Chapter 3
Chapter Three
Silverstar Agency offices.
Kyzel gazed out the second-floor window of his case manager’s—Ms. Vogel’s—office at the human colony…
city…below. The humans of Earth had some unusual concepts in habitation.
Mingling their business centers and their family nests in the same colony was unlike anything he had ever imagined.
It had always seemed less crowded—and more restful—to have them separated, as on Bezchi.
Although, there were advantages to grouping them together as the humans did.
All the differences aside, it was good to finally be here, with his bodyguard, Fyad and Rol in tow.
Word of his match had come shortly after he had secured the official support of his clan.
Most of them, at any rate. Careene’s flock had grumbled, but Rol—ever the negotiator—had appeased them with the promise to personally vet Kyzel’s new mate.
As if conjured by his thoughts, Rol appeared at his side, his wings drawn in close to his back as he studied the activity on the street below.
“I do not understand the use of the automobiles here. Humans may not be able to fly, but if they created smaller colonies, they could simply walk from place to place. Like our Landwalker clan.”
“True. Yet their ingenuity has helped them make up for their lack of wings.”
Rol grunted in a noncommittal sort of way.
This process would be far more agreeable if Rol had simply joined the Bezchian Intergalactic Trade Guild on their pre-negotiation, introductory tour of Earth.
The negotiations would be held afterward in Los Angeles, a city purported to be nearby.
Alas, the stubborn old hawk had insisted upon accompanying him to the Silverstar offices instead.
The office doors slid open with a swoosh behind Kyzel, Ms. Vogel hurried in, white papers fluttering in her hand.
She was a medium-height female for an Earthling, which put the top of her head barely as high as his chest. She appeared roughly five or six sun migrations younger than himself, with hair—not headfeathers—of a vibrant deep red tone.
Headfeathers of brilliant colors were common to some clans on Bezchi—particularly the Firewing clan—but she was the first human he had seen with such a color.
She breezed past Fyad—standing guard like a shadow just inside the doors, alert even in the privacy of the agent’s office—and sat in the cushioned black chair behind her desk.
The piece of furniture was similar, yet different, to the perches on Bezchi.
Its high, wide back was not built to accommodate Bezchian wings.
My future mate will need such chairs for her comfort.
“Sorry for the delay.” Ms. Vogel tapped the bottom edge of the pages against the top of her desk.
The resulting crack of the impact seemed hollow in the office space.
“I have your updated contract, with the specific consideration we discussed.” She fixed him with a skeptical look.
“Are you sure you don’t want your match to know about your royal status? ”
Rol folded his arms over his chest. “That is non-negotiable.”
Ms. Vogel bit her bottom lip, then nodded. “Well, I can’t say I agree, but Silverstar will honor your wishes.”
Kyzel dipped his head in acknowledgment. “I thank you for your discretion.”
This could very well backfire. But Rol had insisted he would not be at peace unless he was certain Kyzel’s future mate loved Kyzel, and not the royal title that would be hers, should she agree to mate with Kyzel. It was a fair and persuasive argument.
Ms. Vogel slid the papers across the desk. “For your convenience, I had my assistant translate the contract into Bezchian for you.”
“I am honored.” His internal translator would have automatically deciphered the English lettering, but he was grateful for how thorough and obliging the agency had been thus far.
“Take your time reading it, then sign at the bottom.” Ms. Vogel’s smile defined the fine lines around her eyes.
She was a puzzlement of contradictions. Those fine lines signified a certain amount of maturity, yet her hair remained untouched by gray.
“Thank you, Ms. Vogel.”
The final read-through of the contract was swift, and Kyzel used the Earth-style writing implement—a pen—to sign. Then he slid the sheaves back across the desk.
She smiled up at him from her chair. “That’s it.
Now, before I distract you with your match’s name and profile, and the all-important picture, allow me to introduce you to your telephone.
” She picked up the human-palm-sized rectangular device on her desk and offered it to him.
“It’s your way to communicate while on Earth.
You can use it to talk to me, your date, and anyone else whose number you get.
I’ll show you how to use it before you leave and have you make a few practice calls to me. ”
“I… You are too kind,” And he was a simpleton for not having thought of this himself. Rol and Fyad would be easy to reach through his wrist implant, but the people of this planet had different technology.
“Also,” Ms. Vogel continued. “I already sent your date’s files to your phone for you to view. I’ll send her your files in a moment. You can call her tonight. The earlier the better. Calling late upsets some people. Now, let’s get you trained to use this thing.”
It took one quarter of an Earth hour before Kyzel mastered the basics of the phone.
Then Ms. Vogel showed him how to access his date’s file.
The face that appeared on the screen was of a female close in age to himself, and his breath hitched in his chest. She had straight hair—blonde, according to her file.
So, blonde was pale hair with silver strands mixed in. He squinted. The file said her eyes were blue, but they could pass for gray. It was difficult to tell, as she had covered them with a black-framed vision device that perched on the bridge of her long, straight nose.
But her smile; it was glorious, the way it stretched across her face and pushed her cheeks up.
“So?” Ms. Vogel’s question drew his attention away from the angel on the phone screen. She had propped her elbows on the glass-covered wooden surface of her desk and rested her chin on her fists. “What do you think of Ms. Robyn Martin Donahue?”
“I…I….” He returned his gaze to the phone. “She is beautiful.”
This was already going better than he had expected.
“Good,” Ms. Vogel replied. “Adam, my assistant, will take you back to your suite so you can review the rest of her file before you set up a meeting. Tomorrow is Friday, and she doesn’t work, so you might arrange to meet her during the day. If she doesn’t already have plans.”
“Very well. Thank you, Ms. Vogel. I will call you if I have any other questions.” He turned his attention to Rol. “Are you ready to go?”
“I am.”
Ms. Vogel led them back out to the lobby, and her assistant, Adam took over.
The elevator, as Adam called the moving box room, took them to the top floor of the five-story building.
It was tight inside, with the three Bezchians holding their wings close so Adam could slip in next to the numbered buttons.
The small human male pressed the button marked 5, then smiled at them. “Five is your floor. The button above, marked R, is for the roof. You may use the roof to come and go. It’ll probably be easier than going all the way down to the first floor and using the doors.”
The sensation of the box smoothly rising only lasted a moment before the doors opened again onto a wide, well-lit corridor.
So, an elevator is a lift between the floors. Very similar to the platforms the Galactic Alliance used at their facilities. At home, ramps within a structure served the same purpose.
Adam stepped out of the elevator and beckoned them to follow him. “Your prints are in the system, so just press any finger to a scanner and the doors will open for you.”
A pleasant, mellow scent teased Kyzel’s nose. “What is that smell?”
Adam sniffed the air. “That is vanilla. We have a rotation of air fresheners we use, but if you don’t like it, I can have them turned off.”
“No. I like this one.” Kyzel inhaled again. “It is quite agreeable. Can we get it in our accommodations?”
“Sure. I’ll take care of it.” Adam stopped in front of a silvery-green pair of doors, and pressed his finger to a black circle set in the cream-colored wall.
A green light glowed around the edge of the button and the doors slid open with a pleasant sigh.
“This is your suite. Go on in and make yourselves comfortable.”
Kyzel stepped into the room beyond. “Spacious.”
Plenty of room for them to stretch their wings without running into one another.
And the furniture was compatible with Bezchian physical requirements.
A long, backless, cushioned bench, three straddle-perches with forearm leaners, and a chest-high table surrounded by four tall single-seat perches. And the faint scent of vanilla.
Adam followed Rol and Fyad in, and stopped just inside the door.
“This is the common area. There’s a kitchen through the archway to your right, and a study behind those doors on the left.
Through that center archway are four sleeping areas.
Each room has its own toilet and bath facilities.
Dinner is served in the dining hall on the first floor, starting in about an hour.
If you decide to cook here, send me a grocery list of what you need twenty-four hours in advance.
Every effort will be made to find suitable replacements for anything unavailable on Earth. Any questions?”
“I have none.” Kyzel glanced at Rol. Fyad was already down the hall, presumably securing the sleeping rooms.
Rol shook his head. “I have no questions.”
“Well, then.” Adam seemed satisfied. “Have a great evening.”
“Thank you, Adam.” Kyzel gave the Earthling male a nod, and Adam retreated, heading back in the direction of the elevator.
“All clear, my monarch.”
Kyzel turned his attention to his bodyguard, now standing at the entrance to the sleeping accommodations. “Thank you, Fyad.”
Rol waved his hand in the direction of the luggage at Fyad’s feet. “Kind of them to bring in our bags. Shall we unpack, then go down for dinner?”
“You may.” Kyzel turned toward the entrance to the travelers’ nest—or suite, as Adam had called it. “I am going to go see Ms. Donahue now.”
“I will go with you, then.”
That was what he had feared Rol would say. “No.” He raised one hand. “I go to meet her alone.”
Rol ruffled his wings, his agitation clear. “You cannot go alone. You are our monarch.”
Fyad nodded his black-feathered head. “It would be unwise for you to go alone on a strange planet.”
He spared a glance over Rol’s shoulder at Fyad. “No one knows I am here yet, there will be no danger. If all three of us show up at her nest, it may upset her.”
“But….” Rol spluttered.
“You are not going with me to meet my mate, Rol. I will inform you how it goes. You can unpack your baggage while you wait.”