Anne Goetz was incredibly nervous.
This disturbed her. She didnt *get* nervous. The diplomat had been doing her job for too long, and had been doing it far too well to get nervous.
But here she was, standing in front of a landing pad on a crisp spring day, shaking in her boots. Although she could be forgiven she surmised, given who (some might even say *what*) she was meeting.
She had forgone bodyguards in fear that it would send the wrong impression, but now she wondered if she had been to hasty. Ah well, too late now.
The transport, dipped from orbit, its alien hull cooling almost instantly from the heat of reentry. Dark blue, and biomechanical looking, it swooped almost silently to land on the pad.
Its hull opened, and out strode 4 hulking bipeds armed to the teeth. Either robots, or aliens covered in some kind of exoskeleton, she wasnt sure. And then *he* came out. The Janissary.
He strode down the ships walkway with a swagger she had only seen on the very rich, the very powerful, or the delusional.
Dressed head to toe in green and black armor, features masked by a faceplate, he strode towards her, towering over her 5'5 frame.
A wordless command collaped the helmet, its constituent hexagonical plates sliding over each other away from the Janissary's head. Silently they evaluated each other.
Strong face, with Persian features. High cheekbones. Dark hair. A smirk like a street hustler. It was a timeless face that couldve been 20 or 40, not a wrinkle on it.
But the eyes were the most striking thing. Bright emerald, with internal mechanisms contracting and moving inside the eyeball betraying his less than completely human nature.
"Miss Goetz" he intoned in a deep, reverberating, rumble "a pleasure to meet you".
"Likewise, Mr....?" It had occured to Anne that she was never briefed on the Janissaries name.
"Farouk will do. We will go inside now". It was not a request.
The Janissary started to stride towards the building where he would meet with other diplomats, Anne forced to trot to keep up with him.
As they walked his armor started to disassemble retracting from his arms and legs untill finally peeling away from his back and assuming an ovoid form hovering just behind him.
Underneath, he wore a close fitting dark grey suit, that seemed to dance with underlying patterns. He looked every inch the modern demigod his creators made him to be.
And Anne was still nervous.