Brian Plante - True Blue

“Yes,” she said. “This one may be worthwhile. I’ll just graft it onto a heartier root system and see how it does in full bloom.”

“How long will that take? I can’t stay very long.”

“A couple of minutes. I have lots of macros.”

Max didn’t doubt that for a second. Grandma Ruth obviously knew her way around a sim console.

“How many different cross-breedings do you do in a week?” he asked.

“A whole week? Oh my, probably about forty or fifty.”

Max did some mental arithmetic. My God, he thought, if she’d been at this for twenty years, she had probably done in the neighborhood of 50,000 crosses without giving up hope.

“Grandma, if you ever succeeded, ever came up with a pure blue one, what would you do? You can’t take it out of the simulation.”

“Oh, I think I’d just look at it awhile. Then I suppose I could die a happy woman.”

Max looked concerned. “That was a joke, I hope?”

“We’ll see when I get a blue rose,” she said in a voice that gave away nothing.

“In that case, I hope you never succeed.”

“Don’t want me to be happy, huh?”

“Don’t want you to be dead.”

“That’s sweet, Dr. Max. Here, have another rose.”

Max took the proffered flower, and it smelled delightful, but it was gone a few seconds later when Max unplugged.

The following day he had to give her a calcium shot. The shelf above the workbench was filled with pots, many more than he had seen in his previous two visits.

“Trying something new?” he asked.

“That one you saw yesterday that showed some promise,” she replied. “The blue tendency persisted in the adult blooms too, so I’m just doing a lot of self-pollinations, hoping for some variation.”

“What, a mutation?”

“Not really. Mutations happen once in a long while, but all pollinations are a toss of the dice with roses. That’s why when you finally get one you like, you have to use cuttings, not seeds, to propagate it. The stubborn things hardly ever breed true. It’s a curse, but it’s also why there’s so much variety.”

“Are those ready to go?” Max asked, pointing to all the pots lined up on the shelf.

“My fourth batch today,” she said. “Let’s see what happens.”

When the macro was run, a wide variety of plants emerged in the pots. Many were bluish purple like their progenitor, but some were different. A few reds and violets here and there. Some bore no flowers at all, and a few had green “flowers” composed entirely of leaves instead of normal petals. But it was one even stranger that caught their attention at the same time.

It only had one bloom on it, and it was misshapen. The petals were too thin instead of broad, giving the bloom a very un-roselike appearance. But it was the color that had attracted their attention. It was still basically a bluish purple, but there were blotches. Blotches of very pale blue.

“Is that good?” Max asked, not sure if spots counted.

“It’s certainly different,” Grandma responded, squinting at the bloom. “The shape’s all wrong, but those patches are encouraging. If I could get a whole rose that color, I suppose you could call it blue.”

Grandma Ruth had a faraway look about her. Max wasn’t sure if she was about to topple and grabbed her wrist. She seemed incredibly frail in his grasp.

“I’m OK,” she insisted. “I was just daydreaming.”

“Do you think you could do it?” he asked. “Make a blue rose out of this?”

She shrugged. “Who knows? I’d have to do something about those sorry-looking petals in any case. Maybe this one’s not worth fixing. Stop by tomorrow and we’ll see if I can’t make something out of it.”

“Well, good luck.”

Max stood quietly admiring Grandma Ruth for a few seconds. What if she succeeds? he wondered.

“So,” she said, “what are you waiting for? I have a lot of work to do here before my hour’s up.” Grandma had developed a frown and some deep worry lines had crept across her brow.

“Aren’t you going to give me a rose today?” Max asked before exiting the sim.

“Oh, oh, oh. Why sure, Dr. Max,” she said, her face brightening as she reached for the pruning shears. “I know how you love them so.”

She shuffled unsteadily back to some of the mature bushes deeper in the greenhouse and quickly cut a couple of pink ones.

“These are very beautiful flowers,” he said, accepting them from her. A broad smile blossomed into full flower on her face, just what he was looking for.

“Maybe tomorrow I’ll have a blue one for you,” she said. “You like blue?”

“It’s my favorite color,” he answered.

When he made his rounds the next day, the whole bench and a large section of the floor was covered with pots, all ready for the macro that would make them grow.

“Dr. Max! I’ve been waiting for you.” Grandma Ruth said.

“Grandma. You, waiting for me? But why?”

“It’s my eyesight. I think… well, I just want to make sure I don’t miss anything.”

“Ahh, then you’re getting somewhere?”

“I’ve run four more crosses since yesterday,” Grandma Ruth said. “I mixed the ones with the blotchy spots and a variety that has very broad petals. The earlier batches didn’t always bloom, and some of the blooms that did come were pretty weak and slow, but I think I’m finally getting somewhere. The flower shape is almost there, and I’ve gotten the size of the blotches up too. I think this batch could be the one, Dr. Max.”

Max worried that she might be right. Grandma Ruth needed something to work for, something to occupy her time and keep her vital spark alive. If she got her true blue rose, would her enthusiasm for life be diminished?

“Well,” Max said, looking nervously around the greenhouse, “you certainly have enough pots here. I’m sure whatever happens will be for the best. Give it a shot.”

“Here goes,” she said, reaching for the console controls.

Instantly, the pots erupted into a miniature forest of green stalks. Among the stems were occasional dots here and there of spotted blossoms, some showing traces of blue coloring, some not. Many of the buds had not opened fully yet. Looking closer, Max noticed something entirely new among the flowers. There were shiny bronze-colored somethings, like little beads scattered among the roses. Max thought the bronze beads were some new mutation, but he heard Grandma gasp.

“What are they?” he asked.

“Beetles,” Grandma said in a moaning voice. “Japanese beetles. The simulation throws them in once in a while to keep me honest. This is bad timing.”

Max looked closer and saw she was right. The bronze beads were moving, lazily moving up and down the spindly stems. They were happily eating the plants, and had already inflicted a lot of damage. While watching the beetles at work, Max’s attention was drawn to a bud that was only just beginning to open at the back of the shelf near the console. It was nearly covered with the beetles, and several spots had been chewed into the side of the bud already. But it wasn’t the beetles that had caught Max’s attention, it was the fringe of petals just beginning to poke through the top of the bud.

It was blue. True blue. Only a tiny bit of each petal showed above the green leaves of the bud, and the rest of the petal might not be as consistent as the tip, but there wasn’t even a trace of the purple color showing. It was, however, quickly being devoured by the beetles and they might never know what the rest of the flower looked like if something wasn’t done quickly.

“Look,” he said, pointing it out to Grandma.

Max heard Grandma Ruth’s breath audibly falter as she spotted it. He thought she was going to faint dead away and he moved over to catch her if necessary, but instead she sprang forward, moving quickly over to the blue bud.