STAR TREK: TOS - The Eugenics Wars, Volume One

by Greg Cox

  “I’m not sure,” he stammered nervously. “I’m a biochemist, not a pediatrician.” He kept tugging on her arm, trying to escort her to the exit. “There’s nothing to worry about, though. Maggie and the others know what they’re doing, trust me.”

  That’s getting harder and harder, she thought grimly, but now was [155] probably not the time to stage a major confrontation, not before she found out what had happened to Gary Seven. “Okay,” she assented grudgingly. “Let me get my cat.”

  Alone of all the superchildren, only Noon had not fled screaming away from their convulsing classmate. Even now, he stood calmly by, stroking Isis’s furry head as he silently contemplated his unconscious playmate. His stern, unreadable expression offered no clue as to what was going through his genetically enhanced mind. Is he just braver and more stoic than the other children, Roberta pondered, as she quietly retrieved Isis from Noon’s arms, or simply more inhuman and unfeeling?

  She wished she knew.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  “WHO ARE YOU?” Sarina Kaur asked the mysterious mr. seven. “Who sent you?”

  Scientific curiosity mingled with more pragmatic security concerns as she observed the caged American spy. Part of her almost hoped that he could keep on resisting the serum, just to see what the ultimate limits of his endurance were, but she was also growing impatient to extract some much-needed answers from the man in the cage.

  Who was this Gary Seven, and how had he become aware of Chrysalis’s existence, despite their strenuous efforts to conceal the entire project from the outside world? What had inspired him to investigate their New York connection in the first place, and for whom? The CIA? The KGB? Interpol? There were too many distressing possibilities, and not enough hard information to point her in the right direction.

  This was simply unacceptable. We’ve come too far, worked too hard, she thought passionately, to have the project compromised by unknown adversaries.

  Williams hovered nervously behind her as she kept her attention focused on her captive. Seven’s shirt was stained with perspiration and spilled tea, and he leaned weakly against the bars of his cage. A day’s worth of stubble encrusted his face, which was locked in a fixed grimace as he struggled to keep his jaws clenched shut. Seven’s willpower was phenomenal, she conceded, but he had to crack soon; no one could resist two full dosages of the serum. It was physiologically impossible.

  [157] Who are you? she speculated, fascinated by the man’s superhuman resistance, despite the threat it posed to both the project and her peace of mind. Whoever he represented, he clearly had considerable resources at his disposal; a cursory examination of his so-called pen had indicated a degree of technological sophistication that quite possibly exceeded even Chrysalis’s capabilities, while his psychological discipline suggested advanced training and possibly even posthypnotic conditioning.

  He really was almost more interesting as a test subject than as a spy or potential saboteur. If I didn’t know better, she mused, I’d swear he was genetically engineered himself. But that was ridiculous; Seven was over thirty at least, which meant he would have to have been conceived in the forties, which was absurd. Watson and Crick hadn’t even cracked the double helix back then. No one on Earth had been even close to engineering one-celled organisms, let alone enhanced human beings.

  No one on Earth ... Intrigued and baffled by Seven’s unaccountable endurance, she began to flirt with more exotic explanations. Could Seven’s unique qualities possibly be extraterrestrial in origin? She had heard whispers about an alien spacecraft that the United States military had supposedly captured back in 1947, at a place called Roswell. Rumor had it the alien technology was still being studied at a top-secret installation somewhere in Nevada. An outlandish proposition to be sure, but her contacts in the U.S. intelligence apparatus had assured her that there was indeed some truth to the rumors.

  Could it be? she wondered, keeping a tight grip on the back of the prisoner’s head, so that he couldn’t possibly look away from her. Had the impossible Mr. Seven been created and dispatched by American scientists at Area 51, or did he come from someplace even farther away, possibly another solar system? The very thought made her heart pound with excitement. What wouldn’t she give to get her hands on some genuinely extraterrestrial DNA? Who knew what revolutionary secrets such a genome might hold?

  Tell me who you are, she thought urgently, staring hungrily at the glazed eyes and gritted teeth of the puzzle that called himself Gary Seven. Her free hand squeezed the handle of a porcelain teacup so [158] tightly that she risked snapping it in two. Jaw muscles twitched beneath the drawn skin of her drugged captive, giving him a grotesque facial tic. Speak to me, her eyes demanded. Tell me where you came from. I have to know!

  Finally, at long last, Seven seemed to succumb to fatigue and the neurotransmitter’s irresistible compulsion. His jaw sagged open and a parched whisper escaped his lips. “My name is Gary Seven,” he began.

  “Good lord!” Williams exclaimed. He leaped off his stool and onto his feet. “And about time, too! I thought he was never going to crack.”

  “Quiet!” she admonished him brusquely With Seven’s voice little more than a hoarse croak, the last thing she needed was Williams’s babbling in her ears. “Go on,” she entreated Seven. “Tell me more.”

  His lips and tongue seemed the only part of him that was still alive. The rest of him hung limply from the handcuffs around his wrists, his arms suspended above his head. “My name’sss Gary Sseven,” he slurred, so faintly that Kaur had to strain to make out what he was saying, “Ssupervissor 194, pressently asssigned to the planet Earthh, late twentieth century. Missshhion: to prevent the human rasse from desstroying itself during the mosst critical juncture in its hissstory ...”

  Kaur couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Suddenly, her wildest imaginings were coming true. If neither she nor Seven were deluded, then Chrysalis stood on the verge of implementing evolutionary developments even more significant than she conceived of before. Visions of human-alien hybrids, embodying the finest traits of two completely different sentient species, fired her imagination. “Where do you come from?” she cross-examined Seven. “Where?”

  She held her breath as the crucial information dribbled out of Seven with excruciating slowness, one word at a time. “Cloaked planet, light-yearss away, located in Ssystem Zeta-Gamma-Five-Three-Ssev—”

  “Wait until you see our new gel-transfer hybridization unit,” Takagi promised, in a clumsy attempt to avoid discussing that ugly and alarming incident in the classroom. He escorted Roberta briskly down a [159] long hallway, obviously trying to put as much distance as possible between Roberta and the scene of the disturbance. “After we drop Isis back in your room, we can go check out some of the labs on Level Five. We’re still waiting for some spare parts from America,” he babbled nervously, “but then we’ll really be able to move into high gear.”

  At the moment, however, Roberta couldn’t even pretend to be interested in Chrysalis’s spiffy new jelly-whatsit. “Hold on a minute,” she protested, digging in her heels right in the middle of the wide corridor. A three-wheeled scooter bearing a couple of jumpsuited technicians zipped past Roberta and her jittery tour guide, on its way to another part of the vast underground complex. “What was that all about,” she demanded, “back at that day-care center for juvenile geniuses? What happened to that little girl?”

  At first, Takagi avoided making eye contact with her, studiously contemplating the tops of his sneakers instead, but he soon realized that there was no getting around this conversation. “That wasn’t supposed to be part of the tour,” he explained, somewhat unnecessarily, “but I’m sure it wasn’t really as serious as it looked.”

  “That kid had a full grand mal seizure, Walter,” Roberta challenged him, just as she figured any other intelligent person would under these circumstances. “What gives? I thought these supertykes were supposed to be perfect.”

  “They are!” he insisted hastily. His chi
n bobbed forward, propelled by the vehemence of his rebuttal. “It’s just that, well, sometimes the genetic resequencing produces some unexpected side effects. Viktor thinks it has something to do with the accelerated formation of the critical neural pathways, which may affect protein synthesis in ways we don’t entirely understand just yet, but so far—”

  Roberta cut off the lecture before Takagi could stray too far from the big picture. “What sort of side effects are we talking about here?” she pressed him. “And how often do you run into this little problem?”

  “Er, I’m not sure of the exact ratio,” Takagi waffled, “but I’m sure we’ll isolate the key causal factors eventually. We’re learning more and more with each new batch of kids, so it’s only a matter of time before we can account for every variable.”

  [160] And how many defective children get churned out, Roberta wondered solemnly, while you’re working things out by trial and error? Once again, ghastly pictures of limbless thalidomide babies flashed across her mind.

  Takagi mustered a weak smile as he tried his best to put a positive spin on the situation. “If you’re really interested, maybe you can convince Dr. Kaur to let you tackle that project yourself. Who knows, you might be just the person to get to the bottom of this particular challenge.”

  Roberta knew that wasn’t going to happen, but she decided to feign scientific curiosity in the hope of getting Takagi to open up even more. “Hmmm, that does sound intriguing,” she said thoughtfully. “But you still haven’t told me exactly what kind of side effects you’re getting. Is it just epileptic seizures?”

  “Oh, most of the time, it’s not anything so dramatic,” he assured her fulsomely. “Just some minor personality disorders and/or neurological glitches: autism, hyperactivity, possibly a tendency toward schizophrenia. ... There’s nothing wrong with the basic process, though,” he asserted. “Even with these rare—repeat rare—complications, as frustrating as they can be, every one of our kids is still physically and intellectually superior to ordinary children.”

  Oh, great! Roberta thought privately. A whole generation of emotionally disturbed super men and women! She was starting to understand why Chrysalis had Gary Seven so worried. And just when I’d begun to think that Seven had misjudged Takagi and the others. ...

  “I see,” she said in a noncommittal tone. Deciding to push her luck, she looked Takagi squarely in the eye and declared, with as much conviction as she could amass, “I think I need to see the Developmental Deviations Unit next.”

  “What? How do you know—” Her request definitely threw Takagi for a loop. Surprise was written all over his face, and he gulped loudly before coming up with a reply. “That is, I’m not sure what you mean.”

  “I understand Hindi,” Roberta informed him bluntly. She realized she was sacrificing a strategic advantage by divulging this fact, but figured it was worth it to get a firsthand look at Chrysalis’s dirty little secret. “I want to see the Developmental Deviations Unit. Now.”

  [161] Takagi looked extremely uneasy about this prospect. “I’m not sure that’s such a good idea,” he hedged. “Are you sure you don’t need a break first?” He offered this feeble alternative so hopefully that it was almost painful to watch. “There’s a pretty good cafeteria on Level Three. Maybe we should go there before we hit anyplace else?”

  Roberta’s stomach rumbled treacherously, reminding her that it was past lunchtime already, but she stood by her guns. “No more stalling, Walter, unless there’s something you’re really trying to hide.”

  “Of course not!” His denial came out shriller than intended, and he chewed nervously on his bottom lip, looking more and more flustered. He shrugged and flashed Roberta a sheepish grin, in a vain attempt to postpone the inevitable. “It’s just that, well, maybe we should check with Dr. Kaur first?”

  In a contest of wills, the affable and ingratiating young scientist didn’t stand a chance, not against a woman who’d been known to hold her own against time-traveling Starfleet officers. Isis hardly has a monopoly on stubbornness, Roberta thought, knowing that Takagi was bound to cave if she just kept the pressure up. “Look, you’re supposed to show me around, right? How am I supposed to feel like a full-fledged member of the Chrysalis team if you’re excluding me from vital data already?” She stared back at him resolutely, her arms crossed upon her chest, making it clear she wasn’t going to budge an inch until she got what she wanted. “For pete’s sakes, Walter, I’m a scientist, not a tourist. You don’t need to give me the cleaned-up, rose-colored version of the project.”

  “Okay, okay,” he surrendered at last. “I don’t suppose you want to take your cat home first?” Roberta just scowled at him in silence. “No, I didn’t think so.” Frowning, his head drooping miserably, the cowed biochemist changed course at the very next intersection, leading Roberta down yet another lengthy corridor past a series of numbered doorways. Unlike the attractively decorated reception areas where she had met with Sarina Kaur, this section of Chrysalis rapidly took on a more utilitarian, institutional feel: stark white walls, scuffed floor tiles, and closed gray doors with small glass windows installed at eye level. “There’s an elevator just around the corner,” Takagi promised as Roberta shuffled after him, Isis draped over her shoulder.

  [162] Suddenly, just when Roberta thought she had the situation under control, the bored and seemingly boneless cat upon her shoulder came to life. Letting out a high-pitched yowl right next to the young woman’s unprotected left ear, Isis squirmed free of her human partner’s grasp and launched herself off Roberta with enough force to send the cat soaring into the air and onto the floor several feet behind the two startled humans. Isis hit the ground running, making kitty tracks down the hallway.

  “Hey!” Roberta cried out indignantly. The recoil of Isis’s explosive exit had left painful scratches in her shoulder, but she was more worried about the cat’s unexpected behavior, not to mention Takagi’s reaction to the animal’s headlong flight. What in the world has possessed that gosh-darned cat this time? she wondered frantically as she took off in pursuit of her uncommunicative feline accomplice, taking only a second to give Takagi an embarrassed shrug and abashed expression before racing after Isis. “Wait a second! Come back here, you infuriating feline freak!” she hollered even as she heard Takagi’s sneakers pounding the floor behind her. I swear, she fumed, that cat loves to make me look stupid!

  If Isis heard Roberta’s cries, the cat (as usual) paid them no heed. Reaching an intersection at the opposite end of the corridor, she made an almost mathematically exact ninety-degree turn to the right. Trying futilely to catch up with the running cat, Roberta watched a sinuous black tail disappear around the corner, heading for only Isis knew where. That tears it, Roberta vowed angrily, heart pounding, legs pumping. I don’t care what Seven says. That purring prima donna is getting a leash.

  “Don’t let her get away!” Takagi shouted as he struggled to keep up with her. He sounded more agitated than Roberta would have liked, no doubt envisioning the berserk animal getting into one of the labs and ruining some vital and extraordinarily delicate experiment. She could hear him breathing hard, and guessed that this was probably more physical exercise than the nerdy scientist had undergone in years.

  Roberta, who was in a lot better shape, thanks to an exceptionally strenuous lifestyle, quickly left Takagi far behind. She rounded the corner at top speed, gaining steadily on Isis, who appeared to be [163] heading for a closed gray door at the far end of this new corridor. “No way,” Roberta muttered under her breath. “You’re not getting away from me this time.” Her outstretched arms reached out for the fleeing feline, ready to yank Isis back by her tail if necessary, but not before Isis slammed her front paws against the door hard enough to sending it swinging inward. The determined cat disappeared into the room beyond, with Roberta chasing so close behind her that she barged through the open portal before the door had a chance to swing back into place.

  Roberta skidded to a stop just inside the
room Isis had invaded. “Omigosh!” she gasped out loud, transfixed by what she discovered on the other side of the seemingly innocuous door.

  She had found Gary Seven at last: locked inside a cage like an animal at the zoo. He looked like hell, too, and far from his usual immaculate appearance. His disordered hair fell over his eyes, while his shirt and trousers were rumpled and soaked with sweat. There was blood on his lips and an alarming brown stain on his shirtfront. He squatted inside the cage, sagging against the metal bars with both arms stretched uncomfortably over his head. Stunned by the shocking sight, it took Roberta a moment or two to realize that his wrists were handcuffed to the cage.

  Seven was alone in the cell, but not in the room, which Roberta now saw was stocked with a wide variety of caged animals, including a full-grown tiger, which growled and bared its fangs menacingly. Sarina Kaur knelt outside the cage, along with three guards and a dumpy-looking, middle-aged man Roberta had never seen before. They all stared at Roberta in surprise, obviously caught off guard by her abrupt arrival. Kaur dropped a ceramic mug, which shattered upon the concrete floor. The tiger’s snarls were joined by the clamor of yapping dogs and shrieking apes, excited by the sight and smell of Isis and her human pursuer. The din raised by the animals rapidly reached ear-punishing proportions.

  Under the circumstances, Roberta felt free to act almost as thunderstruck as she felt. “What in the world?” she exclaimed, a hand over her mouth in horror. “I don’t understand.”

  [164] Two of the guards stepped forward, looking as though they intended to escort her physically from the premises, but Kaur waved them back with a curt gesture. The startled director regained her composure with impressive speed. “I’m sorry you had to see this, Dr. Neary,” she said coolly, rising up from her kneeling position beside the cage. Despite her unruffled demeanor, Roberta heard a definite edge of frustration in Kaur’s voice. What exactly did I interrupt just now? Roberta wondered.