Rain softly patters against the curved windows of the Vulcan Embassy as I stare out into the melancholy street. Light from the coming sunrise is just now filtering its way to ground level after contending with the thousands of looming skyscrapers around me. I've been watching as the city slowly comes to life. People begin to be seen moving about, all heading to their various destinations. Some are wearing uniforms, others are dressed in more casual clothing, but all are draped in layers for the chilly spring morning in San Francisco.
My nights working security at the embassy were often slow, but the poor weather had made this one particularly empty. I look down at the watch on my left wrist and breathe in relief that it indicates 0555. Less than five minutes to go before the first of the embassy's office staff will be arriving, finally giving me some work to do. Then at 0700 I'll be able to leave and spend some time doing…something at my apartment. I'm not sure what yet, but I'm sure I'll figure it out after getting some much needed sleep.
I walk back over to my side of the stately reception desk and plop down on the very utilitarian, and somewhat uncomfortable chair behind it. On the other end of the long counter sits my reception office counterpart for the night, the young Vulcan woman named Androma. Tonight she wears her long black hair in a simple, low ponytail over her dark brown tunic. The hair style exposes her pointed ears, and a beautiful two pronged earring that attaches onto both her middle and lower lobes. She sits in her usual upright position, studying from one datapad and occasionally transcribing notes onto another. She and I have been assigned to work together many times over the last several months and despite her aloof attitude at times, I like to think that she's warming up to me.
"Wow, it's been a long night!" I sigh to her, slightly exaggerating my exhaustion in hopes of starting a conversation.
"Indeed," she agrees in her expressionless voice, "it has allowed an ample amount of time for me to study".
"I'm glad!" I say sincerely.
I follow up with a question about her studies, and how she expects the entrance exam for the prestigious Vulcan Science Academy to go. She responds with a somewhat snarky comment, for a Vulcan, about how it's only logical to assume she'll do well based off of her many hours of study. I agree with her, but I'm not sure what to respond with, so the conversation begins to wane. Much earlier than I'd hoped. After almost three years of working closely with these aliens you'd think I'd be better at carrying conversations with them. This example though was fairly par for the course. Many of them simply found long conversations to be an illogical use of time, so it was not a well developed habit among their species.
Before the conversation completely dies, however, Androma begins telling me about a request she received from the head Ambassador while I was completing my foot patrols.
"Adam," she says, surprising me a little by saying my first name, "I did not have an opportunity to inform you earlier, but Ambassador Sylik is requesting to see you before you retire for the day".
"Really?" I say, puzzled. "That's a little out of the blue".
Sylik is the head Ambassador of the embassy, and the planet Vulcan's direct ambassador to Earth. It's a position that he has served in for over 40 years. In that time, he has garnered a great reputation; not only on our two planets, but across the entire federation. He has brokered peace deals, established trade routes, helped new planets join the alliance, and much more. To say he's important is a massive understatement. That's why, despite working at the embassy for a while now, I've never met him. I've seen him, sure, but just while his security team escorts him to his office through the back door. Just thinking of the man brings a quiet nervousness to me for a moment.
"Does it say why he wants to meet?"
"I am afraid not".
A moment of silence follows, and she tries to relieve the tension in the room by saying "I can only hope the meeting is not meant to initiate disciplinary action against you".
Her comment does not have the desired effect. However, I know that she's doing her best to be encouraging, so I agree and say, "Thanks, I hope not either". Still, it takes a second to ignore the backhanded comment she unknowingly uttered.
We again sit quietly for a moment before I look over and ask jokingly, "So "Adam", huh? What happened to only calling me "Officer Rularen" all the time? Are we finally on a first name basis now?"
Before she responds, I swear I see a flicker of embarrassment come across her normally emotionless face. It's gone just as quickly as it appears, but her response is a touch faster than normal, so I'll count it as a win in my book.
"I meant no offense, I simply intended to try a more friendly, human gesture. I thought it might ease your emotions at hearing the news of the Ambassador requesting to meet with you".
"I know, I know," I reply chuckling, "I'm just messing with you. A little good old-fashioned human teasing".
She replies, almost defensively, "I was merely following the advice you always give me, to "loosen up". Does that not give me immunity from "teasing" as you say?"
"Nope, it sure doesn't!" I smile back.
She sighs slightly and says "I am beginning to think I will never understand the complexities of human banter. It is so illogical".
"Trust me," I agree, "it isn't much easier to understand as a human. But I'll get you more used to it" I promise, laughing. "It gets better the more you hear it. Best thing to do right now is to just go along with it, as long as it's clearly meant well. And maybe you can even try dishing it back out every once and a while".
There's a pause before she asks hesitantly, "Is "dishing it back out"... necessary… for conversing with humans?"
"Quite!" I assure her. I'm not sure if I fully believe that myself, but I'm hopeful she won't pick up on my sarcasm. I'm eager to see if she'll try it in the future.
"Very well then", she says, "I will look for opportunities to "tease" you, Officer Rularen".
Mission accomplished; I laugh and tell her that I look forward to it.
The young woman looks back towards the main entrance, noting the first of the embassy staff members entering the large room. She subtly straightens her back, which had relaxed slightly during our conversations, and returns to her commonly poised form. I follow her cue and quietly return to my tasks, waiting to welcome the Vulcans who are slowly approaching us.
I'm left thinking about how much I genuinely enjoyed the shift tonight. I truly feel like Androma and I have crossed a threshold, as if winter has turned to spring in our relationship. She used to be cold and quiet, only interacting with me when necessary, and much more interested in studying her books. Now, after a few months of warming up to human interaction, she was someone I could actually have a conversation with, and have it reciprocated. Maybe all of my bad jokes had finally paid off.
I realize in the moment that I might now consider her a friend. The thought surprises me a little, but I don't shy away from it. In fact, I want to bring it to light somehow.
A little awkwardly, I begin telling her sincerely, "Androma, I want you to know that despite my teasing, I really appreciate the gesture. I am a little apprehensive about meeting with the Ambassador, and your method worked. It took my mind off of the news for a time, so thank you".
I think my honesty catches her a little off guard so she just nods slightly, and accepts the gratitude.
After a short pause I add, "If you would like, I can fill you in on how it goes".
I don't expect any confirmation from her, but to my surprise she replies, "I too am curious as to the circumstances of your meeting. I would certainly appreciate an account, when you are able".
I nod, confirming my intention to report to her, and then beam at her reply. I have to admit, there is nothing more rewarding than having a Vulcan open up to you. It's like working on a puzzle for months and finally beginning to see the picture come together.
Shortly after, the first staff members of the day reach our desk. Androma begins checking them in, confirming their names and IDs with what is recorded in our system. Then they come to me where I reconfirm their identity, cross reference their biometrics with our database, and do a short scan for any weapons. My counterpart and I are a well-oiled machine, so we finish the first few quickly. We don't get much of a chance to rest, however, as they are soon followed by a wave of other personnel waiting to start their day.
The high workload causes the next hour to fly by. I hardly notice when I check-in the officer that will relieve me. After I finish my scan, he gives me a brief smile and begins to make his way around the large desk. I don't recognize the large, older man, but that's not uncommon in this sizeable embassy.
"Looks like you were a little zoned out there", he jokes with me.
I laugh self consciously, "Yeah, I'm a little preoccupied with something".
The gruff man slaps a broad hand onto my shoulder blade and says comfortingly, "Well young man, I know that whatever's on your mind, it will work out".
I turn my head towards him and give a small smile of appreciation. After a reassuring pat, he removes his paw and goes about initiating a security screening on the next man in line.
I take a deep breath, gather my few belongings, and begin to make my way to the building's turbolifts.
Androma, however, remains in her seat. Her replacement won't come in until 0800, to help make the transition of shifts a little smoother. As I'm about to pass behind her, she turns briefly and says "Good luck". It's another gesture of human endearment that catches me off guard a little, but I'm grateful for it. I give her a nod, mutter "Thank you", and start down the brown, marble floored hallway.
The silver doors of the skyscraper's turbolifts lay just around the corner from the building's lobby. Six neat, automatic doors all sit recessed in impressive wooden frames. Four other people wait patiently for the next lift by standing in the middle of the hallway.
Three of them, two men and one woman, are Vulcan and wear the traditional robes of the Embassy. They are obviously staffers or assistants to ambassadors. The other man is different, however. I study him for a moment. He's human, and has no signs of embassy attire. In fact, he wears a somewhat ragged jumpsuit that I know I've seen before. I finally place it after looking at his feet. He has two pairs of shoes on. One is clearly an insulating layer, and the other is a hard shell, covered in red dust. He works on mars.
I wonder why he's here. He's clearly come in a hurry, because people usually take the time to clean up a little before coming to an ambassador's office. He may have even teleported directly into the building. It's rare, but permission to do that does happen if the situation is urgent enough.
The only thing I can figure is that there must be some kind of trade dispute going on at the Mars shipyards. A lot of Vulcan commodities are shipped into and out of the Sol system from there, as it's much less crowded and easier to navigate than Earth. I bet the issues started when…
My train of thought is interrupted as I catch the man looking at me for a moment. He's noticed my study of him and is rather annoyed. He turns away from my gaze and leans down a little to say something to the Vulcan staffer who is accompanying him.
I'm embarrassed. I quickly turn my head away too and begin studying the lift doors with sudden fascination. Immediately after, a tired frustration creeps in. I'm usually much more covert than this. Analyzing someone in broad daylight used to be a talent of mine. Maybe I've lost my touch. That, unfortunately, would make sense. My life once depended on my ability to gather information secretly. I constantly balanced on margins of error smaller than the edge of a knife; always feeling at risk of slipping off and being sliced by the blade of discovery. But now, it's been years since my life depended on such secrecy. These days, I don't have a mission or a team I can jeopardize, so my awareness isn't as sharp. Looking back, I don't know how I did it. But I do know why I did it. It was for something bigger than me. Gathering intelligence risked my life, but letting that information go loose among villains and rival governments unchecked risked everyone else's. My skill set used to contribute something to society. Now, it does little more than make me feel nosey. Just another way for my Starfleet training to get me in trouble, I suppose.
Shaking it off, I get myself to start mentally preparing for my meeting with the Ambassador. It doesn't take me long before I have completely moved on from the awkward instance that occurred a few moments ago.
However, I do generously allow the group with my Martian friend to enter the first turbo lift that arrives, and insist that I'll be ok to wait for the next one.
I ride alone to the top floor. Calm has now entered my mind. I've met with superiors dozens of times in my life before this and have never died, so I have nothing to worry about.
I exit the speedy elevator onto the ninety fifth floor of the Vulcan Embassy. The area immediately in front of me is a small greeting room, bordered by a large frosted glass wall. An "L" shaped desk made of beautiful natural wood sits to the left of the space, while the right is dotted with a few chairs and couches. This floor's footprint is much more narrow than that of the ground level, as the skyscraper tapers significantly before reaching its highest point. I briefly look out the window of the empty lobby. Despite being well over three hundred meters in the air, the view mostly consists of the windows of much taller surrounding buildings.
Turning back to my left, I walk towards the receptionist's desk only to realize that no one is occupying it.
"That's a little odd" I think to myself.
Ambassador Sylik has a dedicated assistant who usually mans this station at all times. Maybe the Ambassador went out of the office? I know his aides usually accompany him when he does, so I look towards the frosted glass wall to see if I can see any movement inside. Sure enough, I see the silhouettes of two figures talking to each other; one clearly wearing body armor, and the other with pointy ears.
Undeterred by the irregularity, I reach over the desk to check myself in on the PADD. I then take a seat in one of the chairs facing the window, hoping that in the meantime they'll notice that I'm here.
Luckily, it's not long before the door behind me opens and I'm escorted by the Ambassador's personal guard into the office.