CHAPTER 18
AGEE 1-17. The seventeenth copy of a genetically altered embryo.
Kirk remembered the child's room with its painted wall and shabby toys. Not hand-me-downs then, he thought. At least not in the normal sense. He wondered what had happened to the other girls but quickly decided he didn't want to know. He just needed to get their Aggie back. Not only for McCoy's sake, but for his peace of mind. James T. Kirk lived with too many ghosts already.
"You said there was a tape," Kirk prompted. "Can you play it?"
Spock's gaze flicked to McCoy before initiating a video file. Dr. Moreau's image filled the screen once more, except he had aged considerably from the first picture. His hair was longer but thin, gray, and somewhat scraggly. His facial bones looked sharper, as though he were in risk of them ripping through his skin. When he spoke, however, the voice from the speaker was surprisingly firm.
"My name is Dr. Morgan Moreau," The image said. "I am—or if you're watching this— was a revolutionary scientist. My field was as broad as it was long, but I pursued genetic evolution above all else. It was the only way I could serve my race despite their ignorant condemnation of my work. My goal was to advance the human race by leaps and bounds, to have perfect memory and function, to be a weapon against any threat, to be gods!
"This has been my life's work: to create the perfect human. I cloned a single embryo and modified its genes where I dared, isolating chains in physical form and brain function. Augment One had physical deformities and the brain functions of a natural child of a similar age. I learned from 1-01 and used that knowledge to make adjustments to my gene modifications. I wiped the slate clean and began again."
Kirk's jaw flexed as he guessed what "wiped the slate clean" meant.
"And again and again. With each passing experiment, a world of knowledge was opened up to me. I could change much of the genetic material but, alas, I could not create it. Just after the 17th clone was created, a lab accident destroyed the original embryo. 1-17 was to be my last clone. I used all of my knowledge and skill into creating the perfect human.
"For the first eight years, 17 proved to be a success. The clone was physically perfect; it's mind far more advanced than those of previous copies. It had the ability to absorb new and complex data with a single glance. It also had perfect recollection and a singular grasp of advanced theoretical development. It was to be 17's mission to pursue my eugenics evolution, and through it, my contribution to humanity would have been finally recognized."
Moreau's thin lips twisted into a bitter line.
"Alas, that was not to be so. In it's fifteenth year, 17 began to rebel. Not like a normal human child, of course, but in a way that I had never before seen. It abandoned physical training in weapons, deciding that it wanted to pursue the arts. A perfect human should be creative, so I provided the materials. It's painting style developed within days to equal that of the greatest classical painters: Michelangelo, Van Gogh, and the Vulcan, T'Narry.
17 then began to question the purpose of perfecting humanity. It concluded that a natural course of development was more efficient, giving the species time to fully adapt and develop its moral center to parallel that of its knowledge. It even began to argue that perfection could not be achieved through an imperfect hand. Ha!
This strange 'moral aberration' that developed was just the beginning. Through the years, 17 continued to present additional symptoms: a questioning of 'right' and 'wrong,' bouts of melancholy, and confessions of loneliness. A perfect creature does not require companionship, so I was finally forced to admit that 17 had also been a failure.
And now it is too late to try again. I am old and will soon be dead."
A determined look crossed the scientist's face and his voice rose in fervor.
"But my work cannot be lost—it is priceless! There, in the center of the room, I have placed 17 in stasis. It's genetic data holds the key to accelerated human development despite the anomalies in it's mental development. I beg you to deliver it to a eugenic scientist so that my work can be continued. I promise you that you will be richly rewarded, the whole human race will be rewarded, upon the completion of my work."
The screen went blank and an instant later McCoy exploded. "What a fucking madman!" he snarled, leaping out of the chair and kicking it aside in his disgust.
Unfazed by McCoy's fury, Spock raised an eyebrow. "Your diagnosis is accurate, Doctor. Eugenics"—Spock hesitated as though the word tasted bad in his mouth—"is an illogical pursuit. Aggie was correct in concluding that perfection cannot be achieved through imperfect means."
McCoy had started to pace but stopped abruptly, looking grieved. "She said that she couldn't remember smelling flowers."
Kirk frowned. "What are you talking about, Bones?"
McCoy shook his head. "Something Aggie once said that I understand now. She always said that she understood the idea of flowers, friends, certain sensations, and the like, but she didn't know them."
"How could she? You can't remember what you've never had," Kirk said, grieving. "All Aggie's ever had is this damned building." He felt a strange emptiness as he considered the thousands of data tapes and antique books in the library. In the end, all the knowledge in the galaxy meant nothing without companionship. In the end, a life meant nothing without love.
In the end . . .
"How much longer?" Kirk asked, nodding toward the tricorder with a renewed sense of urgency.
"Two point four minutes."
"Too long," McCoy said, and as if he'd read Kirk's thoughts added, "What if she does something? What if—but I just need to tell her that none of this matters. I don't give a shit about Moreau, clones, or augments. I just want her back."
"She knows, Bones," Kirk said softly, silently praying that he spoke the truth while sharing a grim look with his first officer. "She just needs to be reminded of it."
Spock held up his tricorder in a silent gesture for them to move to the locked doors. Kirk motioned for Tomo and Smith to stay back as he hovered by McCoy's side. It was a gesture of support, but he was also preparing himself to drag McCoy all the way back to the landing platform should his fears be realized.
The tricorder gave a soft beep, and Spock entered a six-digit access code into the pad.
Kirk tensed as the doors slid back.
Darkness. The overhead lights from the science lab couldn't penetrate the chamber beyond.
"Motion sensors are functional," Spock said, looking up from his tricorder. He looked vaguely grim. "Perhaps it—"
"Aggie?" McCoy called out, stepping forward to stand in the doorway. As Kirk stared at his friend, he was suddenly reminded of an old-fashioned teeter-totter, with McCoy balanced in the center of the beam. One way was life and love, the other loneliness and death. Kirk inched closer to his friend.
"Darling, please answer me." McCoy's voice had taken on a desperate, almost panicky edge, and then, finally, a small voice drifted out of the darkness.
"Go away, Len. I don't want you here."
"Thank you, God," McCoy whispered, sagging momentarily with relief. Then he straightened and called into the room again, more firmly. "I'm not going anywhere, Aggie. I love you."
"But you don't know what I am." The voice floated out of the darkness, small and hopeless. "I'm a—a monster."
"I saw Moreau's medical logs and you are not a monster," McCoy said, shaking his head. "You came into life without any say over it, just like everyone else. But despite what Moreau wanted, you've made a life of your own. One that I thought," he said, pausing briefly before continuing. "You might consider sharing with me."
The room was silent for what felt like an eternity and then it was as if the darkness itself let out a sigh. "Let's see if you feel the same way after you see me. All of me."
Kirk's flesh goosepimpled at her words. There was a faint rustling from inside, and the motion activated lights began to click on, one after the other, down a long and narrow room, stopping at the end to illuminate a raised platform where a large desk sat.
But it was the objects between them and the platform that made Kirk suddenly want to back away. Large glass tubes lined the walkway, eight on each side, and every single one contained the shadowy image of a human body.
As they entered the room, murky green lights clicked on within the tubes. The closest one let out a burble as an air bubble escaped from its base. The bubble sped upward, disturbing a cloud of floating hair. The plaque affixed to the outside of the tube read AGEE 1-01.
Reluctantly, Kirk followed McCoy to stand in front of the first tube. The child floating within the preservation fluid was no more than five years old, a withered arm held protectively against her naked chest. Unable to stare into the dead eyes, he turned to look at McCoy instead. The doctor's face was surprisingly neutral, as though his medical training had taken over, and he was somehow removed from the horror surrounding him. His eyes though, they told a different story. Kirk found that he couldn't look at them, either.
AGEE 1-03 looked to be about three years old. It was hard to tell the age for sure, because she was obviously underdeveloped with foreshortened arms and legs. Kirk was reminded of the child's—children's?—room with the painted numbers. The number three had been drawn mere inches from the floor. It had been the one surrounded by hearts.
He followed McCoy who seemed determined to look at each body. It was gut-wrenching for Kirk, but he followed his friend to the next tube. AGEE 1-04 was around twelve years of age with the first blush of womanhood beginning to show. And yet, it was impossible to believe that she had lived that long without constant medical attention. The severity of the cranial deformity reminded Kirk of the Talosians on Talos IV. He thought of Christopher Pike suddenly and wished the child could have had a beautiful illusion, as well.
AGEE 1-07 who might have been nine years of age, was missing her lower jaw.
AGEE 1-10 still had the heart monitor attached to her side.
AGEE 1-13 had a tumor
AGEE 1-15 looked like a normal eleven year old girl at sleep.
It was, Kirk thought sadly, a gallery of lost and forgotten little girls. He glanced at McCoy who was standing in front of the last tube, AGEE 1-16. She was the oldest of the clones, perhaps seventeen or eighteen. She had some sort of spinal disease which forced her knees against the curved glass so hard that, over time, the bones had molded to the shape of the tube. Her shoulders, pressed against the rear of the tube, bowed inward. Brown hair as fine as spider webs hung suspended in front of the face, blocking a clear view. Kirk felt relieved. He didn't think he could bear seeing a clone that was old enough to resemble the Aggie he knew.
McCoy stepped away from the tube and went to the figure sitting on the edge of the dais. Kirk was momentarily taken aback; he hadn't noticed Aggie sitting there, watching them as they studied each of her clones.
Clearly, McCoy had known he was being watched. And that's why he did it, Kirk realized. So Aggie would know that he had looked upon her, all of her, and loved her still.
The doctor's deceptively slim body easily lifted her from the edge of dais. She leaned against him, as though unable to support herself, and he wrapped his arms around her. "There you are, silly girl," McCoy chided gently, after combing back the waves of hair that had fallen in front of her face.
Aggie's face was tortured. "Yes, here I am. And I'm also there. And there! And there!" Her voice grew louder as she turned to jab a finger at several of the tubes. She let out a sob and pressed her face against the padded down of McCoy's parka. "How can you even look at me? I'm not human."
"Neither is Spock, but we still like him," McCoy teased gently, then pulled Aggie back so that he could look at her. "But you are human, and I love you."
"But—" Aggie started but McCoy cut her off.
"Yes, Aggie. I saw," McCoy said firmly. "And none of it changes how I feel. Unless . . . your feelings have changed."
"No! Of course not," Aggie said. "But—"
"No more buts!" McCoy interrupted, stopping her next words with a kiss.
Kirk didn't turn away this time, but watched the couple cling to each other. He felt a tug at his memory at the sight, and for a brief moment, remembered a beautiful blonde woman that he'd once held like that. They had been close; he could almost remember a name—Ranna or Rayna, or something very close to that. What had happened to her? He tried to remember, but the memory teased away from him.
"Captain."
Spock's voice broke his concentration. His first officer was standing on the dais next to the large wooden desk. Kirk joined him but before he could appreciate the natural wood beneath his fingers, he caught sight of the skeleton sitting behind the desk. The facial bones were angular around large eye sockets and a few patches of gray hair still clung to one side of the skull.
"Spock, is that—"
"Dr. Moreau," Spock confirmed, kneeling to the floor next to the desk. "And I believe his death was not a natural one," he added, carefully handing an object to the captain. "I believe you will recognize this, Captain."
It was heavier than he remembered. "A Colt 45 revolver," he said, gazing at the tarnished trigger, remembering how the xenophobic Melkotians had sentenced the landing party to death at the re-imagined battle of the OK Corral.
Kirk took in the odd way the skull rested against the back of the chair, tilted back, mouth open. He walked around behind the chair and his suspicions were confirmed. There was a hole where the bullet had exited.
He set the gun on the desk and stared with silent fury at the skull. Coward, he told it. You deserved a slow death, sixteen of them, for what you did.
Kirk glanced at McCoy still holding Aggie. They're going to be okay, he thought before his gaze lifted to look at the sixteen tubes with their precious contents. He despised how the girls had been put on display: exposed, unloved, and without the simple benefit of their own name. He thought of little AGEE 1-03 and imagined how difficult it had been for her to decorate her number with all those little hearts.
Kirk suddenly felt as though he were back on Tarsus IV, staring at the little hand clinging to the singed duck. The victims of the execution squads had been tossed into the garbage incinerators, but he'd be damned before these girls weren't placed in proper burial pods. In the end, they would be cared for. He reached for his communicator but it chirped before he had time to signal the ship. He flipped it open. "Kirk here."
"Scott here, Captain. There's one hell of a magnetic storm heading our way and she's as deep as she's wide, Sir." The engineer's voice sounded oddly distant and somewhat distorted through the static coming out of his communicator. "You might be feeling some of the early effects down there already."
Kirk stilled and was surprised that he could hear the muffled sound of waves crashing against the structure's exterior. If these were just the beginning of the storm's influence over Origin's magnetic poles, he didn't want to think what the Enterprise was experiencing.
"Beaming up shortly, Scotty. Watch for our signal. Kirk out."
"Should I transfer the computer files to the tricorder, Captain?" Spock asked.
Kirk shook his head. "No time. But we're coming back as soon as the storm is over. I want . . . I want this handled properly." Spock clearly picked up on the underlying strain of emotion in his voice and nodded without further comment.
Motioning to McCoy, they hurried out of the room and joined Tomo and Smith who, after glancing inside briefly, had remained respectfully just outside the doors.
In the end, they'd had to cling to each other on the external platform against the increased winds. The waves were nearly cresting the platform when Kirk clicked his communicator twice, and it was with a weary sense of relief that the gold light engulfed them.
When the hum of the transporter faded, it was as if they had never been there. Winds whipped past the platform, waves crashed against the concrete walls, and the last of the motion activated lights winked out, returning the place to darkness once more.
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