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No. If the indomitable Tarak al Akkadian has had such a reaction to this so-calledspice, then I fear I will also succumb to its effects.He regarded Noa with undisguised curiosity.Do you really like to eat this sort of thing, mysarien?
Noa smiled at him, feeling a tiny bit wicked as she grabbed the tongs and helped herself to some chicken. “Yes, I do. I actually don’t mind a bit of spice at all.”
FIVE
The piano technician’sheadquarters were located in a human city calledLondon.Ash took a small, cloaked stealth cruiser down to Earth, accompanied by Arin, who, being true to her word, had offered to accompany him. The ship hovered just above the rooftop of a large building, which had been secured by an advance guard of Darkstar operatives.
There was a little subterfuge to their approach. For the sake of discretion, Arin had decided they would pose as agents for an anonymous buyer. It wasn’t too far from the truth, but it required Ashrael to hide his Kordolian features altogether; he’d managed to obtain one of those infernal new disguise devices, which projected a holographic overlay to create the illusion of humanness.
In this case, it came in the form of a pair of visual aids calledglasses; an entirely human invention consisting of large frames set with polymer lenses. They rested on the bridge of his nose, concealing his eyes.
The lenses were necessary, the techs told him. It was very difficult to hide his blacked-out eyes, which ordinary humans found unsettling. The lenses projected light directly onto his eyeballs, forming the illusion of white sclera and deep brown irises, adjusting to the movement of his eyes.
A temporary inconvenience.
Theglassesalso projected the holo that turned his skin from pale platinum to pale brown, and concealed the sharpness of his ears.
And of course, there was the transparent nano-coating that covered every exposed molecule of him, protecting his ultraviolet-sensitive skin.
He might make for a strange looking human, but he blended in well enough, and that was all that mattered. The last thing Ash wanted was to draw attention. He just wanted to procure the best possible present for his mate, and then disappear back to their peaceful existence in the stars.
“It’s down here,” Arin said, making a sharp turn down a stone-paved alley. They were in an older part of the city, where crude buildings of stone and brick construction were sandwiched between tall glass and metal structures. “Quite discreet, really, but I suppose this isn’t the sort of business that needs a street presence.”
Rain began to fall. Arin retrieved a small device from her coat and popped it open, forming a hexagonal canopy above her head. “Here,” she said, offering him shelter under her rain-blocker. “This weather is absolutely miserable.”
Ashrael shook his head and quietly declined her offer as tiny drops of water fell on his face. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. This weather is ideal.”
He was enjoying this city’s climate; the cold temperature, the cloud-covered sky, even the moisture from the sky and the pleasantly chilled wind.
Much better than the infernal sunshine.
“Suit yourself.” Arin’s voice was laced with amusement. “I don’t think we’re too far now, anyway.”
Ash gave her a respectful nod. In her natural environment, Rykal’s mate was confident and self-assured. She’d made contact and set up an appointment with the piano technician in an impressively short time.
The fact that it was just the two of them here, back on Earth in a vast human metropolis, was testament to the fact that Rykal and the First Division warriors trusted him to protect her at all costs.
Outside of the First Division itself, he was the only one they trusted to escort her alone.
It was a responsibility he didn’t take lightly, for he knew that they would all do the same for Noa without a second thought.
The mates—these rare and astounding humans—were to be revered and protected.
But at the same time—and Tarak had stressed this time and time again—they must be allowed to have their existence. It would be temptingly easy to lock them away in a controlled, protected environment for as long as they lived, but that would be contradictory to everything he and Tarak’s loyal forces had fought for.
That was the very reason he was here, in this narrow alley surrounded by old, crumbling human structures, seeking out a maker of archaic wood-and-metal instruments.
“I think this is the place,” Arin informed him. She nodded toward a simple unadorned door, which was devoid of any kind of signage or insignia. A strange metal shape was affixed to the front of the door, at about shoulder height.
Ashrael stopped and extended hiska’qui. There was a presence inside, but he didn’t sense any kind of threat. This place was clear. He was fairly certain he wouldn’t be drawing any of the various blades concealed beneath his tailored human suit.
Arin picked up the metal thing—a hinged device of some sort—and used it to rap loudly on the small metal plate affixed to the wooden door.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
What a strange, simple, old-fashioned device. They could have installed some sort of monitoring system, surely.
They waited.
