Invidia's observation vessel trembled only slightly as it lanced through the atmosphere of the project planet's desiccated corpse. Settling into a mathematically ideal location in the firmament, the skin of the craft shifted into a translucent membrane to allow its occupant a better view of what had come to pass. The only motion on the surface came from a sickly breeze passing through the branches of some ashen moribund oak. Curious shapes, buried beneath dozens of meters of thorny black vines, specked the landscape all the way to the horizon; the last dying shadows of what had once been buildings and monuments and cities, now returned to their basic elements by entropy and time.
“Project World 16. Transformational variable: Pathogenic reduction of population. Beginning analysis.” Invidia nudged a control stick and the vessel plummeted to the surface, halting a fiber's breadth above the surface, then launching off toward the horizon at blinding speed. “Sensors show no traces of higher life. No signs of motion on the planet surface. No radio transmissions detected. Civilizational development index no higher than zero. Biodiversity index no higher than 0.1.” She hesitated for a moment, studying the inky vines that comprised the only multicellular life she could see. “Project World 16 is dead. Did they use bacteriological or viral pathogens for this modification?”
The vessel's monitor, visible only as a slight distortion against the glassy surface of the vehicle, flashed a message into the air before Invidia's eyes: Bacteriological. This was followed by a rapid scroll of information – name of the pathogen, genetic profile, pre-modification profile of the planet and its highest life forms.
“That much data is hardly necessary, I was merely curious.” Invidia's gaze returned again to the vines – sickly, sinister looking tendrils that oozed an ichorous sap from ugly pores. “The pathogen seems to have had some unusual effects on the native life here. It might behoove the executive council to dispatch someone with xenobiological expertise to study further. Beyond that...there's nothing more I can do here. Set a course for Project World 17.”
Humming in acknowledgment, the observational vessel shot through the atmosphere exactly as it had entered and calculated its next destination. The surface was opaque once again, the inside lit only by the eerie glow of the manual controls arranged before Invidia. Setting aside the recording device, she eased back into her seat and shut her eyes. This had not been the most enlightening of missions, not with three dead planets and a half-dozen more ready to follow them into the abyss. The business of analysis was always a grim one, but the decision by headquarters to abandon some of their older, less successful projects had made the whole thing seem downright futile.
Approaching Project World 17.
Invidia revived and turned her eyes to the monitor. She would swear that she hadn't shut her eyes for more than a few minutes, but the vessel told no tales – the next planet was before them. This one at least had superficial charms that Project World 16 had lacked, enough to give Invidia hope that there would yet be life there. This time, the descent was less aggressive, and Invidia took a moment to appreciate the colors of the sky as the vessel found its observation point.
“Project World 17. Transformational variable: Partial electromagnetic dispersal of atmosphere. Beginning analysis.” Invidia tapped the control stick to signal the computer to descend.
This time, the vessel barely moved. A message flashed across the unseen monitor: Signs of civilization detected – limiting proximity.
“So it is.” Invidia kept in a gasp of delight, such things being undignified of an analyst of her station. Even from the edge of space, she could make out shapes on the ground – cities, if only small ones. “No radio signals detected, but obvious signs of cultural development on planet's surface. Current estimate of civilizational development index is between 0.4 and 2.2.” She grasped for the control stick. “Now overriding proximity limits and switching to manual control. Personal note: It's a risk, but we definitely need a closer look at this one.”
Invidia eased the control stick forward with a degree of caution that scarcely matched the childishly ecstatic expression she sported. The vessel was in what had once been the cloud layer, transformed by a past crisis into a dense band of yellow haze. The ground beneath the haze looked like it had been bled to the bone, possessing the off-white tone of depletion, but there were yet signs of life amid the desolation. Invidia had indeed spotted cities from her lofty perch, or at least settlements – tiny outposts of sentient activity, pockets of order hedging out the torments of the wasteland.
“Confirmation of civilization on Project World 17.” Invidia leaned closer to the transparent skin of the vessel, forgetting in her excitement that the sensors would give her a far better overview of the planet. “There are permanent settlements, no evidence of specialized construction but there are repurposed domiciles. Hmm...how long has it been since this planet was modified? Relative to the lifespan of the organisms, I should say.”
The monitor traced its response: Five generations.
“Five generations? Remarkable...” Invidia withdrew into her seat. “Rapid redevelopment of sedentary life, including cultivation of plants and possibly animal husbandry. Also signs of trade between settlements...”
Invidia paused and composed herself – had she allowed herself to get carried away? There were ruts in the pallid ground that could be footpaths, or even roads for vehicles. There were no vehicles, though, and even the paths could be no such thing – the footprints of cannibalized buildings, perhaps, or even wishful thinking on Invidia's behalf. There would be no way to know for sure without drawing closer, much closer to the inhabitants than any analyst would be allowed.
Of course, what were the odds that the executive council would ever know? There was no questioning their brilliance, their peerless vision, and even their critics would, in time, see the proof of their benevolence. Even so, they were at the other end of the universe, quietly charting out the futures for planets that they would likely never see with their own eyes. Invidia was the eye of the council, the only representative of the organization within that star system. It would be easy enough to blind the electronic protocols, to erase her presence – if only for a few minutes – and alight on the ground herself. What a forbidden joy! To walk on foot through the clusters of shanties, to hear their mingled languages as they bartered and argued, to listen to the songs and stories of the emergent artists. What might there myths be like? Are they yet a rational people, as they were before the modification, or had they returned to some primal mindset, full of lost magic and capricious gods?
But the thought of it was folly. True, Invidia could make herself invisible to the sensors and trackers and walk with the people of this world without her superiors having any proof. They would go a cycle without learning of her violation, or two, or five, or ten. Then would come the day when a xenobiology team or a modification crew would be dispatched to this place and witness firsthand the evidence she'd left behind. There would surely be stories of this visitor from the stars, odes to the time when the spirits from beyond the firmament made themselves known to the unworthy masses. Then the council would know, and then there would be a dire punishment.
Invidia sighed as the fantasy melted back into reality. “...Civilizational development index lower bound 0.8, higher bound 1.1. Biodiversity index lower bound 3, higher bound 5. The executive council should seriously consider close detailed scrutiny of Project World 17, this is unquestionably the most promising planet in the current portfolio. Compile all surface readings and set course for Project World 18.”
Project World 17 disappeared from Invidia's sight as the vessel regained its opacity and returned to the void, but she kept staring as though she could still see the surface in all its grim splendor. Enclosed again in darkness, she drifted back to the early years of the project, to her initial appointment to the corps of analysts and the testimonials of their first members. The worst part is that you start to doubt the value of the mission, they said. You imagine some deeper attachment to one of the Project World and it clouds your judgment. You deceive yourself and start questioning the compassion of the organization. You even view yourself as some potential savior. She'd been waiting for it to happen for a long time – was that all it was? Some moral hallucination brought about by long journeys through the great graveyards of civilizations past? This feeling was too substantial to be anything so ephemeral.
Approaching Project World 18.
Again the vessel rudely shook Invidia out of her meditations. They were drifting above another planet, this one even more spectacular than Project World 17 – far more than any project planet she'd ever personally seen. This one still had a touch of primeval splendor to it, still retaining some aspect of its former glory.
“Project World 18. Transformational variable: High mass impact in ocean.” Invidia flicked her eyes between the recorder and the monitor in disbelief. “...This can't be right. Project World 18 is projecting a significant spectrum of electromagnetic activity. Radio signals are what we'd expect from a planet with a civilizational index of 4 or 5. Is there a natural source causing interference?”
The whir of the computer's brain abruptly fell silent as a message illuminated the dark cabin: Incoming signal from Modification Crew Theta. Chief operator: Balder. An image appeared on the monitor, a ship of similar make to Invidia's observation craft but significantly larger. Lost in her thoughts, she had failed to see the other vessel as she neared Project Planet 18.
Invidia mashed a button to open the frequency. “Reading you, Balder. This is Invidia of Observation Post Zeta.”
The interior of the vessel grew brighter – blinding after the earlier darkness – and then the newly visible features blurred into each other, the beams of light warping and bending until the cramped interior of the observation vessel had surrendered to the spartan interior of the modification ship. Seated before Invidia was a specter of that ship's pilot, a typically rough-looking figure with experience-ravaged eyes and and a pendulous jaw.
“We're reading you, Invidia,” said Balder – his voice matched his visage, weary and stern and cracking with repressed anger. “Is the current survey going well?”
“There are no particular problems.”
“It's been an easy voyage?”
“Certainly.”
“Easy enough to let you get ahead of schedule?”
“Perhaps. Is there something you require of me?”
“Not at all.” Balder scratched his chin and shot a sideward glance at an unseen monitor. “Figured you were running ahead. You got to this planet before we had a chance to finish our own mission?”
Invidia looked around for her own monitor, the only part of the observation vessel still visible. “...That explains it. This one seemed far too developed to be a Project World.”
“Got that right.” Balder noisily cleared his throat. “Matter of fact, we've only just found an object of sufficient mass to meet regulations. You're welcome to stay and watch, ought to be an impressive one.”
“...Very well, I'll do that. Invidia out.”
The cabin of the modification melted back into the darkness and the vessel's skin again turned translucent. Through the surface, Invidia could see the great modification vessel in its designated orbit above the target planet. The council was rarely so direct – there was a risk that the denizens would spot the ship, though they never had. No one looks up – that's the explanation they always gave. Near the ship was the tool of modification, a sizable astral object with numerous accelerators crudely affixed to its surface. There was a momentary flash as the accelerators roared to life and the object began its course of creative destruction. The atmosphere wrapped itself around the object, wreathing it in fire in a desperate attempt to save its charges by any means necessary. By now, they'd all see it. They'd see the great flaming stone, hear the cacophony as it sundered the sky, see – maybe even feel – the rush of superheated gasses as it made contact.
Invidia watched in mute awe. It was unfortunate for the denizens of this planet, but it would benefit everyone in the long-term – and damned if it wasn't beautiful.