[FWC 16] The Modern Moreau

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anonfox123
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[FWC 16] The Modern Moreau

#1 Post by anonfox123 »

The Modern Moreau
The sun was shining, thermal energy fueling the wind blowing wisps of cloud across the sky. Grass on the lawn was quietly photosynthesizing, nature’s very own solar panel capturing and storing energy in simple carbohydrates. On days like these, Julia Moreau felt that she should be outside enjoying herself, rather than working on assignments she no longer cared about, having been accepted at college already. Then the doorbell rang – a welcome distraction from an inane set of chemistry questions. She got up and looked through the peephole… just in time to glimpse an ancient man giving the house a last backwards glance before shuffling out of sight. Curious, she yanked the door open, only to find no trace of the man, and a brown paper parcel on the doorstep. There was a note attached.
To a Moreau of the future,

These are the research notebooks of the once-esteemed Dr. Moreau. Use them how you will.

From, a colleague of the doctor.
Julia scowled. The last “doctor” they had in their family had been her great-grandfather, forced to leave his wife and son behind when he got run out of London for his controversial experiments in vivisection. Not even a decade later, the rantings of a madman named Prendick got turned into a book by a less than scrupulous author after he had returned from being lost at sea. That had been enough to stir up the public once more, and force Mrs. Moreau and child to flee to the USA. At least the book only gained a cult following, leaving the author ruined.

Julia seriously considered throwing the package of books away. Even if they weren’t fake, the knowledge within was probably outdated and not worth knowing. But a part of her was curious. Curious about why some people smirked, while others frowned, when she talked about her interest in science. Curious about why, exactly, her great grandfather ran off alone rather than with his loved ones. Curious about just how much truth there was to the wild tale published about her family, as ridiculous as the premise of the book was – cutting up wildlife into meat-puzzles and sewing them back up in the shape of a human. In the end, she simply unwrapped the package, stuffed the notebooks into one of the boxes to be shipped to her future dorm, trying and failing to forget about them as she tried and failed to focus on her work again.

Time went on. The notebooks were always there in the back of Julia’s mind. On the drive to the college. As she unpacked her things and introduced herself to her new roommates. (Again, the bemused reaction to her interest in science, in biology. From peers this time!) One day, she couldn’t take it anymore. From morning to evening she just couldn’t focus, not with a sea of murky questions churning in her head. Her roommate was out at some event. A band or singing group, she didn’t care. Julia tore the package open and began to read.

Before reading them Julia couldn’t forget the notebooks because of their mystery. After reading them, Julia couldn’t forget the notebooks because of what they revealed. There was a certain energy in the writing, and she found herself unable to look away as descriptions and diagrams made visions dance before her eyes, visions of animals laid open, their beating hearts, churning guts and clenching muscles at the mercy of the scalpel of the first Dr. Moreau. Even with her own guts threatening to rebel and ruin the ancient pages with a mix of bile, enzymes, instant noodles and kung-pow chicken, Julia read on. She focused on the words and not the occasional rust-colored stain in the margins. Another page turned, and an almost three-dimensional illustration confronted Julia with the snarling visage of a creature labeled in neatly cramped handwriting as the “hyena-swine”. Julia threw the book as though it had burned her.

Shaking a bit, she forced out a bark of derisive laughter. It couldn’t be true. Things like this were biologically impossible, never mind the fact that it matched far too well with the story spawned by the returned madman. But then again, the whole thing was hand-written, and the script inside did resemble the penmanship in one of Dr. Moreau’s day-to-day journals, kept around as an heirloom. There was a certain sincerity in the writing too. This wasn’t something made just to shock and horrify. This was the writing of someone who believed in what they were doing. Barring supposed impossibilities, all the other biological facts seemed correct as well.

Gingerly, she picked up the book again. A note was scribbled in neatly cramped handwriting next to the disturbingly realistic drawing: Initial shape promising, but behavior unstable. Regressing faster than anticipated. WHY? Julia continued reading, only for her heart to skip a beat. There was a brief but all too prescient note at the top of the page. Swine subjects quickest to heal, especially in intestinal region. A reproducible property? This was followed soon after by a triumphant declaration: Success! Powder derived from swine bladder epithelium proves most useful in getting disparate tissue types to cooperate in healing process. Julia’s great-grandfather had been pretty far ahead of his time: only recently had people discovered that various compounds and proteins from pig bladders could promote tissue regeneration in humans, an entirely different species. Could it be that such a thing had allowed him to succeed in the impossible, twisting nature to fit his aesthetic while perfecting his craft as a surgeon? Perhaps the impossible was merely the improbable. Julia closed the book gently this time. This was no prank. Julia caved in to her gut feeling, as much as she hated it. Shutting the book in her drawer, a strange, paradoxical feeling welled up insider her.

“You sick, arrogant fool.” She muttered. So it was true. Her great-grandfather was indeed at the root of a whole lot of suffering, even if it only was inflicted on lower life-forms. Or could they really be considered “lower” after what was done to them? Then Julia grinned. Science had both progressed and been humbled over the years. If her ancestor had done so much with such archaic knowledge, modern science could likely do a whole lot better. Possibilities swirled in Julia’s mind as she slept that night.

***************************
Fifteen years. Four years in the safe haven of undergrad, five in the hell of a PhD. Program, and another six years in a hard slog of post-doctorate research. Any free time Julia had was spent dodging the media: in hindsight it might not have been the best thesis idea to demonstrate the utility of a developmental regulation gene by modifying it to produce six-legged mice. But the science was sound, the animals weren’t suffering, and it opened new roads to investigating ways to prevent birth defects. Eventually the media got bored and moved on, unable to sell papers with some schlock-horror story about the new Dr. Moreau. Still, the mouse project was just a stepping stone on a much larger, more private project, the results of which were sleeping peacefully in a box at the foot of her bed. Valiant looked like a perfectly ordinary wolf, even the vet who had helped deliver him thought so. Supposedly, young Dr. Moreau’s research team had embarked on using gene-engineering to instill domestic social behavior in an otherwise wild animal. And they were doing that, the protocol they developed worked; it was just that for Valiant specifically, Julia had added a person-al touch, no pun intended.

Another few years drifted by. The house-wolves project had been successful enough. But there was no hiding the other side of that project any longer. Not after Valiant had picked up a rock in an increasingly hand-like paw and chucked it aside while on a walk. Not after he had yelped out the name of a visiting guest, Martin, after eavesdropping on the introductions. Julia shuddered as she remembered just how chilling a simple “Mar’in! Hi Mar’in!” could be. Small slips were getting larger and more frequent. So far, only around friends she could explain things to, but still. Despite knowing this day would come, she was scared. She looked over at Valiant, who had a puppyish smile across his muzzle as he practiced standing on two legs. His back paws hadn’t quite grown to the right size to balance on yet, but Dr. Moreau was sure that her science would hold up. Scientific detachment be damned, Valiant was her kid now. As much as Julia hated the thought of exposing him to the media circus, it just wouldn’t do to keep him confined for the rest of his life. At least she no longer cared about what people thought of her. The saber-rattling of the media pundits at her every progress rang hollow after a while.

The paper was published. Every scrap of data that went into Valiant’s creation, and every scrap of data she had gleaned from raising and caring for him went into it. She kept the justifications out of it. She focused on the facts, the “what” and “how” of her experiment, the other wolves from the earlier project pulling double duty as a control group. Figure one: A photo of subject “Valiant”. Four and half feet tall, standing on hind legs, enlarged to support upright posture. Strongest resemblance to baseline canine morphology in upper thoracic region, slightly barrel chested. Forelegs modified in muscle and joint structure for increased limb mobility. Forepaws have developed into functional hands. Retention of juvenile morphology in head allowed for modifications enabling speech, and sufficient brain space for independent thought. (Note: due to canine mouth morphology, subject has difficulty pronouncing upper-pallet sounds.) Data published with consent of subject Valiant.

As expected, many more sabers were rattled, more than ever before. It seemed that people couldn’t decide whether to be more surprised by an actual, uplifted animal, or the fact that Dr. Julia Moreau actually had the audacity to try such a thing, even when it could have gone so very wrong. Julia was hopeful, despite the hate-mail. But the one thing that made her blood boil were the messages addressed to Valiant, not her. Pictures of snarling, malformed werewolves of B-movie horror. Detailed rants about how he was an insult to nature and should have been aborted and put down a garbage disposal. Even when he stopped helping retrieve the mail, too much of that kind of garbage was in the press and on the web to not notice it. On more than a few nights, neither of them got any sleep as Julia wrapped her arms around the small, furry form of her created son, listening to Valiant’s mournful mini-howls as that day’s dose of verbal vitriol overwhelmed him. The scientist and the wolf. Both enemies of humanity in the public’s eye.

***************************
Saber rattling was expected. The actual drawing of a saber? That was something else entirely. Granted, it wasn’t a saber, it was a submachine gun being used by some new-age nut-job who finally decided to take his fight against science straight to the source. Hiding under her lab-bench, Dr. Moreau had no doubt that she was the real target here, never mind the fact that this guy was shooting up as many labs as he could on the way up. Researchers, equipment, it was open season. Julia berated herself for misinterpreting the dwindling of media fervor as a sign of acceptance, rather than a calm before the storm. She would never have started bringing Valiant to work otherwise. Then the door burst open, followed by a hail of bullets that scattered broken glass and all manner of lab reagents across the room. He had come for her. For them.

“Come out, come out wherever you are… Time for the big bad wolf and his [censored] mother to die!”

Julia gestured for Valiant to keep quiet, even as boots crunched through the broken glass. She clenched the X-Acto knife she had been using to cut bands out of a DNA gel in her fist. Crunch. Crunch. He had to be right on top of them by now. Adrenaline took over, forcing her to burst from hiding and stab wildly at the attacker, managing to get him to drop his submachinegun as she left the knife stuck in his man’s right wrist. She wasn’t counting on the obscenely large revolver that seemed to appear in the man’s other hand before two angry shots nearly blew her legs off at the knees. The last thing she saw before blacking out in agony was the attacker leisurely lining up his final shot, and Valiant’s horrified gaze hardening to an all-too-human killing intent. Valiant leapt, and then there was darkness.

***************************
Why was the alarm clock so loud this morning? And what was wrong with her legs, she must have been sleeping funny that night… Julia fumbled for the snooze button, as Valiant licked at her face like he always did, even from his puppy days. But instead of a snooze button her hand came down on sharp glass, awakening her to a whole world of pain. The attack. Her legs, the bullets that went through them like white-hot fire. Valiant about to… Valiant! Julia’s eyes shot open, meeting Valiant’s gaze, pained despite his smile at seeing her alive.

“Mom… you are alrigh’! I was…” Valiant was cut off by a whimper.

Julia saw his fur stained red. Her heart skipped a beat. There was so much blood…

“Val… You did good, fur-kid.” Julia murmured as she glanced over at the motionless form of the attacker. “You did… Val?” She reached out and caressed his face. No response. Sirens wailed outside, closing the distance to the lab. None of them were louder than the wailing of Doctor Julia Moreau, overcome by physical and emotional pain, clutching the lifeless form of her greatest creation, as a scientist and as a mother, to herself as she wept. And deep inside herself, she made a vow. Valliant might have been the first, but God damn her soul to hell if he turned out to be the last.

***************************
A cold fall wind blew through the graveyard. Brown leaves swirled, dead and yet livelier than any of the graveyard’s occupants, even the still-living visitor, Julia Moreau. She could hear the slight whirring of the servos in her mechanical legs as she shifted her weight from one metal foot to another. One year later, she was through with crying, but was left unsure how to act, standing before a headstone with a silhouette of a howling wolf engraved on it. The hollow-point rounds from the revolver of the New-Gaia fanatic had taken far more than her legs from her that day. At least the [censored] had gotten what was coming to him.

One year after that, a November rain may or may not have drenched Valiant’s final resting place. No one was there to see it happen, if it did.

***************************
A sophomore looks up and down a shabby corridor in the genetics department, unsure if he’s in the right place. The damp stench of algae hangs in the air, wafting over from the tanks of a neighboring fish lab in room 1103. Lab 1104 supposedly belongs to Dr. Julia Moreau. It’s empty, three of the four workbenches pristine from lack of use while the forth is in disarray, complete with a large screwdriver out of place amidst the more delicate equipment. An unassuming nameplate on a closed door inside declares that yes, this is the office of Dr. Julia Moreau. The sophomore enters the lab, and knocks.

“Uh, hello? Dr. Moreau? It’s James Tam, I sent you a few emails this week and thought I’d check in person since I didn’t get any reply.”

But nobody answered. Not to be deterred, he sat down and sent off a quick email on his smartphone, saying essentially the same thing. The loud ping of an incoming message from behind the door drew a suspicious glare. James knocked again.

“Dr. Moreau, are you in there?” He asked. “I hope I’m not interrupting anyth…”

“What does it look like, kid?” The words seemed to punch through the door, hanging in the air with an acrid bitterness.

James glanced around the lab again, unsure of what to say. “I… Uh… No? I mean, I don’t think I’m interrupting anything.”

“Yeah, you got that right. Observant aren’t you? Now get lost.”
Whatever he was expecting, it certainly wasn’t an abrupt dismissal. With a foolish optimism, James pressed on. “So, you’re saying you don’t need any help? I saw your name on a list of mentors willing to take on an undergrad, so…”

“Jeeze, you’re persistent. That was three years ago, the list never gets updated. You really think that I need you around here? Maybe I do, but I’m saying that you don’t need me. Youngest professor to get tenure here? It’s a god-damn joke.” Dr. Moreau scoffed derisively from her side of the door. “They pay me enough to make sure no one takes my complaints about it seriously, but never enough to do any research; no controversial projects, no one gets hurt by the crazies in that New-Gaia movement. I read your emails, you’ve got solid grades in great classes. If you’re going to go anywhere, it won’t be with the likes of me. Don’t sink your career before it even starts, kid.”

The gears in James’ head were still turning when his mouth moved. “Can’t I at least work for course credit?”

Indistinct muttering filtered through the door. It may or may not have been Dr. Moreau swearing. “No. Just get out of here, can’t you take a hint?” She eventually snapped back, “Now where the HELL is my screwdriver?”

James glanced back at the disorganized lab bench, then back at the still-closed office door. He had better things to do than argue with a clearly down and out researcher.

***************************
Julia grumbled to herself as she sat slumped next to her lab bench, fiddling with her screwdriver to try and get a gear in one of her legs to stay put. The visit from that overly-optimistic undergrad had reminded her of just how tired she was. Tired of getting pushed to the sidelines by the university’s fear of controversy, tired of the grief that still gnawed at her heart after so long. Most of all, tired of breaking the promise she made to herself and Valiant with each passing day.
After sending the student away through sheer volume of vitriol, Dr. Moreau was once again alone. Able to make overly grandiose plans, write grant requests and then delete them because they would never be accepted, and lie to herself that she was doing something important.

A soft knock on the doorframe of her lab drew her attention. An old man was smiling down at her from where he stood in the doorway.

“Have I come at a bad time? It’s no problem if you need me to come back later. I have all the time in the world, you see.” Remarked the man kindly.

“Say what you want to say.” Julia turned back to her malfunctioning leg, trying to make it clear she wouldn’t be listening.

“I’m starting to think that you need an island getaway, much like your predecessor.” The Old Man remarked. “It would seem that neither of you handle controversy very well.”

Julia surged to her feet as the old man slipped out of view past the door, never mind the fact that one of her legs would likely give out on her. But by the time she made it to the door while favoring one foot, the old man had disappeared. Just like he had so many years ago, on the eve of her freshman year, Julia realized. What the hell was that old man playing at?

***************************
From: JamesT@wugs.ca.edu
To: J.Moreau@wugs.ca.edu
Subject: Research Position?

Dear Dr. Moreau,

As an undergraduate (sophomore year) who has read your paper on the creation of the uplifted wolf Valiant, I have found your work to be a huge inspiration. At the risk of sounding maudlin, to see years of scientific investigation and knowledge culminate in such a powerful act of creation filled me with determination to follow in your footsteps. I realize that it might be a sensitive topic for you given the New Gaia attack, but the “Valiant Project” truly is what got me into biology and genetics.

Maybe we could meet sometime next week, see if there are any other projects I could contribute to? I’m willing to work under work-study or for independent study credit. Also, attached is my transcript so far, I hope I meet whatever expectations you might have.

Thanks,
James

***************************
Like the proverbial gadfly, the Old Man’s words had stung Julia into action. Not to be outdone by her great-grandfather, fleeing in the face of public opinion, she decided it was time to get over herself and get back to work. She made plans, a bit more reasonable in scope, and started on a grant request that was getting submitted no matter what. The coming days saw Julia digging out her old files and papers, pain of the past blunted by hope for the future. Where Valiant’s creation had been somewhat shrouded in secrecy, everything would be above the board going forward. And she emailed that undergrad, too. It was hard to ignore one of the first people in so long who really believed in her work, irritating as that boundless optimism could be.

***************************
From: J.Moreau@wugs.ca.edu
To: JamesT@wugs.ca.edu
Subject: RE: Research Position?

Dear James,

I would like to apologize for how I acted last week. I recognize that it was completely unprofessional and rather inappropriate for someone who’s supposed to be a mentor. To be honest, I had lost myself after losing Valiant, and it took your visit and the subsequent introspection to realize that. I don’t think I’ll be working on another uplifted animal any time soon, but there are some other projects I left on the back-burner at the time that you should be able to help with. My schedule is quite open, so let me know what would be convenient for you to meet up and discuss them.

All the best,
Dr. Julia Moreau.

***************************
Donuts and coffee were a big help in banishing the winter chill as Julia’s new research team sat down to their weekly lab meeting. Besides James, a couple of graduate students decided to settle in at the lab, working on anything from engineered blood vessels that closed themselves off in response to dangerous drops in pressure, to a biological pacemaker derived from the electricity generating mechanisms of electric eels. But the uptick in activity from the lab had clearly displeased the powers that be.

“And I thought my tenure pay was a joke…” Julia slapped a folder down on the table, narrowly missing a box of jelly-filled donuts. “Take a look at what they’re giving us to work with.”

Two thousand dollars. Barely enough for lab supplies, never mind the cost for actually carrying out experiments. But while the grad students moaned, all James did was raise an eyebrow at the pitiful amount as he flippantly remarked, “My sister is a wildlife veterinarian and my uncle has a biotech company that makes lab-on-a-chip devices. Maybe they could help make a two thousand dollar wolf happen. Maybe even put all our eggs in one basket.”

Everyone stared at him. Not just for his financial naiveté but fact that James had so brazenly brought up a topic everyone tried to avoid.

“What, you mean as a publicity stunt?” “Come on man, that’s old hat around here!” “Seriously? Do you want to bring another New Gaia incident down on us?”

Julia considered the undergrad’s words, and the grad students’ criticisms. What was the point of another uplifted animal? Even Dolly the sheep had been cloned for a purpose, the easy farming of medicinal proteins edited into sheep’s’ milk, beyond just saying, “Hey, look at what science can do now!” But then again, there was something to be said for integrating the lab’s projects together, and seeing how well they worked in an actual organism. The room had gone quiet as her team noticed Dr. Moreau’s contemplative expression. New Gaia hadn’t been a serious threat in a while, not since their interference at a power plant construction site had triggered a crackdown and turned public opinion against them. Maybe the time was right to make good on her promises…

“A two thousand dollar wolf, eh? I like your optimism, James. If nothing else it’ll make for a catchy headline.”
The rest of lab thought she was joking. She wasn’t.

***************************
James wanted to give his sister the biggest high-five ever. And maybe buy her something expensive the coming Christmas. Just that morning, she had sent him and Dr. Moreau the ultrasound pictures of a very, very unique puppy. The team’s two-thousand dollar wolf, (plus change) was on her way. He just hoped the rest of the world was ready for her.

***************************
BREAKING NEWS
“Valentine” Moreau: Cute Creation or Ticking Tyke Bomb?
Surely, dear readers, you’ve heard by now about the “Two-thousand dollar wolf”, Valentine Moreau, created as a replacement for Valiant, the pet project of the infamous Dr. Julia Moreau. (Yes, related to the Victorian-era Dr. Moreau, who fled Britain, abandoning his family to continue his deranged experiments.) Shockingly, there might be more to Valentine than anyone has realized. Sources close to the modern Dr. Moreau have heard her saying that she wants to “correct the mistakes of the past”, and that Valentine “won’t go down so easily”, no doubt comparing Valentine to her predecessor, killed by an extremist New Gaia activist.

These sentiments, coupled with new information from the publication concerning Valentine’s design, point to the troubling conclusion that Dr. Moreau wants to plunge us into a brave new world of animal-hybrid super soldiers. Why else would Valentine need skin reinforced with carbon-fiber, arteries designed to stop blood-loss, even a heart that can re-start itself when stopped, and that’s only what has been published officially! The same source has also heard Moreau talking about enrolling her new hybrid in self-defense classes.

Folks, it is only a matter of time before your tax dollars start being thrown around by the likes of DARPA to develop even more frightening improvements, and it is imperative that you make your voices heard to… Continued on G-11.

***************************
The Old Man sips his tea as he reads the newest headlines, frowning at the way the sensationalism over Julia’s creation nearly masks another important event. “Bedford Metamaterials Inc. Attacked, Samples Stolen.” the title read. He sighed, combing the article for tell-tale signs of one of his little butterflies flapping up a hurricane.
Minutes later, a waitress would find the newspaper abandoned next to an upended cup of tea and a hefty tip. No dine-and-dash, just a man with all the time in the world finding a reason to hurry.

***************************
“I wish I could have met him.” A brown-furred muzzle rested on a still-developing hand/paw as Valentine looked out the window of Julia’s car.

“Who, Valiant?” Julia guided the car into her parking space outside the lab building. February 28th, another birthday, another round of testing. Valentine didn’t seem to mind.

“Yeah, he always seemed like such a softie. Like, I’m still a bit younger than he was, but whenever you talk about him, I think of him as my younger brother, sorta.” Valentine explained as she got out of the car. “It’s like… Uh oh.”

“Uh oh? What’s wrong, fuzzy-butt?” Julia looked at Val in concern as they walked into the lobby.

“You know how you mentioned normal dogs run for the hills long before a tsunami? I really want to run for the hills right now.”

Mother and daughter, scientist and creation, rode the elevator up in anxious silence. The silence continued as they stepped out into the hallway, and walked towards lab 1104. The silence was broken by none other than James Tam, rushing around the corner in a panic.

“Dr. Moreau! Thank goodness you’re here, but oh God, the embryos, the backups that we preserved in case something went wrong with Valentine, they’re GONE! And then there was this bomb, strapped to a liquid nitrogen tank, but something’s been jamming my phone and then this old man… Well speak of the devil.”

The Old Man fixed his gaze on each of them in turn, taking off his gloves. “The bomb is no longer a concern. Thought you might want to know.”

Julia tilted her head at the man, putting on a quizzical air. “So, we meet again. Third time’s the charm in finding out who you are?”

The Old Man gazed into the distance, as if addressing an unseen audience. “Come now, surely you’ve figured out who I am by now, linked as we all are by the lines of fate, an author’s pen. I must confess, I need your help. The butterflies have managed to brew quite the storm this time around the clock, and we will all have to flap quite hard to keep things under control, lest the Captain sink not just ships but entire nations.”

James and Valentine looked between the two in confusion, but Julia seemed to know exactly what the Old Man was talking about. “I’m guessing I’m not the only one then, right?”

“Hardly, Julia, hardly. You, Mr. Bedford, even myself, at the risk of paradox, any many more.” The Old Man turned to the two confused onlookers, human and otherwise. “As for you two, familiarize yourself with the works of H.G. Wells, Jules Verne, and the like. There’s more to those stories than you’d ever expect. From what I’ve seen, every world is a story, and yet real life writes itself. We’re about to live in interesting times, as the curse goes, and I can only hope that our author is merciful.”

***************************
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Email addresses used in this story are entirely fictional, no identification with actual emails (active or archive), is intended or should be inferred.

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SirJahar
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Re: [FWC 16] The Modern Moreau

#2 Post by SirJahar »

Well... Some spots it feels odd, but I'll give them a pass for it being about a scientist and by a scientist. Over all I like the story and the premis, but it feels like it was ment to feed into a larger work.

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