His review was timetabled to take place that afternoon. He was nervous and wondered whether this meeting with the director would run as smoothly as the last one. At the previous round of reviews all of his experiments were yielding results beyond his most optimistic expectations and his work was evolving into something new and exciting. He had argued that intervention was outdated, and that self-adjusting, free-running systems would be universal in the not too distant future. The director had been pleased with his progress and had approved the continuation of his non-interventionist approach.
Whilst he waited to be called in, he looked over his data and felt defensive. He reassured himself with the fact that the majority of his samples were still stable and sustainable. And yet his thoughts kept returning to Sample P7. It was not behaving quite like the others. He was concerned, he was disappointed, and he was very angry. P7 was by far the most advanced and biodiverse sample, but he was detecting increasing levels of instability, the exponential growth was alarming and positive feedback loops were popping up everywhere. It's only one sample, he kept telling himself, it's only 10% of the trial. Yet still he feared that the director was not going to be pleased, that intervention would be prescribed and that he would have to fight his corner. If this got out, his vindicated colleagues would forever quote P7 as evidence that free-running systems were doomed to fail.
The review began with the usual short presentation outlining the current status of each sample. Data were displayed, comparisons were drawn and predictions were made. His work was undeniably impressive, but the results from P7 stood out; they were bleak, there was no way of disguising it. At the end of his presentation he closed down the display and, as requested, transferred his results to the director. The director silently considered the data, rapidly analysing and processing. At last she looked at him.
"So, you're saying that none of the samples have had any biochemical or geophysical intervention?"
"Absolutely none. Any intervention, however small, would mean they were not truly free-running systems. I set the parameters at the start, then let them run, all ten samples."
She returned her attention to the data in front of her. "And you started them all at the same time?"
"Yes, everything was identical. Same alpha start time, same diameter, same elemental composition, same distance from a yellow dwarf star." He waited with apprehension, watching where her gaze fell as she scrutinised the data.
At last she pointed to P7 and said, "Please explain this chaos to me."
"It's the dominating species."
"I can see that. But at your last review the situation was nothing like this, no predictions came anywhere near to what you have today. In fact, I remember being very impressed with this particular sample, I thought it showed great creativity. It was certainly your most beautiful."
"Thank you. It was. It still is."
"Well, I admire your determination to maintain P7 as a free-running system, but considering what's at stake here, I'm surprised that you haven't been tempted to intervene with this species."
Oh, he'd been tempted. He'd been sorely tempted. Many a time their thoughtless greed, their pride, their deluded self-importance had made him want to strike out and smite them dead, to crush them and grind them into the very soil that they were polluting. He restrained himself and admitted, "I'm not very pleased with them."
"I bet you're not," she said. "And I gather from these reports that some of them are still under the illusion that you are going to save them. They're obviously unaware of your non-interventionist methodology," she said with some sarcasm. The director continued her analysis and he kept completely still. "I'm sorry," she said briskly, staring at a particularly alarming set of curves, "The other samples are fine. I'm happy to let them continue free-running, but I'm going to have to pull the plug on P7. I can't let one species continue on this destructive course."
He waited for more.
"It's not as if they are unaware of what they're doing," she continued, "I mean look at this." She pulled up multiple plots for them both to view. "See here, their own predictions are pretty much the same as yours for heaven's sake. They're destroying the place. Their arrogance and stupidity is unbelievable."
He stared at the unstoppable curves, escalating off the scale, easy to extrapolate to oblivion.
"No," she said firmly, "this has to stop. I want intervention for P7 and I want it immediately."
"Please," he began carefully, "can we just let it run a little longer. Some of them are working really hard to resolve things, they're looking for solutions. They've been incredibly resourceful and ingenious in the past."
"Oh come on, we both know that no amount of technology is going to get them out of this mess. I am not prepared to let them further disrupt the abiotic environment, decimate the biodiversity and inflict even more misery and suffering on the creatures that you said they would have stewardship over." She looked him in the eye then added, "They're not fit to survive. Get rid of them. Now."
Get rid of them? He'd expected concern, some minimal intervention, a reprimand perhaps, but not this, he was not prepared for this.
"Nobody else has ever had a problem this dangerous," she said.
"Nobody else has ever had a planet this glorious," he said, trying to keep emotion from his voice. "Please," he tried again, "just look at the beauty that they themselves have created," and he frantically swiped up images, sounds, smells, tastes and he became immersed in memories and emotion. It was the music that brought him close to tears and he turned his face away.
"God, I'm really sorry," said the director softening a little. "It's not entirely your fault. You're taking a risk with free-running systems. I can see that your hypothesis is correct for your other samples, they might be more primitive, yet they're clearly sustainable and some are quite attractive. Look at P4 for instance." She swiped up some images. "The flora and the invertebrates here are incredible. And here." She swiped again. "The aquatic life in P2 is stunning."
He lifted his head, but was unmoved as he watched a shoal of P2 angelfish fish swim across the display.
"I know you're fond of the primates, but P9 and P10 are showing definite signs of mammalian development, I can see it in the metabolic data." She stared at an array of numbers. "It's very impressive."
He usually enjoyed praise, but none of this was making him feel any better.
The director closed all the displays, sat down heavily and sighed. "You must remember, we're none of us omniscient. You weren't to know that such intelligence would result in self-destruction. And I have to say, it's not so much their apparent determination to destroy themselves that bothers me, it's the toxic effect that they are having on the sample as a whole."
"Couldn't I just move a few of them into one of my other samples?" he said. "It would require minimal intervention. Their space technology is almost there," he pleaded.
"And give them another planet to plunder? Good Lord, no. It's out of the question. Come on, I know there's a vengeful side to you. Too much mercy is going to ruin your project."
"I can't," he said, his voice becoming firmer and louder. "I can't just destroy them. They trust in me." He hesitated, "They love me."
"Well, they have a funny way of showing it," said the director glibly.
"I will not forsake them!" he boomed in furious frustration.
"Enough!" commanded the director coming to her feet, "Keep your wrath under control."
The room settled back into silence.
"Look," said the director, "perhaps in future we should have these reviews more often. Let's say every century, so we can spot things like this before they get out of control. And if necessary, we can make very small interventions, just to nudge things in the right direction without taking full omnipotent control."
So this was the end. The director's decision was final and there was no denying that his P7 hominids were a biohazard. "So, how do you want me to do it?" he asked, his anger shifting to resentful acceptance.
"Make it something species-specific. A plague maybe? Viral, air-borne, extremely contagious?" suggested the director helpfully. "Make it painless if you like."
"Even with a species-specific virus, their domesticated animals will die without them," he argued.
"There's bound to be some collateral damage, that can't be helped. But those animals shouldn't be present in such ridiculous numbers anyway. It's a small price to pay."
"There's going to be a huge volume of decomposing biomass," he countered.
"Oh, it won't take that long, you've got an abundance of bacteria down there." The director moved towards the door signalling the end of their meeting. "Warm it up a bit more if you're worried, that'll accelerate the decay process," she added.
"Not necessary," he said, "the temperature is set to continue rising for a while even without their presence. They've already solved that one for me."
