by Lea Kirk
A laugh burst out of Robyn. “I guess so. Okay, then, application first, then we do the bio-scan app.” She raised her phone to chest level and peered through the bifocals at the screen.
The Submit icon blinked temptingly, like a beacon to a lonely sailor.
Meryl met her gaze. “Ready?”
“I’m ready.”
“In three…two…one…go.”
Once the application and bio-scan had been sent, Robyn blew out a long breath. A sense of giddy anticipation curled in her gut as if she had done something very naughty. And in a way, she had.
“So.” Meryl set her phone on the counter. “That’s done.”
“Yep.” Robyn nibbled at her bottom lip. “How long do you think it’ll take?”
“Hopefully a while.” Meryl shrugged her slim shoulders. “I’m not ready for some virile old guy to haul you off to his planet, yet.”
“Ha. Is there a such thing as performance enhancers for off-worlders?”
“No idea.” Her friend waved one hand. “As long as they’ve ironed out that four-hour-erection ER-visit issue, I’m good. I wonder if the time is doubled if they have two dicks?”
Robyn doubled over, wrapping one hand around the seat of the backless stool to keep from falling off.
One thing was for sure, no matter how long it took, she and Meryl would have fun speculating.
Two months, and still no word from Silverstar. Robyn tapped the end of her pen against her desk as the young woman on the other end of the phone chattered excitedly in her ear. It was a good thing she had her job to distract her during the day. Despite the stress from the divorce, and the necessity for her to return to the ranks of the full-time employed, landing the job as a case manager for Safe Harbor Women’s Advocacy Group had turned out to be one of the best things to ever happen to her. It wasn’t a glamor position, but it was more than she’d thought possible back in her stay-at-home-mom days.
“Thank you so much, Robyn,” the young woman gushed. “I couldn’t have done this without you.”
“My pleasure, Sasha.” Robyn said her good-byes, then placed the receiver of her work phone in its cradle. “Next to raising my kids, this has to be the hardest, and most rewarding, job ever.”
Her supervisor grinned. “The Sasha Townsend case?”
“Yeah.” Sasha, a young woman the same age as her youngest daughter, had three kids all under the age of six. “She just landed a job with a tech company. They’re giving her day care and flexible hours, and offered to help with her tuition.”
Some days you just won the lottery.
Jayla pumped her fist in the air. “Awesome.”
“Doesn’t get much better.” She glanced at the old industrial analog clock on the wall. “Nice to end the week on a high note for a change.”
“Nothing better. Got any big plans this weekend?”
“Nah.” Didn’t she wish, though.
Face it, Robbi ol’ girl, you were hoping to be snuggling with a hot off-worlder by now.
She’d given up stalking her cell phone for a text or email from Silverstar weeks ago. The only time it was out of her purse recently was for work-related reasons, or to text Meryl.
Maybe she was too old for online dating. But fifty-nine didn’t feel old. The agency should’ve let them know that by now, right?
“Um, Robyn,” Jayla said. “Your phone’s buzzing.”
The faint hum came from the direction of her bottom desk drawer. “Oh, shoot. Thanks.”
Well, speak of the devil. Meryl must be checking in for tonight’s wine and whine date. She yanked the bottom drawer of her desk open, and the loud screech of metal on metal filled the tiny, mostly empty, office.
“Gah.” Jayla covered her ears.
Robyn gave her boss a sheepish look. “Sorry.”
Someday, Safe Harbor might replace the original circa-1980s desks, but probably not before she retired.
Buzz.
She delved her hand into her purse, her fingers wrapping around the humming device before pulling it out and holding it at arm’s-length.
It was not Meryl. “Well, it was a good day.”
“What?” Jayla concerned expression was heart-touching. “One of your other cases?”
“No.” She gave the phone a severe frown. “Kevin.”
“Oh.” Jayla nodded. “Shit. That asshole just doesn’t take a hint, does he?”
“No, and it’s not for lack of trying.”
Buzz.
Jayla turned back to her desk. “Good thing you don’t have plans this weekend.”
“What do you mean?”
Her boss gave her the “you know damn well what I mean” look.
Why did everyone seem to think Kevin was the reason she hadn’t been able to keep a guy around for longer than a month? Like she owned zero responsibility for what happened to her? Real life didn’t work that way, and she wasn’t perfect. If she had been, she wouldn’t have waited until her youngest daughter graduated college to walk out on him.
Buzz.
You were a coward, using the kids as an excuse. In retrospect, leaving when they were young might have been better than trying to keep up the “happy little family” pretense.
Yep, less than perfect.
“You going to answer it?” Jayla’s question brought her back to the moment.
“Yeah.” She heaved a sigh and tapped the screen. “What?”
“Hello to you too, pumpkin.”
Oh, look. It’s Sweet Kevin. “Hello, Kevin.”
“How was your day?”
“It was going great.” Get to the point already.
“Mine was rotten, until I heard your voice.”
Ho, boy. “Thank you?”
“What are you doing tonight?”
“You know, instead of trying to live vicariously through me, you really should get out and meet some other women. You know…go on a date.”
“There’s never been anyone—”
“You know where I am every Thursday, Kevin.”
Her ex made a scoffing sound. “With Meryl.”
Wow. For once he didn’t say Can’t-keep-her-husband Meryl. “Yes. With Meryl.”
“Did you leave me because you went lezbo with her?”
What the ever-loving…? Sometimes the man was enough to make her want to swear. “Good bye, Kevin.”
She lowered the phone and press the red end-call button. “Pizzle brain.”
Jayla snorted a laugh. “Wow. Do I want to know?”
“Probably not. No sense in him ruining both our evenings.”
She dropped her phone into the depths of her purse. It could stay there until Monday, for all she cared. She went through the motions of shutting down her computer, locking up her desk, and wishing Jayla a nice weekend. Home was where the peace was, and she couldn’t get there fast enough.
Chapter 3
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, t
hey 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 still insisted upon accompanying him to the Silverstar offices instead.
The office doors slid open with a swoosh behind Kyzel, and Ms. Vogel hurried in; the white papers clutched in her hand fluttered. 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 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. Especially since 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 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, 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’d expected.
“Good,” Ms. Vogel replied. “Adam, my assistant, will take you back to your suite so you can review the rest of her file tonight. Then call her tomorrow and see if you can set up a meeting. She doesn’t work on Fridays, so you can 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 could not get out of here fast enough. “Rol. Are you ready to go?”
“I am.”
Ms. Vogel led them back out to the lobby, and her assistant, Adam took over. The lift—or 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 keep it?”
“Sure. I’ll take care of it.” Adam stopped in front of a silvery-green set of double 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 vanilla scent.
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, 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 Robyn 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.”
Chapter 4
Robyn gave the front door a gentle shove closed with her foot. Ah. Home, sweet home.
Time enough for a quick bath before she walked over to Meryl’s house, a block away. She dropped her purse on the sofa and carried the mail into the kitchen.
“Bill…bill…real estate postcard…junk…magazine renewal…” Why did she still bother getting the home decorating magazine? Because I like the tactile experience. “…junk…junk—”