A Stitch in Time

by Andrew J. Robinson

  “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.

  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, Balkan. 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.”

  “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.