“The ambassador wants to see you,” he announced from his lofty position.

“I’ll be right in,” I assured him with all due deference.

“Make sure you clean yourself before you do,” he instructed me, as if I were a child.

“Certainly.” I bowed my head.

“First Secretary!” he corrected.

“Excuse me?” I knew what he wanted.

“You will address me as First Secretary,” he explained. He was convinced that because I was a gardener I was also a dolt.

“Of course . . . First Secretary.” I smiled.

“Do people know what you’re doing here?” he asked with distaste.

“I beg you pardon, First Secretary?” I felt a slight twinge. He’s not supposed to know anything.

“Out here. The grounds,” he gestured impatiently to the plot I was preparing. “Do you have permission to do this work? It seems rather excessive. The grounds were perfectly acceptable with Kronim,” he said, referring to the former groundskeeper.

“I assure you, I have the authority . . . First Secretary.”

“Well, hurry up!” He actually clapped his hands. “We haven’t all day.” He turned and entered the building. I marveled how the years had turned him into a fussy middle‑aged androgyne. I wondered if anyone would really mind if I put him on the list after Proconsul Merrok.

When I entered the ambassador’s office, he was sitting at his desk with an older Romulan woman. Neither of them rose.

“Elim Vronok, this is Senator Pelek.” I bowed and waited respectfully to be addressed. The senator completely ignored me, and the Ambassador continued. “The senator has created a renowned arboretum, and she’s curious about the native Cardassian plantings you are introducing to the Romulan climate. Especially the Edosian orchid.”

I nodded. My expression betrayed nothing, but here was my “contact”: a Romulan senator. That Tain managed to turn such a high‑ranking official was a feat, considering the hermetic nature of Romulan society. These people regarded aliens as lower forms of life, and the condescending attitude all Romulans reserved for the outsider was never covert. Indeed, as I stood there in a work uniform identifying me as an Embassy service drone, the senator looked right through me. I wasn’t even worthy of her disdain.

“Send him to my residence,” she commanded the ambassador as she rose. “My groundskeeper will meet with him and get the necessary information.” The ambassador started to bow, but Senator Pelek was already on her way out the door. I began to wonder if she was indeed the contact. Could her interest in my orchids be a coincidence? This felt more like indentured labor than an undercover assignment.

“I’ve been posted here for two cycles and I still can’t get used to their arrogance.” Ambassador Bornar was a massively overweight man who appeared to be constantly falling asleep. This time, however, when I looked at him he was awake and very present. I wondered how much he knew about my mission. When he saw me studying him he quickly went back to sleep.

“Thank you, Vronok,” he rumbled. “Why don’t you clean up and I’ll have you transported to the senator’s residence.”

“Yes, Ambassador.” As I left I heard him call for Lokar, who was waiting outside the door. He sniffed at me as we passed. First Lackey would be a more appropriate title, I thought. But he didn’t concern me. After weeks of nothing but the daily manual labor of reorganizing and maintaining the embassy grounds, finally contact had been made. But the time hadn’t been wasted. I had worked hard, lived simply, and gotten myself in excellent physical condition. I’d studied the sketchy information on Merrok provided to me by Prang, but I’d been able to pick up little more on my own. It was going to be a challenge to get to him; he was a careful man, and devoted to his family, and if he had any vices they were effectively masked. A man who kept his habits to himself no doubt organized his life with the practiced attention of an experienced security operative. It was a closed system. But that’s why we had contacts: they were supposed to know the way in.

I also spent the time with my poetry, an interest that had revived along with my relationship with Palandine. It not only enabled me to express my passion, it was also the most effective way to alleviate the pain of our separation. Before Palandine came back into my life I had embraced these long assignments. Now all I wanted was to complete my work and return to her company.

“You will wait here,” the elderly Romulan groundskeeper instructed me. I barely noticed him leave: the massive outbuilding where I was told to wait was a controlled environment containing the most impressive collection of flora I have ever seen. The technology that allowed for such diversity to exist in one space was ingenious and visionary. I understood why the senator’s arboretum was renowned. The grayness that permeated the rest of Romulus was held in abeyance, and various shades of red, purple, green, yellow and blue flashed and vibrated with an energy–an awareness–that quickened every time I moved or changed focus. As I scanned the vast enclosure and the dense growth of shrubs, trees, flowers, and vines I shivered with the recognition that I was also being watched. Besides the visual beauty, there was an overwhelming sense of intelligence . . . and danger.

“Step back!” the voice sharply ordered. I turned and saw the senator standing at the entrance.

“Excuse me?” I didn’t understand.

“Unless you desire a stinging experience you won’t forget for days, I’d advise you to step back from the Romiian striker.” I followed her look, and saw a quivering vine snaking along the ground toward me and displaying sharp spikes along its spine. I stepped back, and it immediately retracted to the concealing bush where it obviously lived.

“It can attach itself to small creatures attracted by its scent and quickly drain them of fluids,” she said, as she examined me with a scientific detachment that made me feel like one of her new exhibits. Her sharp features accentuated the clinical attitude.

“We have a similar plant that. . . .”

“The Mekarian sawtooth, yes,” she interrupted. “There’s one just behind the Terran gum tree. But it actually breaks down the flesh of its prey. The striker leaves a desiccated husk.” Her speech was as precise and lean as her trim, ascetic body. “Other than the initial puncture, the dead creature looks untouched. Your Mekarian sawtooth leaves a very messy corpse,” she said with disdain.

I made no response, but all my awareness was in play. This was a dangerous woman, and it occurred to me that this dense collection of botanical life from every part of the quadrant was an instructive outpicturing of her own mind. My voice warned me to use my wits every step of the way. I wanted to turn around, to see what else was creeping toward me.

“I was assured that you know what you’re doing,” she said, breaking the humid silence.

“I’m honored by the generosity of that assurance. . . .”

“How quickly can you bring Edosian orchids to maturity?” Conversation was not at the top of her agenda. I looked around.

“I’ll have to bring in some specially prepared soil . . . early morning light is essential. . . .”

“How quickly?” she repeated with a sharper edge.

“To full bloom . . .” I made some rapid calculations . . . “it would take . . . six months at least. Unless . . .”

“Unless what?”

“We were able to trick them.” The Romulan gravity is heavier than ours and her constant pressure made it even more oppressive.

“By accelerating the cycles of light and dark,” she stated. She was no novice.

“Yes, if we could compress two cycles into one . . .”

“Three months.” She nodded, confirming something to herself and looking through me in that maddening way. I felt more and more like a holographic display. She suddenly walked past me.

“Come with me,” she ordered. I followed her down a central aisle, careful to step exactly where she did. I recognized some plants and shrubs either as Cardassian natives or ones I had encountered on other assignments. At one point I stopped when I saw a ground creeper–the indigo sunsearcher–also from the Mekar. It was like seeing an old friend, and brought back a flood of memories. Regnarsestablish their colonies next to the sunsearcher’s roots, but I decided not to share this with the senator. Finally we came to a cleared space, where a common‑looking plant with small white flowers and oval oily leaves tinged with an iridescent green was isolated from its neighbors. I looked to the senator for an explanation.