–***–

This year had 53 Fridays. The new friends did not miss a single lunch, and they found a better restaurant. On one occasion, Jim arrived late. With a gesture that made him look as if he was presenting a ring in a box, he put a minute petri dish down on top of the menu and handed Spock a hand lens.

"Here, have a look! I caught it just for you."

"What is it?"

"Nope. You know how I do things. First you look, and describe it to me." Spock looked down in the dish. Besides water, he saw nothing. Jim told him to hold his black sleeve under it as a background, and then he could see a small pale object, the size of a grain of table salt, moving in the fluid. When he used the lens, he could see it in detail.

"I'm not sure how to describe it. Roughly spherical, and ciliated. Fascinating."

"I've been using the image 'a cinnamon bun with eyelashes instead of sprinkles'. This is the gamete of the Zamia you once allowed me to borrow. The worlds largest sperm cell."

"I would not have recognised it as a sperm cell. The shape is most unusual."

"Well, the traditional tadpoles are just for animals, and not even all animals. But how about that lunch? What did you order?"

The failing rate of the math students in Spock's class decreased to an acceptable 65% during the semester.

–***–

Jim ran over the frosty grass to the apartment building at the edge of the campus. Too much in a hurry to wait for the elevator, he ran up four stairs and knocked on Spock's door. The man appeared in a chequered pyjama, visibly alarmed.

"Get dressed, hurry up! It's happening!"

"What is happening?"

"Wake up properly. What have I been talking about all week? What have Scotty been putting on the news feed every two hours? What did you – perhaps rashly – say that you wanted to see?"

"Ah yes. The titan arum."

"Exactly, now get dressed!"

After Spock had gotten dressed – immaculately, much to Jim's consternation, who wanted him to just throw on a dressing gown and go – they left the building. Dawn was breaking and the campus was empty except for themselves, but when they came to the greenhouse Spock saw several cars, a couple of people walking in, and camera flashes. They entered and found Scott, happy and beaming.

"She's doing fine, sir. Won't be long now. She got as high as 189 centimetres before she stared to swell laterally instead."

"Too bad, Scotty. I know you were hoping for her to get above 195cm to break the Stockholm record."

"Oh, I'll settle for what we've got. Glad you came to watch the big event, sir." Scott gave Spock a nod.

A big event indeed. Spock left Jim and Scott to discuss ventilation and walked over to the barrel-like pot standing in the middle of the room, behind velvet ropes. There was a small gathering of onlookers, some with cameras. They spoke in low voices. Spock found this behaviour illogical, since flowering plants could hardly be woken up by noise. He read the sign. The titan arum only flowers every fifteen years or so. The meantime is spent stocking nutrients and energy in the subterranean tuber, which can reach a weight of 50kg or more. The sign also said the large single leaf growing in the other barrel was a younger individual of the same species. The leaf was over three meters tall and the stalk was spotted in purple. Jim now caught up with Spock.

"Big guy, isn't he?" Jim stood with his arms akimbo and gazed over the enormous pale green bud.

"The head gardener called it a 'she'."

"Yes, well, it's both, so take your pick. I think of it as a he due to the name."

"Which is . . .?"

"Amorphophallus titanum. Gigantic misshaped phallus."

"Of course."

The bud was warm. A thermometer with a digital display showed that it was body temperature. A very slight slit had appeared at the top. Jim unpacked a camera and took his jacket off.

"I'm planning to get pictures from above. I found a place up there where I can . . . hey!" Jim was pointing to some aluminium tubes which were part of the irrigation system. Someone else was already there. A short, weather-beaten, khaki-clad woman in her fifties was hanging upside-down in her knees, apparently where Jim had planned to be. "Hey, that's my spot!"

"I don't see your name on it. Unless your name is 'Caution! Don't touch.'. Don't bother me, it's starting."

"I order you to get down!"

"You're not my boss, sonny. Bug off." The lady did not even move her eyes from her camera display. Jim could get security and make her come down, but then he could hardly climb up there himself afterwards, with security present. Spock spoke to him.

"How high do you need to be?"

"Well, the crate is 50cm, the bud is 189cm, and I want to be above that."

"Then it would suffice if you were to sit on my shoulders."

–***–

The best seat in the house, Jim thought to himself. He was riding high on Spock's shoulders and had been doing so for fifteen minutes. The angle was perfect, and the fact that he could ask Spock to walk around to the other side when necessary made it better than he could have hoped for. Jim lowered the camera and spoke to the man between his thighs.

"I can jump down if you need a rest."

"That will not be necessary." Spock rested his hands on Jim's knees. "I must admit that the odour is nauseating, though."

"Overwhelming. I can see carrion flies bumping against the glass frames trying to get in. That's why Scotty shut the ventilation for a while, otherwise they'd be buzzing around all over the thing. Smells like a dead horse on a hot day." Jim felt Spock wobble and became concerned. "You're not gonna faint, are you?"

"No."

"Throw up?"

"Possibly." Spock moved his hand from Jim's knee to support himself against a young tree. He held a branch in a tight grip. Jim took more pictures and then noticed what Spock was holding.

"That will help. Smell your hand." Spock did so and felt a lot better. The bark was pleasantly aromatic. The sign on the trunk said 'Eastern Forest Tressa bark. Donation.' With the pungent stench of the arum somewhat mollified by the Tressa, Spock kept Jim on his shoulders until the show was over. The spathe was now completely rolled down, the spadix exposed and purple. Scotty had opened the windows and flies and beetles were crawling in. The woman in khaki climbed down and tried to stand up straight again. It was now late morning and the amateur flower lovers swarmed to the green house, attracted by Scotty's tweets as if they, too, were carrion flies.

"What do you say we go and have breakfast, Spock? I know it's not Friday."

"I am willing to make an exception."

–***–