Unlike the IAW building, which despite numerous renovations still retained its air of old-world magnificence, the SifCo facility was – in every way – a true temple of modernity. The compound was divided into two broad sections, with smaller buildings and establishments sprinkled throughout the premises. The east wing was huge and imposing, a sprawling seven-floor structure of polished metal and glass that reflected the sun with an almost dazzling light on clear days. On a day like this one, it looked dark and forbidding, the stormy sky casting its tumultuous shadow on the reflective surface.
Standing opposite it, separated by a small courtyard, the west wing was a more modest sight: a simple, three-storey, whitewashed building with large windows. Young men and women – barely out of college, Ruban thought – in white coats with files and tablets in their hands walked in and out of the west wing unhindered.
The east wing, by contrast, was guarded by two heavy-set men in dark blue uniforms. Ruban could see their shoulder holsters and the sheathed sifblades at their hips. They weren’t Hunters, that he could tell, but sometimes the government issued sifblades to ordinary security personnel deployed to places considered at risk of Aeriel attacks. Not that sif in itself would do much good without the proper training. One of the most important parts of being a Hunter was knowing how to get the sif into the Aeriel, something no amount of raw firepower could replace.
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Flashing his badge at the main gate, Ruban drove into the SifCo compound, taking his time to get a feel for the area before parking in a lot close to the west wing that appeared to be reserved for visitors. Getting out of the car, he shot off a message to Subhas’s contact at the facility while walking briskly across the courtyard towards the east wing, trying to avoid the rain as much as possible.
As he approached, Ashwin in tow, he noted one of the guards reaching for his walkie-talkie while the other rested a hand somewhat conspicuously on his holster, though he made no move to withdraw the weapon, yet. Ruban supposed it was natural for security to be a little jumpy after all the hue and cry in the media about an impending Aeriel attack at SifCo. He trotted up the front steps, holding up his badge for the guards to see. But before he could say anything, the heavy metal doors swung open and a long-faced, dark haired woman – her hair done up neatly in a coiffure behind her head – stood at the doorway. She gestured at the guards to stand down and stood back to allow the two men entry into the building.
“Hello, I’m Natasha,” she said with a little nod, holding out her hand to Ruban. “You must be Mr. Ruban Kinoh of the South Ragah Division.”
“I am,” he said, taking her hand for a brief shake. “It’s nice to finally meet you. And this is my…partner. Lord Ashwin Kwan. He’s our liaison with the Zainian secret service.”
The woman smiled formally. “Pleasure,” she said, turning to Ashwin. Then she started walking further into the building, gesturing for them to follow her. “Come, let me introduce you to some of my colleagues.”