Flower Power

By theidiotmachine

Doctor Ivor Novosel stretched his legs and looked up to the morning spring sun. His eyes were closed, but the light leaked through his eyelids and the gentle heat seeped into his face. He leaned back on the bench, and breathed deeply through his nose, savouring the smell of the early blooming flowers.

This was his favourite place; and, for the last two weeks, this had become his routine.

With a start, he realized that someone was sitting next to him. He opened his eyes, and sat up straight, self-conscious and somewhat resentful of this intruder.

'I'm sorry,' she said. 'I didn't mean to startle you.'

She was in her thirties, a little older than him, dressed better than he was. She had a funny lopsided smile, as if everything was in on the joke but her and she was trying to keep up.

'No, no, It's fine,' he said. And, to his surprise, it was: his resentment had subsided, and was replaced with a calm companionship. He smiled. 'I was just enjoying the sun.'

It was still very early, and the western sky was stained deep blue and flecked with stars. A runner panted and pounded across the grass; a few over-keen commuters trudged through the park, never looking up from their phones. She and he were the only people sitting down.

'I love this little park,' she replied. 'I'm very proud of it. I'd never seen the sunrise here, before. I'd heard it was beautiful.'

Ivor nodded. 'They say this park is the safest place in the city.'

'Do they?' She looked across the dark purple flowers, almost black in the low, red sunlight. She turned back to him and smiled. 'Well, I'm late, believe it or not.' She stood, checked her pockets. 'It was wonderful to meet you. Have a lovely day.'

'You too.'

And with that, she left, away through the twilight and towards the traffic and skyscrapers, golden and red in the sunrise.

Ivor smiled, stood, and set off to work, one of the purple flowers in his pocket.

#

It was a busy day at the university. With the Easter break looming, Ivor was plagued by students asking for exemptions or extensions or forgiveness or understanding. They swarmed in his inbox and his messages and even outside his office, each trying to look the most sad and repentant and ready to reform. Something about the great calm of the sunrise stayed with him, however, and he responded with compassion and grace, although the odd bit of tough love had to be dispensed.

By lunchtime he'd had enough. He locked his computer and walked into the labs. His PhD students were as absent as usual, but it was warm and quiet; and he liked the cool white lighting and the rows of equipment, beeping and flashing to themselves, a gentle symphony of machines and knowledge. The labs were where he felt most at home, why he'd become an academic, and it was always nice to be there.

He pulled out the flower from his pocket and set it on the lab bench. He'd put it in a zip-lock bag, but even so, it was battered and drooping, the petals bruised and pollen smeared across the plastic. Despite this, when he slipped open the bag, the gentle scent of the park reached him, musky and sweet and also somehow astringent. He smiled, a tiny bit of the morning calm returning to him.

'Let's have a look at you, shall we?'

He took a short knife and drew a neat cut down the centre of the stem, slicing the flower in two. The smell sharpened as he carved through its heart, sap spilling onto the blade as he took away the petals, leaving its core, halved and truncated. He set the knife aside, and then, using tweezers, picked up this section and placed it on a transparent tray, and pushed it into the scanner. It hummed to itself, happy to be working, and then gave a single contented beep. He opened his laptop.

At first he didn't know what he was looking at: it was like staring at an old map of a city, familiar and yet unexpected. He spun the scanned model round, orienting himself, looking for structure and meaning. Then a realisation struck him, so hard that it was almost a physical blow. He sat back on the chair, and exhaled.

#

The next morning, as Ivor trudged through the streets and the sun rose over the buildings and the pigeons picked over last night's litter, he was filled with trepidation. Nevertheless, he walked though the iron gate. The park was as quiet as ever, just a dog walker and a runner. He sat on his bench looked around, at the grass, at the low trees and shrubs, and at the purple flowers.

Their familiar scent filled the dawn air, sweet yet slightly tart. He breathed it in; yet this time, he watched his own reaction to it, trying to be a detached observer. His watch flashed as it recorded his heart rate, blood oxygen, and a dozen other metrics, all the things he could find in its options. Because he was fascinated by the numbers as they scrolled past he was almost as surprised by the lady as last time.

'Do you mind if I sit here?' she asked.

'Not at all,' he replied, looking up.

She glanced at him, at the glow at his wrist.

'Are you OK? You're not having a heart attack or something?'

'No... I'm not. It's fine.'

She sat down. It was colder this morning, the spring still sharp and fresh. She wore a long purple scarf, a black hat and mittens. He waited for her to get comfortable, and then spoke.

'You said something curious yesterday. How you were proud of this park. What did you mean?'

She smiled her lopsided smile. 'Oh, I'm involved in some of the local planning. This was partly my work. It's nice to see it, finished.'

Ivor smiled. 'I can imagine. What did you do?'

'Oh, this and that. My name's Belinda, by the way. Belinda Kara. What's yours?'

'Ivor Novosel,' he replied. 'I'm pleased to meet you, Belinda.'

He stretched, and stood.

'However, I'm afraid that this time I'm the one who is late. I'm sure I'll see you tomorrow. Good morning, Belinda.'

She smiled up at him. 'You too, Ivor.'

#

'This is insane,' Juan said. 'This isn't from a flower. It looks like... I don't know what.'

'It's a hormone generator,' Ivor said. 'It's producing serotonin. That's the calming hormone.'

Ivor leaned back and stretched. He'd been staring at the screen for hours, and he needed a break, but this was just too weird. In the end he'd called in his colleague Juan, because he wanted a second pair of eyes to verify what he was seeing.

'I know what serotonin is,' Juan said. 'And plants use it, believe it or not, as a hormone, to control growth. But I've never seen something like this.'

He stood, and rolled his neck. Then, he continued.

'So you're saying that this stamen, here, produces a pollen absolutely loaded with the happy stuff. And the flower dispenses the pollen twice a day, morning and evening, and, so everyone in the park feels blissed out? I'll say it again: that's insane.'

'And yet, here,' Ivor gestured at the screen, 'you see the evidence. And here's the flower I cut it from. I only put half in; you can put the other half in your own machine if you like. Or if you still don't believe me, go pick another one.'

They were in Ivor's little office. He wasn't sure what to do with this information, but talking about it in the open didn't seem sensible. So, the tiny room was filled with scent when he opened the bag.

'I've had this specimen for a day now, so I have no idea how potent it is. But you can smell it, even now.'

Juan picked it from the bag as carefully as if he was handling a bomb. He gave it a gentle sniff.'Is it safe?'

'I don't know. Someone decided it was safe enough to plant hundreds of the things in a public park.'

'Again: insane. What tipped you off?'

'Honestly? Just luck. I was walking through on my way to work, and happened to notice them. I'd never seen this flower before, and neither had all the apps. So I brought one back here just to take a look. I saw this, and couldn't believe it, so I took a second, yesterday. This morning, I saw my heart rate go up and my blood pressure elevate, even my pupils dilate, just when I was sitting surrounded by them. That's the effects of serotonin, right there. Or something else, similar. I'm not a doctor, I'm just a botanist.'

Juan shook his head. 'What do you want to do?'

'Right now I'd like you to keep this to yourself. But let's do some digging and see if we can find where these mysterious plants come from. I think I have one lead.'

#

The next morning was grey and drizzly, and the rising sun was hidden behind a blanket of low cloud. Ivor didn't want to sit on the bench because it was wet, but then he decided he had no other option, and so dried it as best as he could and lowered himself onto the wet wood.

The rain muted the smell of the flowers. The pollen should be lower in the drizzle. Well, he certainly felt less calm. Ivor checked his watch: his heart rate was lower, but his blood pressure was as high, but might be because he was stressed and fidgety waiting for Belinda. He glanced at himself in his phone: his pupils were indeed smaller than yesterday.

She arrived into the park, a few minutes late, head down in the spitting rain. She glanced at him on the bench, smiled, and then strode over.

'You're quite the determined type, aren't you?' she said. 'Enjoying the sunrise even when you can't see it.'

'I am that,' he replied, trying to look carefree. He didn't succeed.

'I'm not going to join you on that wet bench, I'm afraid,' she said. 'Enjoy, though.'

She turned to leave.

'Wait,' he said. 'I wanted to ask you a question.'

Her eyes narrowed. 'This is a strange way of getting a date.'

'It's not that. I'm a... landscape gardener. I wanted to know about some of the plants in the park. You said you designed it. Can you tell me who I can talk to?'

She smiled. 'How can I refuse that? Meet me here at two. We can go get a coffee, I know a place. Now, it's too wet to hang about: see you later. Don't be late, yeah?'

'Sure. Goodbye Belinda.'

#

It wasn't a date, but it felt like it. The coffee place was over the road from the park, and Belinda and him sat next to each other on stools next to the window. The sun had come out, and the park was full of dog walkers and runners and people hurrying from one place to another. Even from here, he was sure that he could feel the effect of the pollen.

She took a sip of her coffee. 'Well, Mr Novosol. You have me. How can I help you?'

'Novosel, actually. I'm intrigued by the purple flowers. I've never seen them before. They're a type of orchid, aren't they? How are they growing so well in this climate?'

She smiled her lopsided smile.

'You really are a landscape gardener, huh? I thought you were lying to me to get a coffee.' She straightened herself on the stool, and seemed to consider something. Then, she looked across to him. 'What kind of jobs do you do?'

He paused. 'I do... some rich people's gardens. No public spaces, like here. Although, that could be interesting?' He searched his memory for what he knew of garden design. 'I specialise in floral stuff. Flowering trees, borders, old-fashioned things like that. Not so many water features or what have you. Does that make sense?'

She nodded. 'Yes, it does. Are you interested in purchasing some of those purple flowers? You said rich people's gardens: well, these are not cheap.'

'Well, I don't really buy upfront. I have suppliers, a nursery...' he tailed off, unsure if this was how the business of garden design actually worked and worried he'd be found out if he said any more.

'Of course. But I'd be happy to give you a plant so you could see what they're like to grow.'

'Thank you. How much are they normally?'

'We're thinking in the region of fifty thousand dollars a plant.'

He nearly spat out a mouthful of latte. 'That's a lot for a plant!'

'They're engineered to be incredibly hardy. They will flower all spring and summer. And they are... deeply calming to look at. As you seem to have found out. The complexity of their design means they aren't cheap. They're a luxury product, and they have a luxury price tag.'

'Why are they in the park, then?'

'Oh that's just a last stage test,' she said. 'We'll dig them all up in a couple of weeks. Although we plan a much cheaper, mass-market version, which would be for this kind of planting. That's not what your customers would want though.'

Ivor stared out across the greenery, at the patches of purple, rippling in the wind. His mind whirled.

'No. No, I suppose not,' he said. 'How can I contact you?'

'Let me give you my card.'

#

I know who you are, said the message.

What? Ivor sent back, surprised.

It was evening, and he was at home, eating a meal in front of his TV in his room. It took him a few seconds to realise that Belinda had somehow figured out who he was, and found his number.

Oh, he sent. I'm sorry. I was just surprised by these flowers. I just sort of said something stupid in the moment.

Surprised? Or something else?

He frowned.

I read your patents, he replied. It worries me. You're designing plants as a kind of mass mind control. Flowers that emit hormones in pollen. It's very dangerous. I don't want to steal anything from you. I just want... to warn you. But I didn't think you'd listen to a university researcher.

A place that calms you? That relaxes you? You said it yourself, it's the safest place in the city, she fired back. There's nothing sinister about it. It's not mind control! It's just a way of stepping back to the lost world of a quiet garden, with nothing but birdsong, and the smell of flowers. Your morning coffee has more of an effect than those flowers.

He paused. That's not the point, though, is it? I can decide when I want my coffee. If these things get everywhere, it'll be a kind of mass sedation. Is that something we want?

Isn't that binging serials? Isn't that fast food and chocolate and gin and doomscrolling? We all sedate ourselves, in pointless, harmful ways. We can't control that, even if we think we can, because it's driven by biological imperatives that we can't stop. You know that. I thought you were a biologist? This is gentle and harmless, and positive.

He looked up, at the show that was flashing on the screen in front of him, at the half-eaten tray of food, not able to articulate his worry.

It's wrong, he typed. It's dangerous.

No, it's not. Never contact me again.

Then, her image disappeared as she blocked him.

He put his phone down, turned off the TV, and stared out through the night at the dirty streets of the city. A group of guys were chanting a football song. In the distance, sirens wailed. He remembered the calm of the park, and of the golden light of the sunrise on the glass skyscrapers, of the silence and the happiness.