Brian Plante - True Blue

“Oh no you don’t,” she said, her voice rising as she swung a balled fist in the direction of the bud.

Max thought she was going to smash the bud, but her blow landed on the console instead, mashing a pair of hungry beetles into paste. Max was surprised at the force of the blow, not believing gentle Grandma Ruth capable of mustering such anger and energy. Her face registered an expression of horror and desperation.

Grandma fanned at the blue bud with her open hand, frantically shooing the bugs off the damaged flower. Grandma rained blows on the scrambling insects, covering the console and the workbench with virtual bug goo.

Suddenly, the whole universe jittered once, then twice, like an earthquake seen but not felt. Max instinctively put out his arms to steady himself, but the floor wasn’t moving. The force of Grandma’s blows was taking its toll on more than just the bugs; she was damaging the console.

Grandma Ruth smacked another beetle on the console and suddenly the lighting changed, subtly but surely. It was dimmer, as if a cloud had passed in front of the sun. Max looked up and saw the sun was still unobstructed, but the sky was somehow different. Darker. More angry.

More blue.

And it wasn’t just the sky. The clouds were tinged with the lightest azure as well. Looking back around the greenhouse, Max realized everything had shifted ever so slightly toward the shorter wavelengths. Even Grandma Ruth’s skin looked pale, drained of its natural healthy pink tone.

She continued pounding the scrambling beetles on the console, until Max took her thin wrists in his hands and made her stop. She was likely to break some bones if she continued.

“I can save it,” she said, struggling against his grip. “Let me go. I’ll graft it quickly onto a better root system. You’ll see.”

Max wasn’t sure he wanted to see, but she strained to free herself from his grasp and he had to let her go, afraid she ’s hurt herself with the exertion. Max fished about in his medical pouch for a sedative while Grandma Ruth quickly sheared off the six-inch stalk. In seconds, she had cut and taped the stem onto the branch of a mature bush. Max restrained her when she tried to return to the console, and administered the calming injection.

“No more macros today, OK?” he said. “I think we’ve had enough excitement for now.”

“But I have to know!”

“There’s tomorrow.”

“It’ll only take a second.”

“The console’s a mess,” Max said, looking at all the smashed bugs and a couple of cracked keytops. Even if it was only virtual bug juice, it was disgusting. “Tomorrow,” he repeated, plucking the wire from the back of her head.

Max insisted on going into the sim with Grandma Ruth at the start of her regular recreation hour the next day. He noticed on entering the sim that the clouds still were tinged faintly with azure. A few seconds later, Grandma Ruth was at the console and ran the macro.

The grafted bush was instantly aged many weeks, and now sported nearly a dozen of the roses. And they were indeed blue. Much darker at the petal tips, but still a pale azure on the rest of the flower. The same azure that painted the clouds, Max noted.

Grandma Ruth squinted, examining the roses, then looked back inquiringly at Max. “Dr. Max, is it… I can’t tell… my eyes…”

Grandma Ruth needed something to keep going. Something like the blue rose, to work on and take her mind off of the problems of aging. She had worked twenty years for this moment, even if it was just a malfunction within a sham simulation. For what? In what should have been her moment of triumph, it wasn’t the flower she was looking at with delight. It was Max. What she needed most now wasn’t a true blue rose, Max realized, but him. His approval. His compliments. His attention. Grandma Ruth craved an audience, even if only an audience of one.

“It’s blue, Grandma,” Max said. “True blue.”

Grandma sighed contentedly.

“It’s very beautiful,” Max added. “Ahh, and that fragrance…”

Grandma’s expression of wonder changed, her mouth stretching to a wide smile. All the while she continued looking at him, not the rose.

“Excuse me,” a disembodied voice boomed, startling them both. “I’m here about the problem.”

Grandma and Max both looked in the direction of the voice. A few seconds later a form appeared, jacking into the console. It was Jerry, a mechanical engineer and troubleshooter. “Problem?” asked Grandma.

“Yeah,” said Jerry. “Some reports about the chroma balance being off in rec room three.”

Max cringed and began talking very fast. “Jerry, you know Grandma. You’re just in time to see Grandma’s masterpiece. She’s been working for twenty years in this sim trying to breed a true blue rose. And here it is.”

“Yeah, but I can see everything’s just a little…”

“Isn’t it beautiful, Jerry?” Max insisted, his eyes commanding the right answer.

“Well, sure. I guess so. How’re you feeling these days, Grandma Ruth?”

“I’m doing well, Jerry. Long time no see. Do you really like the flower?”

“Yeah. It’s great. Do you want me to come back later?”

Grandma cut one of the blue roses and put it in Jerry ’s breast pocket.

“Mmmm. Smells real nice,” Jerry said.

Grandma’s smile broadened even more with Jerry’s remark.

“It’s a nice color, isn’t it?” Max asked.

“Um, yeah, it really is. Well then, if there’s no problem, I’ll just be going now. Seeya.”

“Bye-bye, Jerry,” Grandma said. “You come and visit whenever you want.”

Jerry reached behind his neck and disappeared. Max heard the door dose with a thump a few seconds later.

“So, Grandma, what are you going to do now?” Max asked. “Sit back and enjoy the roses?”

“Oh, I don’t know. This sim is finished for me now, I suppose. Dr. Max, you really like flowers, don’t you?”

“More than anything. They make me nostalgic for some place I’ve never been but have only heard about from a master storyteller.”

Grandma Ruth looked lovingly into Max’s eyes. Just like a proud mother, he thought.

“I was just thinking,” Grandma said, her big smile holding firm. “Did you know, there’s some tulips that are supposed to be black, but they’re really just a dark purple? I’ll bet a true black tulip would be something special. What do you think?”

“That sounds like a fine idea to me,” Max replied. Grandma Ruth needed something to keep her going all right, Max thought, but it wasn’t the flowers. It was an audience.

“And tulips don’t have what you could call a fragrance,” she said, lost in her thoughts.

Max laughed. “If you could make them black, or smell sweet, would you let me have one?”

Impossibly, Grandma’s smile got even bigger.