“What do my superiors think about this change?” I asked.

“They are not my superiors, and I don’t care what they think. The only superior you should worry about right now is me!” Her tension made her features even sharper and her eyes bigger. She was pure will, and would suffer no opposition.

“And do I have to remind you that nothing can be traced in a causal manner?” she asked rhetorically. I simply smiled in the face of her contempt for my inability to think clearly. That absolute belief in her own logic reminded me that the Romulan connection to the Vulcan antecedent was still very active.

“Get to work!” she commanded, and Crenal and I obeyed. I realized as I put gloves on my hands that I was actually grateful to the senator. She indeed was one of the most efficient contacts I had ever worked with. I was also grateful to be participating. This way, I knew the job would be done correctly–and I could return to Cardassia.

Merrok was standing at the entrance of his grounds when we arrived. He was not what I had expected. In fact, the similarity to Tain was at first unnerving. Merrok, too, was overweight and somewhat rumpled, unusual for a Romulan. He had that same avuncular manner when listening, and his unaffected courtesy made me forget that I was a Cardassian. His simple and worn work outfit told me he was a serious gardener.

As Crenal and I worked unloading the different plants the Senator had sent and preparing the soil, he peppered us with intelligent questions and listened carefully to our answers. Two children came out of the house and my heart sank. I had been told that he lived here with his wife, who was bedridden with some mysterious malady. But when he introduced us to his grandchildren and told us that they were returning to their home today, I was enormously relieved. Because by tonight the cross‑fertilization would have taken place, and shortly thereafter the orchids would be lethal for one cycle of light. By tomorrow night they would revert to the innocent beauty that makes them a coveted possession of the dedicated groundskeeper.

Merrok watched me carefully as I transplanted the orchids. He intuitively knew to suspend his questions while I performed the delicate operation. I could see that he was enchanted by them.

“Tomorrow you might give them a supplement I’m going to leave with you. Four parts water, one part supplement. That will aid the transplant.” Obviously it was vital to our plan that he be near the orchids on the first day, but I recognized from his fascination that he didn’t need any encouragement.

“Not today?” he wondered.

“No, I don’t think so. They have enough to adjust to already. By tomorrow they’ll be receptive,” I explained as I put on the finishing touches. He nodded approval at my logic. I rose to make sure that Crenal was placing the White Star far enough away from the orchid. The seeds had already been sent and accepted; there was no point in establishing this lethal fertilization as a periodic event.

“What is he planting?” Merrok inquired.

“I believe the senator said it was called Starlight Sweetness,” I replied.

“Women,” he chuckled. “Where’s it from?”

“Somewhere in the Klingon Empire, I believe,” I answered.

“At least my grounds will live in political harmony,” he laughed, enjoying the irony. If only he knew how deadly the irony was. But his pleasant company made me curious as to why Tain harbored such antipathy for the man.

When he finished, the proconsul invited us in for a refreshment. I politely declined, but he insisted.

“I’ve never had a Cardassian in my home before, Vronok, and I’d like you to be the first.” There was no way I could wiggle out of this. Crenak and I obediently followed him, brushing our hands against our clothes.

“Don’t worry about that. It’s honest work and honest soil,” he said as he led us inside. A young man dressed in the black uniform of a high‑ranking Tal Shiar officer watched me coldly as I entered. I could feel Crenal shrink away from the young man’s presence. The proconsul proudly introduced him as his son, Colonel Merrok. The colonel looked at me and shook his head with hostile disbelief. Obviously the rank of proconsul would be far beyond his diplomatic prowess. I was sorry he wouldn’t be around to help his father tend to the orchids the next day.

“Tameenar!” Merrok called, and a liveried servant immediately appeared. “Bring some ale.” The servant soundlessly disappeared. The room was cavernous–Romulans, it seemed, valued large spaces–and simply but elegantly furnished. As he continued to stare at me, I knew it was only a matter of time before the colonel expressed his disapproval of my presence. Romulans wore their rudeness like a badge of honor.

“Was this necessary, Father?” He referred to me as if I were a mute display. “This passion for your plants seems to attract other lower life‑forms as well.” The gesture was so outrageous that I began to laugh. Crenak was shocked at my reaction, but Merrok laughed even harder. The old proconsul was not making me feel too terribly pleased about my mission. I was genuinely liking this man.

“Our friend Vronok is not only an accomplished floriculturalist, Toral, but he is the bringer of an exquisite creation whose cultivation few people in the quadrant have mastered.” The Colonel snorted. “Besides, he’s part of the good senator’s reconciliation gesture,” he added with heavy irony. At that both men laughed. Ah yes, I thought, another case of fatal underestimation.

The servant returned with the Romulan ale, and we each accepted a glass. The proconsul proposed a toast.

“Here’s to the success of the plantings. . . .” He paused, and just as I was about to drink he continued with a twinkle in his eye. “. . . And to the spoonheads staying within their own borders.” I smiled, and without hesitation drank from the glass. Lokar was right, Romulan ale was a foul drink. But I must confess that the toast proposed by proconsul Merrok left me feeling much better about the whole affair.

“So you spent some time with him, Elim. I hope it was edifying,” Tain said at the end of my report.

“At first I couldn’t think why you hated him,” I confessed.

“I don’t hate anyone, Elim,” he carefully explained. “I have a job to do–and sometimes it’s necessary to eliminate those enemies who can’t otherwise be dissuaded. And he was determined to block our interests at every juncture.”

“Was?” I queried.

“Oh yes, you did your job. With the help of a farsighted Romulan patriot like Senator Pelek, we were able to significantly slow down their anti‑Cardassian faction. Merrok was found two days after you left in a tool shed. By then there was no way to trace the cause and it was determined that he died of complications due to age.” I had never seen Tain so animated. He radiated glee.

“It was reported that a few other people decided to smell the flowers that day,” Tain chuckled. I hoped it hadn’t been the children. “Oh yes, my boy–yes, you did excellent work. A job well done.” He had never complimented me with such unconditional enthusiasm. It was almost a demonstration of paternal pride.

“You see, I had this planned for a long time, Elim. But Tolan wouldn’t agree. He wouldn’t take on the assignment, and he wouldn’t pass on the information. But thankfully he trusted you, Elim.” Tain patted me on the shoulder, which meant I was dismissed.

As I walked to my rendezvous with Palandine in the Coranum grounds I felt empty. What remained of the pride that filled me was nausea and a bilious taste in my mouth. I was the one poisoned. Perhaps by the pain that Tolan refused to suffer.

17

Fear and isolation, Doctor. You can’t have one without the other. Fear isolates and isolation is fear’s natural home. Just as my orchids need carefully prepared soil to protect them against disease and pests, fear needs the isolated circumstances to deepen and grow without connective or relational interference. When fear is allowed to flourish in its dark and lonely medium, then any evil that can be conceived by the fearful imagination will emerge.