued,  "He's looking for you - says your cousin was killed and that you need to go with him right now!  I- I'm sorry!"

All the color drained from his face. Not because that his cousin had apparently been murdered, but because it had barely just been a minute since he'd hung up the phone.  And now someone was here for him.  Whoever had called him on the phone hadn't been kidding.

"Ah. . . right." He rose, and grabbed his sweater from where it had been draped over the back of his chair.  "I guess I'll ah ... go now."

"Oh Gabby," Lydia  said, sniffling once. She reached out, took his hands, and gave them a shaky squeeze. "I'll let Douglas know, all right? Don't worry about anything, just go."

Despite the fact he knew for certain that this was all just a farce, Gabriel found himself oddly touched by her gesture. He gave her a hesitant smile and extracted his hands from her grip. Then he gave Colin a little wave. The accountant blankly echoed the gesture.

The 'detective'  waited at the front.  Though he wore plain clothes, there was no denying the Embassy badge he flashed the instant Gabriel came into view. "Let's go," the  Agent said, and he reached over Lydia's desk to grab Gabriel's shoulder.  

The world tore away.

***

Gabriel snapped into existence, his feet thudding onto a hard surface that heaved and rolled beneath him like a small boat in a monstrous storm.  Sounds warbled in the distance while lights pulsed in a twisted dance around him. For  a terrible moment, he panicked, his mind unable to deal with this skewed perception of the world. Then he felt someone squeeze his shoulder. That action alone seemed to break the spell, for he blinked and everything became clear and focused.

"Easy there," a voice calmly said. "Give it a minute. The nausea will pass."

Grimacing, Gabriel shrugged the gloved hand away. "It's fine. I've Ported before."

 Several times, in fact, though it seemed that he'd never get used to the feeling of being torn from one part of the world and thrown back into another.  He took a few deep breaths and let them out slowly. That always helped offset any lingering disorientation.

"Yeah?" The Agent beside him sounded curious, but he merely reached out again and laid a hand lightly between Gabriel's shoulder blades. With subtle pressure, he guided Gabriel off the receiving platform and across the onyx tiled floor towards the elevators.  "This way," he said, though it was more of a polite courtesy than anything else.

At the elevators, the Agent hit the single button on the panel.  There was a quiet tone in response. The two of them waited quietly in an awkward silence. Gabriel took the opportunity to glance back towards the receiving platform.

Though he'd been here a few times before, the room still hadn't lost its eerie quality.  Other than the receiving platform and the small security booth that was manned by the gatekeeper, the room appeared to be completely bare. He gazed about, trying to spot some sign of the technology that he knew had to exist here. Port units themselves were pretty simple and compact, but the actual receivers were complicated and required massive amounts of energy. Yet he saw no power cables, no electronic equipment or anything of the sort, save for the sleek laptop that sat on the gatekeeper's desk.

As he frowned at the laptop, the gatekeeper lifted her own gaze and met his own.  He couldn't stop himself from flinching at the intensity of that stare. She might have been going gray at the temples, but this woman was the gatekeeper for  a reason.  After all, she was the first line of defence if some terrorists got a hold of port units and the correct codes to use them.

The elevator dinged and its doors slid open.  "Come on." The Agent's hand returned to his back, prodding him forward once more.   Gabriel obeyed the cue, entering and waiting as his companion hit a button and entered a four digit code. 

As they descended, he finally allowed himself a sigh. "Isn't this a bit much?"

The Agent glanced over.   "What do you mean?" 

"I was at work, you know.  You can't just come and drag me away. And the thing about my dead cousin? That's not cool."

"Sorry," came the entirely unapologetic response. "But it's kind of urgent."

Urgent, was it?  He had trouble believing it. Normally there were more than enough translators around on a 9 to 5 shift. It wasn't until the evening or weekend shifts that the staff generally thinned out enough to warrant him coming in part-time to lend a hand.  And it was three in the afternoon,  not ten in the evening.

The elevator came to a gentle stop, its doors opening with a telltale ding.   The Agent gestured with a gloved hand, and Gabriel stepped out first with a little grimace. The fact that he had a personal guide slash guard wasn't exactly a comfort.   This was starting to get a little weird. 

And that thought was instantly confirmed the moment he laid eyes on the floor he'd just arrived at. The place was crammed with workstations that held state of the art computer equipment. Huge screens lined a couple of the walls, some focusing on topographical maps of certain world regions. Blinking red and green dots randomly dotted these maps with a short string of letters and numbers identifying them. Other screens cycled through fuzzy videos shot from satellites,  zooming in on the Sigari reservations from above. Data scrolled across the sides of these screens like a never-ending credit run at the end of a movie. 

Casually dressed technicians with messy hair and mugs of coffee populated these workstations, monitoring their screens and recording data.  They all wore headsets and a few them spoke quietly but urgently to whoever was on the other line.

A few Agents, all easily recognisable by the Embassy field uniform they wore, hung out in the lounge area on the other side of the floor. Next to the lounge were three large conference rooms, complete with tinted windows and sound-proof walls. 

Gabriel barely had time to take in the entire scene as his personal guide directed him towards one of the conference rooms. The awe he felt at being in the true heart of the Embassy was quickly washed away by a growing unease when he saw who waited from him inside the conference room.

The Embassy's Officer and another agent  in an armoured uniform spoke quietly in hushed tones at the head of one table.  Gabriel took once step inside the doorway before hesitated, very much aware of just how out of place he was.

The agent who had guided him quietly slipped out, closing the door behind him with a faint click. The sudden sound startled Gabriel and he half turned to stare at the slab of wood that now blocked his exit.  

"Thank you for joining us, Mr. Kayne." 

Upon hearing the silence broken, Gabriel snapped his attention back towards the two men. It was the officer who had spoken; there was no mistaking the very authority in that voice.  Gabriel had never met either of this Embassy's Officers before, but he recognized this one  as Officer Rufus René from pictures he'd seen. 

 After a moment of observation, Gabriel glanced at the mystery agent. It was difficult to get a read on