He feels an open summons and lets it grab him -
"They're very startled," he says. "I would not characterize them as mad. In fact I think Simon Illyan wants to shake your hand."
"Yes," says Miles. "You certainly may. Do I get a name to put to our architectural savior?"
"Miles. Do you plan to let us in on how you applied an interesting abstract mosaic to the outside of the building that quickly?"
"I will be happy to do that. Shall I wait until in the room with the aforementioned Simon Illyan or is 'us' somebody else?"
"...Before I answer that question, I want to clarify: do you know who Simon Illyan is?"
"Please assume that I am a friendly alien who has landed on your planet fluent in your language and spent several weeks eavesdropping on public conversations and reading publicly available books."
"This is going to be interesting," Miles concludes. "All right, friendly alien. Let's have a friendly chat. I'm sure I can find us a spare office in the building you just undesecrated."
"Simon Illyan," he explains as he leads Cam towards the building, "is my boss. Chief of ImpSec. I have to say, among the hypotheses we generated, 'someone who had no idea what the building was for did it to affably stir up shit' did not appear."
"Hm, 'hypotheses' might be overstating the point, really. It was more a list of questions. How could someone do that? Why would someone do that? What chain of causality could possibly lead to the result we observed? And then Captain Illyan observed that part of the result was some sketchy-looking fellow sitting on a bench watching the hive boil, and I was the poor sod tasked with investigating."
Follow, follow, follow, follow, follow. Fall, splat, up again, follow.
The uniformed individual gives them a suspicious once-over, aims a handheld scanning device at them, and frowns at its readouts. Then he ducks inside for a few seconds. Then he comes back out and waves them through.
"Thanks," Miles says cheerfully, and he conducts Cam into the building. "Follow me, don't get lost, don't commit any egregious acts of sabotage."
Their route takes them up a lift tube and along a hallway to an empty room containing a desk and some chairs.
"Right. We can talk here and not be overheard by anyone but ImpSec, who's allowed. D'you want to expand on that 'friendly alien' thing?"
"I have no idea why I'm here. Normally when I am summoned I appear on Earth or Luna or Mars and it is, most recently, the year 2159, with a somewhat different technological tree than you seem to have gone through. Plus the thing where everybody knows that you can summon demons et cetera. But here I am, probably until my summoner dies of their own accord because I have no idea who it is and don't care to do elaborate detective work to make them send me home. I cannot tell you for sure if you can summon more demons, or our counterparts angels and fairies, because I don't know how I wound up in the wrong universe in the first place, although I could tell you how to try it if assured of your attention to safety procedures. Demons and angels and fairies have different kinds of magic per species; demons make stuff. I did the mosaic to get some kind of moderately friendly official attention because I've always wanted to terraform a planet and the nearest one that needs particularly demonic terraforming's five jump points away and I don't know how to get across a wormhole, since those are not a feature of where I'm from."
"...That's... heartening..." he says slowly, not sounding all that heartened. "Um. To what specifications can you make stuff...? If I told you to make, oh, a Cetagandan Order of Merit, and you didn't know what that was?"
"That's probably specific enough. Books, as an example, are title and author, hit-or-miss on things like title and first few words. I can put 'em in arbitrary formats, though, if I can make them at all."
"Let's have an Order of Merit, then. Not that I exactly doubt you, but we didn't catch your last supernatural feat on vid - none of our pickups are pointed at the building."