“I understand that under the correct conditions your Edosian orchid can be extremely toxic,” she said. I was puzzled by the comment. Tolan had once mentioned that the orchid had been used in the past for nefarious purposes, but when I’d pursued him for details he’d maintained that this was information I didn’t need. For him, it was a cruel irony that a flower that offered such beauty and aesthetic pleasure could be used for evil. As I studied the plant, the ridges of my neck and shoulders began to buzz with an anxious excitement.

“This is something I know nothing about,” I confessed. She looked at me to determine the truth of my reply.

“No one has been able to grow the orchid here,” she said, still probing me with her dark eyes. “I told your superior that it was absolutely essential that we be successful. It’s bad enough having an alien come in here to do this work, but it would be intolerable to fail. Do you understand?”

“I do,” I assured her.

“Do you?” she maintained the pressure.

“Just tell me what you want, senator. My time is also precious, and I have come to your charming planet to do the best work it’s in my power to do.” I had had enough of her veiled threats and supercilious treatment for one day. I had no idea how she would react to my thinly disguised ultimatum, but she was not the woman I wanted to be spending my time with.

“All right, Elim Vronok,” she nodded, almost approvingly. “I want you to start growing your orchids immediately. Tell my groundskeeper, Crenal, what you need and use your ‘precious time’ to ensure that these orchids are in full bloom in no more than three months.” She started to walk away, but something stopped her.

“Where do you want to establish your beds?” she asked. I looked around and realized that where I was standing was ideal.

“Right here would be fine.” I replied.

“That’s the whole point. Anywhere but here.” Her laugh was dry and mirthless. She turned and made her way through the flora, which seemed to recede from her careful, mincing tread, making a path. I looked again at the star‑shaped white flower and the oily–almost garish–green of the leaves. I wondered how Tolan would feel if he knew how I was using his gift.

As long as I was able to immerse myself in the work, the time passed quickly. Crenal was a naturally reticent man, and I’m sure taking orders from a “barbarian” only made him more so; but he was knowledgeable and forthcoming with the necessary assistance and information. With his help I devised a simple cover that we used to block out the light in the middle of the day for a period equal to the short nights of this time of year. As expected, it doubled the speed of growth. At first I was concerned that the orchid stems were appearing too reedlike because of the accelerated push, but Crenal created a nutrient supplement that accommodated the speed. He generously gave me the formula, and I used it to supplement the orchids I was growing under normal conditions at the embassy. While the added nutrients made the plants stronger and more resistant to disease and predators, the problem was that they added too much body to the stem and branches, thereby compromising the orchid’s lissome elegance.

Crenal was also generous with information about the many plants that were unknown to me. His patience with my unending questions was testament to his devotion and pride. But when I asked him about the isolated white flower, his generosity turned off like Quark’s smile when you announce that you can’t pay your bill.

“You’ll have to ask the senator,” was all he said.

And one day I did ask. It was toward the end of the prescribed time period and Senator Pelek, during one of her periodic inspections, had expressed satisfaction with our progress. She was about to make one of her abrupt departures.

“What is the orchid’s relationship to the white star flower?” I asked. She stopped and gave me that searching and skeptical look she often used with me.

“Who was your mentor?” she asked. I didn’t quite understand the question.

“My father,” I replied. I knew I couldn’t go wrong with that answer.

“He was a gardener.”

“Yes.”

“What else did he do?” she asked.

“That’s all he was,” I replied.

“And he taught you how to grow the orchid and didn’t tell you of its use?” She was still skeptical.

“He . . . was a simple man. He didn’t altogether approve of my choice of career.” She nodded, still probing in her expert but rudely exasperating manner. I decided to give her access and momentarily removed my mask. The light in her eyes changed.

“Follow,” she instructed. She led me to the white flower. “Look very carefully at the stamen. Are your eyes good?” Without answering, I inspected the stamen, where I saw a tight ball of adhering seeds nestled in against the filament and anther.

“It’s called the White Star of Night. Originally, on Vulcan, it was called the Death Star.” I involuntarily moved back. “It won’t harm you. Or it could, but only indirectly. It produces a limited supply of seeds, which it sends out searching for the proper receptacle. When a seed does find a . . . ‘mate’, shall we say, it does what pollen is designed to do–it enters the pollen tube of the receptor plant and moves into the ovule, where the egg is fertilized. With certain flowers, however, the process has a significant variation. The resulting blossom of the mated flower is so deadly that just to be in its immediate vicinity is a fatal experience.”

“And the Edosian orchid is one of those flowers.” The Senator just looked at me. “Why have you separated the White Star from its neighbors?” I asked.

“Because if the flower sends out its seeds and they fertilize others, after a time it will stop producing seeds. I said the supply was limited. We’re saving them. Or have you forgotten why you’re here?” she asked, as if I were not only stupid but a coward as well.

“No, senator. I know why I’m here,” I said with a sweet smile that made her lips curl. She turned and walked away. “Thank you for the lesson,” I said to her retreating back.

The Death Star. At that moment, I remembered a time after I had left Bamarren, when I was working with Tolan in Tarlak. I had asked him if he wasn’t bothered by his status.

“What status is that, Elim?” Tolan was amused, but his response had made it clear that my question was an unpardonable rudeness. I attempted to apologize; but Tolan wanted to pursue the question. “That I work in a service profession?”

“Please don’t be offended,” I tried to explain. “I just think that you’re . . .”

“Better than this?” he gestured to the bed he was working in. I didn’t respond.

“If somebody asks you to do something, and you know that to comply would go against what you believe, even subject you to pain, how would you react?” he asked.

“I would . . . refuse . . . if I could.” For a young Cardassian with a deeply ingrained sense of duty, this was a difficult question.

“In all the years I’ve spent maintaining these grounds I have never felt that pain. That is my status, Elim.”

Either Tolan had refused Tain’s request, or Tain didn’t know about the White Star of Night. Why else would I be here getting this lesson from a Romulan crone?

We were coming close to the moment of maturity Senator Pelek was waiting for. I wasn’t sure how it was going to actually happen, but I had learned through discreet inquiries that she had decided Proconsul Merrok was dangerously out of touch with Romulus and its future needs. It was a complicated political opposition, but it came down to the scientist, Pelek, who wanted a more open exchange of information with a technologically advanced civilization, Cardassia; and the warrior‑politician, Merrok, who distrusted Cardassians and believed he could manipulate a Klingon alliance through the Tal Shiar. Usually, Romulan rivalries were out in the open, and decided by what they called a “confrontation of honor,” but the senator believed that too many of the old guard supported Merrok and so such a confrontation would result in a destructive blood bath. No one would expect this kind of covert conspiracy, and certainly no one expected it from the senator, who was regarded as a brilliant if eccentric scientist who loved to collect plants. The irony, of course, was Pelek’s personal alliance with Tain and the Order, and while I wasn’t privy to their arrangement I was certain that the senator was acting out of strongly felt principles, and that her political ideals were more important than the latinum to be gained from a potentially lucrative trade agreement.