As I came closer to the end of my mission, my thoughts increasingly dwelled on my much‑anticipated reunion with Palandine. Even my poetry, as its passion spilled over the restraints of all structure and form, couldn’t focus my desire and calm my impatience. Sometimes I’d be digging in the soil, and I’d notice that my hands were shaking like the leaves of a jacara tree. At such times I’d stop, wherever I was, and attempt to center my concentration with a breathing meditation I’d learned from Calyx. Four quick inhales through the nose . . . hold . . . four exhales through the mouth. Now slower . . . longer . . . run them together. . . .

“Ten Lubak.” The gruffness was disguised by a veneer of refinement, but I could still hear it. This was either the extent to which I had lost control of my concentration–or my worst fear had just come true.

“Sleeping on the job, are we?” The voice was playful, confident, superior. Be careful of what you fear most, Calyx had once warned. I opened my eyes.

“One Charaban.” He was fuller, and even with the refinement, crueler. A predator at the peak of his maturity. With him was a military gul with a sneering look and the longest neck I have ever seen on a Cardassian. I was suddenly calm. Whether it was the meditation or the realization when I made contact with Lokar’s eyes that he knew nothing about my relationship with Palandine, I was able to calmly stand and face him.

“This is a surprise, Elim.” And he knew nothing about me. As far as I could read in his eyes, I was nothing more than a gardener working at the embassy . . . a story he could tell at some dinner about running into an old schoolmate who had such promise, and ended up growing flowers.

“What brings you to gray Romulus?” I asked, genuinely curious.

“Skrain Dukat. . . .” Lokar presented his long‑necked companion, who barely nodded. “. . . Elim . . .”

“Vronok,” I added quickly. Lokar looked at me with surprise. “What can I say, Barkan? Part of my problem when we knew each other was the question of my . . . origins, shall we say.” I made a resigned gesture. “It was, as you can imagine, a bit of a scandal, and accounted for my abrupt departure from Bamarren. But at least I met my real father before he died. It was only appropriate that I take his name.”

“I see,” Lokar almost whispered. The story was getting even better. Dukat’s sneer had expanded to a grotesque grimace that was probably his version of a smile.

“If you’ll excuse me,” Dukat said to Lokar. “I’ll go in and clean up before we present our credentials.” He gave me one last sneer before he entered. I may have gone to school with Lokar, but as far as Dukat was concerned I was still an illegitimate service drone.

“I’m on Bajor now. Vice Prefect of the Occupation Force. Very rich planet, Elim. And it’s my job to make sure the riches are wisely exploited. Dukat runs the mining operations on Bajor, and we’re here to complete a trade agreement.” All this was told with a conversational ease, as almost a confidence between old friends. He was so much more accomplished in the subtle way he established his superiority.

“Your cousin Krim must be a very useful liaison in this process,” I said, observing his reaction to the use of “liaison.”

“Yes,” he replied with unruffled poise. “The two of you must have had some interesting reminiscences.”

“I’m afraid he didn’t recall me.”

“He didn’t?” Lokar laughed. “That’s not surprising. I’m afraid Krim’s mind can retain only so much. And you didn’t remind him?”

“I chose not to.” I smiled.

“I understand.” He returned my smile with a look of such false sympathy, it almost made me laugh. I was no longer a worthy opponent, and he was exhibiting the complacency of a well‑fed predator. This suited my purpose; as long as I posed no threat to his superior position he would soon forget me. Still, I reminded myself, I must rearrange my records to corroborate the Vronok story of illegitimate disgrace.

“Are you here for an extended visit?” I asked.

“No, I’m afraid not. The agreement is fairly well secured, and we’re just here to sign and drink their foul ale.” I nodded with a knowing laugh. Ah, yes, how difficult the obligations of the powerful can be. But I was relieved that his stay would be brief.

“And how does your family enjoy living on Bajor?” I asked.

“That’s right, you know Palandine,” he said brightly, as if he’d just remembered. I was tempted to tell him just how well. “It’s difficult, you know. The Occupation has become quite dangerous for our families. Especially with the vicious and cowardly tactics of the Bajoran Resistance.” I nodded again with a good servant’s understanding: for the privileged, power is indeed coupled with awful responsibility and sacrifice. This “sympathetic” moment was broken by the hurried approach of a young Cardassian woman.

“I’m sorry I’m late, Barkan. The transport. . . .” Lokar’s sharp look stopped her. She looked from him to me, not quite sure what was going on.

“Gul Dukat is already inside. Organize our presentation and I’ll be right in,” he ordered coldly.

“Certainly, Vice Prefect.” She bowed and entered the embassy.

“My administrative assistant. She’s young, but very good.” I smiled. I’m sure she was. This one awkward moment confirmed all the reports about his philandering, and allowed me to fully rationalize my own intimate involvement with a married woman.

“It was a pleasant surprise to run into you again, Elim.” The conversation was over, but not before he looked around. “Very good work. The grounds are quite presentable.”

“That’s very kind of you, Barkan. Thank you.” I inclined my head to this pure expression of the aristocratic obligation to recognize when Cardassian standards are maintained. I then decided to ask one final question.

“How did your Competition turn out?” I asked with innocent curiosity. He paused at the door. Other than the light disappearing from his eyes, his affable expression never wavered.

“Extremely well, Elim. It got me here.” A brilliant answer. I bowed again in genuine appreciation, and he entered the building. In fact, the Competition resulted in a draw. My sources informed me that Pythas Lok, the challenging One Lubak, had been betrayed during the battle by one of his team leaders, Four Lubak. Four had been chosen as a leader because he’d been part of our successful and undetected penetration during the previous Competition. This time, however, he’d been detected at a crucial moment. Betrayal had been suspected, but it wasn’t confirmed until Four showed up on Bajor as one of Lokar’s chief assistants and promoted to gul. Gul Toran is someone Tain has warned me to monitor periodically.

As I returned to my work, I noticed that my hands were completely steady. Lokar’s weakness–underestimating his enemies–had allowed me to pass through his vigilance undetected. Even so, I debated whether or not to have flowers delivered to his quarters.

Crenal and the senator were waiting for me when I arrived at the arboretum.

“How long will it take to prepare the orchids for transport?” she demanded. I could see from her tense body language that we were now at the endgame.

“We’ve arranged to have everything ready for delivery before afternoon. That gives Crenal and his assistant plenty of time to transport and plant before dark.” Crenal nodded in agreement.

“There’s one change,” the senator stated. “I want you to accompany Crenal.”

“Me?” I was shocked. This was not what we had planned.

“I’ve made no secret of the fact that the groundskeeper from the Cardassian Embassy is teaching us how to grow Edosian orchids,” she explained, fully aware of the distasteful irony. “In fact, I’ve used it as an example of how our two cultures can learn from each other. It’s also no secret that the proconsul would like to downplay his anti‑Cardassian feelings, and when I suggested that he incorporate these orchids into his own collection, he readily agreed. He also expressed a strong desire to meet you.”