It was like a scene out of Irkalla—dozens of changelings hurried about the room, worked computers, carried messages, or were busy in conversation with visitors in little conference rooms. There was a bright metal plaque near the entrance, with a few guards on either side. “Embassy to Irkalla,” it said. “Changelings and invited visitors only.” The guards waiting just outside the elevator were both black changelings, though they wore UN uniforms and carried stun pistols like all the other police they’d seen thus far. One of them stepped forward, pointing to the sign. The plaque was printed in several languages—English at the top, Eoch below it, and a dense changeling script below that. 