Pink, Green and Blue
Chapter One: Change of Plan
Ziona missed her tribble, Shakespeare, terribly as she unpacked her things; tribbles were really great pets when they weren't multiplying like, well, tribbles. As she placed her ancient Terran books on a shelf, she reflected on her prior conversation with Klen in the transport. He had politely answered all of her questions about the city Niarth and himself. He was the Ambassador to Andoria, he had an older brother named Kruv, he found his job very fulfilling but his family didn't approve; they disliked the Andorians too much to see the logic, he said. Klen was amazingly sweet; it was not how she had imagined Vulcans to be. She was glad that he lived in the city so that she could experience Vulcan culture more completely. His apartment could only be described as a penthouse and the interior was absolutely exquisite. It was fitting for an Ambassador. She was really lucky that her host was such an important political figure, but it made her feel so inadequate. She sat down at her desk to write in her journal, pushing her auburn, shoulder-length hair behind her ears.
Klen was not having much success in his meditation tonight. He could not suppress his apprehension that Ziona would only resent him when he told her of her real purpose. She was surprisingly knowledgeable about Vulcan culture and history and asked many intellectual questions, but that did not mean she would be more than happy to bond with him. This whole arrangement went against all the romantic notions an earth woman of her age would have. He had received a message from Jaref, telling him that, perhaps attempting to woo the females would prove a better method than just telling them that they had no other choice. It was easy for Jaref to say, Jaref's pon farr was in 5 years and not in 9 months. He might have a valid point though, it could be possible to charm Ziona, it just seemed very presumptuous to have so much faith his advances would be successful. Vulcans were not like humans and did not share the delusion of romantic love. He did not want to lie to her, Jaref would say that he wasn't lying, he just wasn't letting on. Jaref was a good friend, a brilliant geneticist and the most logical Vulcan of his age that Klen had ever met, but he lacked something. It was as if he had never had any emotions to purge. Jaref knew almost as much about humans as Klen but he interpreted it differently. Klen found the Terran fascinating and more likeable than the Andorians. Jaref found them illogical and a nuisance. Jaref was more interested in genes and DNA than he was in actual beings. That was why; it was unusual that he had picked Calypsa. She did not resemble a Vulcan in any way and her title as an "exotic dancer" hinted that her profession was less than honorable, and Klen doubted her sexual purity. Jaref had refused to explain why he had picked her, only mumble-whispering something about "genetically compatible", Klen had his suspicions that Jaref somehow gained access to genetic blue prints that he wasn't supposed to have.
At any rate he would have to tell Ziona soon. He gracefully got to his feet, putting his robe back on. The Andorian Ambassador and a highly decorated member of the Imperial Guard were coming over tonight; if he could have persuaded them to pick a more reasonable time, he would have. Now he would probably have to introduce Ziona, or appear rude. It wasn't that he was ashamed of her it was just that, Andorians were so nosy, especially about matters involving mating rituals of any kind. He had to warn Ziona. He spoke into the console by her door. "Ziona, may I speak with you." No answer. "Ms. Quinton, are you well?" No response. Hmm… He was about to ask a maid to go in and check on her when his aide Ty'rol, disrupted his thoughts.
"The Andorian ambassador has arrived sir, he seems…impatient to meet with you."
"Thank you, Ty'rol. I will meet with him at once." He made his way to the chambers intended for entertaining, deciding it might be best if Ziona wasn't around to meet the Andorians.
Trom smirked as he observed the respected Andorians, disappear into the penthouse. This would be too easy. He would show these Vulcan bastards what the Rebellion thought of their trade agreement. Arrogant green-blooded pacifistic emotionless freaks. His antennas twitched as he scanned the area, it was so hot here, on this giant forsaken rock of a planet. This part of the city was particularly calm and there was not a soul in sight to observe him. He stepped out of his hiding place behind a garbage pod. The sun was almost set and no one noticed as a solitary blue figure slunk around building, wearing a mischievous expression that declared him "up to no good".
Ziona, usually loving to write in her journal, could not get into it right now. She quickly gave up. She really wanted to explore the monolithic 'apartment', if you could call it that when it took up over half of the building. She may be a boring librarian, but she had a profound curious streak. After all, Klen had not told her that she couldn't explore the place, what harm could there be? She walked slowly down the hallway, taking her time to soak in all the differences in Vulcan architecture and décor. She had been looking around for about ten minutes when she saw through an archway, a gorgeous room that had the appearance of a ballroom. She entered, smiling at the amber toned floor that had obviously just been polished. She was glad that she was wasn't wearing shoes. The most breathtaking thing about the ball room was the huge window that took up the entire far wall. It revealed enormous mountains with jagged edges and an ancient looking balcony that was that could be accessed through a single sliding door. Ziona went out onto the balcony and leaned over the side. It seemed his home was on the very edge of the city, because there was nothing before her but a harsh reddish desert with ragged hills, back dropped presently by the rays of a sinking sun. There was a rather strong breeze and it whipped her hair about but, she didn't care. Spending most one's life in a stuffy library/computer archive did have some major drawbacks. She was too immersed in the sunset and her musings on what she could learn about Vulcan to notice the perplexed Andorian that was staring at her.
Trom shot his grapple over the side of the balcony and hastily pressed the button to reel him in. The device worked like it was supposed to this time and he was elevated slowly, so that he was able to grab a hold of the railing and climb over. Not like the last time he had used it and nearly broken an antenna off on a cliff face. Damn temperamental contraption. Trom got to his feet and returned the device to its holder in his belt. He sent a message to the rest of his crew, updating them on his progress. He sat on the ledge, waiting for his comm to upload the schematics of the dwelling. He really needed the new model. He looked around with mild curiosity but mainly noticed how ugly it was here compared to Andoria. The apartment's layout was finally done loading when his antennae flipped to the side, sensing something. Sure enough, someone was walking out onto the balcony. He remained as still as possible, reaching for his gun. The female didn't seem to be aware of his existence though, she leaned over the railing, her bronze hair flying in the wind. Trom's antennas bent slightly and a crease appeared on his forehead. This was a very odd looking Vulcan. He had never seen a Vulcan with wavy reddish hair; that wore such clothes. Vulcan garb tended to be very bland in his opinion and hid the only things that made them interesting. This female was wearing a grey sweater and slacks, hardly a Vulcan outfit. Another gust of wind blew up the lock of hair that was covering her left ear and suddenly it dawned on him. She was a human, a pink-skin. Why was she on Vulcan, in the ambassador's house? As far as Trom knew, Vulcans had never been known to hire escorts or take concubines. The thought that she could be his bond mate passed through his mind but was quickly squashed. Like that would ever happen. Her well-shaped body and pretty face caught his attention, and both his antennas were now pointing at her, almost of their own accord. He didn't want to kill her but; he needed to get moving and couldn't risk her alerting the whole place to his presence. He grabbed his stun gun and aimed; a soft zapping noise resounded. The Terran female gently collapsed with a quiet thump. He would have to thank Gilanek for convincing him to bring the stun gun along. He had planned to just knock this 'Klen' unconscious with a nearby blunt object, preferably a treasured, one-of-a-kind vulcan relic that would shatter on contact. Trom rolled the human over, checking her pulse. She would be fine. Looking at her still figure, an idea suddenly came to him and his antennae pricked up with delight. He spoke into his comm, his blue face grinning evilly. "Prepare two cells; there has been a change of plan."