CREATION

In which Dr. Aaron Woodworth decides how to make the best use of the failed clone, Neva.

As far as creations went, the second of their mew clones (or the third, if Aaron decided to count the prototype, which he generally didn't) wasn't much of a success.

Perhaps Aaron shouldn't say that. The clone, who his assistants had named Neva for her snowy white pelt, was alive and healthy. That was more than most of their early clones could boast. They had died while they were growing in their gestation tanks or shortly after their births. Still, there wasn't much else that could be said in Neva's favor. Her albinism, while unusual among pokémon, wasn't as rare or valuable as the shiny coloration. The vulnerability of her eyes and skin to sunlight, thanks to her condition, didn't help either. If they weren't careful, she might eventually go blind or develop skin cancer (which was another reason why confining her to the lab was for the best).

Yet compared to her other flaws, her albinism could be overlooked. Her being deaf and psychically disabled were much more serious problems.

The deafness could be worked around. Neva's primary caretaker, Dr. Rosenberg, knew several languages, including the local version of sign language. In addition to her other duties, Dr. Rosenberg was adapting that version into a three-fingered one that Neva could use. She'd given Aaron reports on how Neva was progressing, along with the growing list of signs that Neva had learned, but he'd only managed to skim through them. Neva's "sister," Morgan, interested him more than her less capable sibling. Most of his time was spent going over her medical reports and her battle analyses instead. As long as Dr. Rosenberg was confident that her pet project was going well, he felt safe entrusting her with the second clone. Until he found a use for Neva, her time could be spent in language lessons.

What else was he supposed to do with her? She didn't have a wisp of psychic power, nor any hint of the others, despite the lineage she boasted. Mew was said to be able to learn every move a pokémon could learn, he thought, rubbing his temples as he waited for his coffee to brew. And this creature can barely use Scratch.

Cloning pokémon was always a gamble, of course. His colleagues back on Cinnabar had stressed that time and again as they'd sifted through fossilized remains, looking for the most promising samples. Even the best-preserved ones, though, captured in ice and amber, would have holes somewhere in their genetic codes. Using stem cells from dittos could fill in only so much of what had been lost. For the rest of the gaps, they had to splice in genes from other pokémon and people, which threw all sort of variables into the mix. No doubt that had been what had brought about Morgan's blue coloration (due to the vaporeon genes in her genetic cocktail) and Neva's disabilities. That or her mew fossil had been from a flawed specimen, which was entirely possible. Aaron had hardly expected to find one set of mew remains, let alone two, so of course he had made clones from them both. That was more than Dr. Fuji had accomplished!

It niggled at Aaron, though, that Dr. Fuji's prototype had been practically perfect. Its psychic powers alone could have leveled mountains. Such a shame, really, that its temperament had been so aggressive….

Even if Aaron's creations weren't as strong as their predecessor, at least they were under his control. Certainly, Morgan was a handful. She was eager to test herself in battle—she was rather like the prototype that way (if only, if only he could capture Mewtwo as well and use it as a stud. The offspring would no doubt be priceless). But she still obeyed them and adhered to the rules and restrictions they'd laid out for her, all because he'd taken the time to sit down with her and answer her questions. He'd be careful to treat her like a person, even though she wasn't one, and that had made the difference. His lab was still standing and he and his people were still alive. That put him well ahead of Dr. Fuji, as far as Aaron was concerned.

But the question remained: what was he supposed to do with Neva?

Euthanizing and dissecting her was out of the question (unless her body started breaking down like some of the others had, in which case his intervention would be a mercy). They'd sunk too much money, too much time, too much labor and energy into making her. He couldn't waste the investment. He hadn't been able to back when she was gestating, when her pure white fur and her biopsies had told him of her condition. Mew samples were too hard to come by, and even a flawed sample couldn't be discarded because the result was imperfect. But if she couldn't be used for battle or for contests—or for activities that the League didn't sanction, but his financiers pursued—what else was left?

Breeding, the answer came to him. She can be used for breeding. If nothing else, she could act as a surrogate for her sister's offspring. That way, Morgan can remain in the arena and won't be injured by any pregnancy complications. The mew clones, after all, were essentially chimeras. Delivering might be harder for them than for their purer ancestors. Especially if they had litters.

It would have to be carefully done. They had gambled with the genetic cocktails that had brought the sisters into being, but they could not take the same risks with the offspring (if the sisters were even fertile. They might not be. Most pokémon were and could breed across species lines, but there were a select few who were more restrictive. The mews could have been one of those, regardless of their supposed "ancestor of all" designation). Fortunately, both sisters had a readier supply of gametes than Aaron had of fossilized remains, so he could do more with the genes he'd be mixing. Maybe he could increase the claw length in the offspring…maybe tweak their coloration…definitely expand their move sets if he could…yes, there was a lot he could experiment with.

After mixing a tooth-aching amount of sugar and a dollop of cream into his coffee, he left his office and went to the training center for the clones. Morgan was making good progress on converting her psychic energies into electric attacks and was making short work of her opponents. She seemed restless, but he supposed that was to be expected when none of her challengers were putting up a good fight. They would have to increase the level tier again and see how she fared then.

Neva, in contrast, was practicing signs with Dr. Rosenberg. They were in the botanical lab today. Dr. Rosenberg was teaching Neva the names and medicinal uses of the plants there, as if she would have any use for that knowledge. But he supposed they had to improve Neva's communication skills somehow, and keeping her in a stagnant environment like her pen would hinder her in that. If only she had half of her sister's innate empathic abilities. Then she would be fluent in their language already….

"Dr. Rosenberg," he called through the doorway, feeling the moist, sticky heat of the lab against his face. "A word?"

She nodded and made some quick signs to Neva, who nodded and started working clumsily on a project. She was getting dirt everywhere on the floor. Dr. Rosenberg removed her gardening gloves and joined him. "Yes?"

"I wanted to run something by you." He explained the breeding idea to her. To his surprise, she looked uncertain about it. "Is something the matter?"

"Sir, it's just…the sisters might be physically mature, but psychologically, they're far from it. They need more time to learn and develop before—I'm not saying that we shouldn't consider it," she added hastily, seeing his annoyance, "but maybe we should wait a year or two for their minds to catch up to their bodies."

"That would be fine, if we didn't have Ms. Stoneson breathing down our necks. But we do, and while she's pleased with Morgan's progress, she's starting to see Neva as a waste of resources." That had come up repeatedly in their last meeting. "I'm not sure how much more she is willing to spend on a failed investment."

"Neva is not a failure!"

Gods protect him from scientists who grew too attached to their experiments. "She is in the eyes of our employer," he explained, with rather more patience than Dr. Rosenberg deserved. "But that could change if we find a use for her. I'm open to alternative suggestions." When the now red-faced Dr. Rosenberg seemed at a loss, he added, "If you think of any, let me know. Otherwise, inform Neva that this is where things are heading. We might start her on a hormone regime as soon as next month."

As he was turning away, Dr. Rosenberg reached out and grabbed his wrist. "Aaron, she's a child, you can't—"

"Would you rather she be a dead child? Because that's another option our dear employer has mentioned. Using Neva for samples and spare parts certainly would put an end to the drain she's being, even if it wouldn't give us back a fraction of the fortune we spent on making her."

Dr. Rosenberg paled at that. Aaron nodded. "I don't want that either, but I might not have a choice if Neva doesn't prove her value somehow." He looked past her, at the creation, who had buried her muzzle into the roses. "Take a day to think about it," he told Dr. Rosenberg, then left.

They had to find a use for the clone somehow. This was the only way he could think of.

Better this than the dissection table, he thought. I'm sure even Neva would agree.

But he would never ask her that. He would become like Dr. Rosenberg if he did—too involved, too close to keep perspective like he should, when they were working for people who had no patience for such softheartedness. He had to keep his distance and keep in mind what the sisters were: creations. Products. Property. Not people.

No matter what Dr. Rosenberg might say, Aaron couldn't allow himself to lose sight of that.