What if - ? The Tsar and the mad scientist
(NOTE: this is a fanfic on Diane Castle's Terawatt universe, which includes a great many characters from different fictional worlds. Maggie Walsh is indeed - originally - the mad doctor from Buffy, although Diane has made her an even better and more scary/fascinating villainess. The Tsar, alas, is not fictional at all.)
Her eyes blinked and opened, and she was aware that she was alive. Then the memories began to come back to her, swiftly, one by one. And -
Good morning, Doctor Walsh,” said a somehow familiar voice with a strong Russian accent. “I am glad to see that our experimental treatment seems to have worked. Our experts were fairly sure, but of course no treatment is ever sure until it has been tested, and what with your very rare physiology, we had never had any opportunity to test it before.”
“Treatment? I should have bled to death!”
“You did indeed, Doctor. But perhaps you have never stopped to think that the chemical barriers that you have placed in your body against certain illnesses and to delay symptoms of aging, also tended to slow down the degeneration of the brain and other organs even when blood supply is permanently interrupted. In a normal human, brain damage begins within a few minutes of anoxia. In you, we calculated it would take about three hours before that priceless brain was rendered inoperative.”
And now she recognized him. “You are...”
“Vladimir Vladimirovich Putin, President of the Russian Federation, madam.” (She noticed that he did not say: at your service.)
“Please do not move. Stay where you are. I do not know what you can and cannot do exactly, but I do know from several sources that people tend to die around you, and I want to have my talk with you in a peaceful and reasonable atmosphere.” The metal of several rifles glittered behind him.
“You have an interesting definition of reasonable, Tsar Vladimir Vladimirovich,” she answered.
“I do not intend to do anything to you, Doctor. You are an asset I wish not to lose. But neither do I intend to have you in a position where you can threaten us.
“We have had our eye on you for a long time, Doctor. Since the days of the old Soviet Union, in fact. We have had ample opportunity to assess your motives and your behaviour. And based on numerous pieces of direct and indirect evidence, our profilers agree that you may be defined as a psychopath who has no problem with killing people any time it suits her, and indeed may take a malicious pleasure in it. Your affectivity seems restricted to the things you yourself create, or that are biologically very close to you. I can claim neither of these privileges, and therefore I will be on my guard against any personal initiative from you.”
After a few seconds, Walsh asked: “What do you want with me, then?”
“Anything you can do, Doctor. Our assessments tell us that you are focused on research with what one person has called 'Terawatt-like' intensity.” He grinned as Walsh looked, for an instant, as if she had bitten into a lemon. “We will deal with your injuries. You will be given the facilities and materials you need. Also the collaborators. We have been training geneticists to a very high level, and we have chosen some twenty among them who are held to be good enough to work with you, to assess and above all to understand what you are doing, and who have studied your past research with care. We understand you would want to be leader in your own lab, and there are no dominant personalities among these twenty. Leader personalities who emerged in the process of education and selection were assigned their own projects, and you may meet some of them in time. You will find your twenty assistants excellent collaborators. Nonetheless, a word of warning: we expect them to be loyal, not to you, but to Russia. Any unexplained deaths or sudden changes in health or in attitude and behaviour among them will trigger immediate investigations and put you in danger. Care for their welfare - mental and physical - as you would your own. And the same, of course, goes for any other person in the service of the Russian Federation.
“In general, what we hope to have from you, Doctor, is ideas that help with the grave crisis that has gripped our nation. Our place in the world ought to be one of leadership, but in fact we are barely holding ourselves together. We don't expect you to solve our problems for us - if I may say so, your past record suggests that you have little understanding of the complexities of leading and governing men - but we hope you may make a positive contribution.”
“Any restrictions? Twenty assistants, you know, is an awful lot.”
“Restrictions... I would have no particular problem with getting you human subjects for research, but we have to keep into consideration that sooner or later your presence here may become known, and that many countries have a quite ridiculously squeamish attitude to life - especially if it's someone else who is manipulating it. So no human subjects if you can avoid it. And as for the number of assistants, our profilers doubt that you have ever really been stretched to your full potential. Lack of resources always got in the way sooner or later, even in the Collective. We want to stretch you as far as you can go. I think that you are quite capable of running efficiently several areas of research at once, each financed to succeed. Don't be misled by what I said about our situation relative to other countries; 'Gondor may be fading, but even the ends of her strength are still very strong.' You have the resources of a real empire at your disposal, so long as you make constructive use of them. You will be working to your full potential, and that alone would be a reason for you to join with us.”
“It would indeed...” said Walsh thoughtfully.
“And there is one more thing I can offer you. You may wonder how we come to have such an interest in you and your work...” - Putin stopped, for her blank look showed that she had never asked herself that question at all, and may not have thought it of any importance. That would be typical of her narrow focus and psychopathic lack of interest in others, thought the dictator. “Well, I was one of the senior operatives in Berlin when we found out about Marissa Weigler and Project Galinka. Unfortunately, we could not keep her from finding out she was compromised, and she panicked, killing people right and left. But we had found out enough to appreciate your goals - if not to be able to replicate them - and we managed to save a couple of your subjects. Weigler did not kill everyone she thought she had.
“Captain Richter, Captain Metzgerova - step forward, please.”
She recognized them by instinct, by feeling, even in the half-second before she remembered the names - Friederike Richter and Eva-Anne Metzger, two of her successful implants, two of that damned woman Weigler's victims. And these, these were... Ridiculously young for their FSB Captain's uniforms. Boy and girl. Moving like panthers, graceful and strong and dangerous. Tall and fair-haired and incredibly handsome, with her own sculptured cheekbones and grey eyes. Her eyes could not look away. She felt that strange emotion pouring out of her like a flood of blood and fire, that emotion she had never felt except in the presence of her daughter. And she thought, what she had not allowed herself to think, to feel, for sixteen years - what Weigler had stolen from her - and she felt anger - and grief - and loss, and despair - and overwhelming, overwhelming love. She could not control her eyes, she could not take them away from the two tall young people, and there were tears in them.
And the ruler of Russia looked calmly at her and knew that he had won.
Her eyes blinked and opened, and she was aware that she was alive. Then the memories began to come back to her, swiftly, one by one. And -
Good morning, Doctor Walsh,” said a somehow familiar voice with a strong Russian accent. “I am glad to see that our experimental treatment seems to have worked. Our experts were fairly sure, but of course no treatment is ever sure until it has been tested, and what with your very rare physiology, we had never had any opportunity to test it before.”
“Treatment? I should have bled to death!”
“You did indeed, Doctor. But perhaps you have never stopped to think that the chemical barriers that you have placed in your body against certain illnesses and to delay symptoms of aging, also tended to slow down the degeneration of the brain and other organs even when blood supply is permanently interrupted. In a normal human, brain damage begins within a few minutes of anoxia. In you, we calculated it would take about three hours before that priceless brain was rendered inoperative.”
And now she recognized him. “You are...”
“Vladimir Vladimirovich Putin, President of the Russian Federation, madam.” (She noticed that he did not say: at your service.)
“Please do not move. Stay where you are. I do not know what you can and cannot do exactly, but I do know from several sources that people tend to die around you, and I want to have my talk with you in a peaceful and reasonable atmosphere.” The metal of several rifles glittered behind him.
“You have an interesting definition of reasonable, Tsar Vladimir Vladimirovich,” she answered.
“I do not intend to do anything to you, Doctor. You are an asset I wish not to lose. But neither do I intend to have you in a position where you can threaten us.
“We have had our eye on you for a long time, Doctor. Since the days of the old Soviet Union, in fact. We have had ample opportunity to assess your motives and your behaviour. And based on numerous pieces of direct and indirect evidence, our profilers agree that you may be defined as a psychopath who has no problem with killing people any time it suits her, and indeed may take a malicious pleasure in it. Your affectivity seems restricted to the things you yourself create, or that are biologically very close to you. I can claim neither of these privileges, and therefore I will be on my guard against any personal initiative from you.”
After a few seconds, Walsh asked: “What do you want with me, then?”
“Anything you can do, Doctor. Our assessments tell us that you are focused on research with what one person has called 'Terawatt-like' intensity.” He grinned as Walsh looked, for an instant, as if she had bitten into a lemon. “We will deal with your injuries. You will be given the facilities and materials you need. Also the collaborators. We have been training geneticists to a very high level, and we have chosen some twenty among them who are held to be good enough to work with you, to assess and above all to understand what you are doing, and who have studied your past research with care. We understand you would want to be leader in your own lab, and there are no dominant personalities among these twenty. Leader personalities who emerged in the process of education and selection were assigned their own projects, and you may meet some of them in time. You will find your twenty assistants excellent collaborators. Nonetheless, a word of warning: we expect them to be loyal, not to you, but to Russia. Any unexplained deaths or sudden changes in health or in attitude and behaviour among them will trigger immediate investigations and put you in danger. Care for their welfare - mental and physical - as you would your own. And the same, of course, goes for any other person in the service of the Russian Federation.
“In general, what we hope to have from you, Doctor, is ideas that help with the grave crisis that has gripped our nation. Our place in the world ought to be one of leadership, but in fact we are barely holding ourselves together. We don't expect you to solve our problems for us - if I may say so, your past record suggests that you have little understanding of the complexities of leading and governing men - but we hope you may make a positive contribution.”
“Any restrictions? Twenty assistants, you know, is an awful lot.”
“Restrictions... I would have no particular problem with getting you human subjects for research, but we have to keep into consideration that sooner or later your presence here may become known, and that many countries have a quite ridiculously squeamish attitude to life - especially if it's someone else who is manipulating it. So no human subjects if you can avoid it. And as for the number of assistants, our profilers doubt that you have ever really been stretched to your full potential. Lack of resources always got in the way sooner or later, even in the Collective. We want to stretch you as far as you can go. I think that you are quite capable of running efficiently several areas of research at once, each financed to succeed. Don't be misled by what I said about our situation relative to other countries; 'Gondor may be fading, but even the ends of her strength are still very strong.' You have the resources of a real empire at your disposal, so long as you make constructive use of them. You will be working to your full potential, and that alone would be a reason for you to join with us.”
“It would indeed...” said Walsh thoughtfully.
“And there is one more thing I can offer you. You may wonder how we come to have such an interest in you and your work...” - Putin stopped, for her blank look showed that she had never asked herself that question at all, and may not have thought it of any importance. That would be typical of her narrow focus and psychopathic lack of interest in others, thought the dictator. “Well, I was one of the senior operatives in Berlin when we found out about Marissa Weigler and Project Galinka. Unfortunately, we could not keep her from finding out she was compromised, and she panicked, killing people right and left. But we had found out enough to appreciate your goals - if not to be able to replicate them - and we managed to save a couple of your subjects. Weigler did not kill everyone she thought she had.
“Captain Richter, Captain Metzgerova - step forward, please.”
She recognized them by instinct, by feeling, even in the half-second before she remembered the names - Friederike Richter and Eva-Anne Metzger, two of her successful implants, two of that damned woman Weigler's victims. And these, these were... Ridiculously young for their FSB Captain's uniforms. Boy and girl. Moving like panthers, graceful and strong and dangerous. Tall and fair-haired and incredibly handsome, with her own sculptured cheekbones and grey eyes. Her eyes could not look away. She felt that strange emotion pouring out of her like a flood of blood and fire, that emotion she had never felt except in the presence of her daughter. And she thought, what she had not allowed herself to think, to feel, for sixteen years - what Weigler had stolen from her - and she felt anger - and grief - and loss, and despair - and overwhelming, overwhelming love. She could not control her eyes, she could not take them away from the two tall young people, and there were tears in them.
And the ruler of Russia looked calmly at her and knew that he had won.