The command room was quiet as usual. Small colored lights flickered from the control panel. Nothing to worry about. It felt like months, even though Sara had only been working for a week.
She had to monitor the study group daily from the console, reporting on the progress, performance, and behavior of the subjects. Even at an altitude of more than 10,000 meters, the console's powerful cameras could examine a subject's eyes, skin, and clothing in great detail.
At first, it was interesting to observe them, but after a week, their very primitive minds always followed the same pattern of behavior, with no progress. The work became so routine that Sara began to get bored. She didn't understand how her predecessor could go 25 years doing the same thing without going mad.
The subjects lived in an arid and harsh environment where food and water were hard to come by. Daily, before the star of the planetary system illuminated a new day on the planet, Sara was to load the food supplement for the study group. Every 6 days she was to double the amount of food. That way she could have one day off a week.
On the seventh day, the guys from the other observation posts happened to be celebrating the chief engineer's birthday, and the party went on so long that Sara unfortunately lost track of time.
Worried, she quickly washed up and rushed to her station; the solar star had begun to unfold more than 6 hours ago.
The study group was as desperate as she was, perhaps because of the lack of food.
A red warning signal flashed insistently on the screen of her control panel. Sara clicked on it and a message began to play.
"Dear Lord, what have we done wrong that we have offended You? Oh, Great Highest, forgive us, I am not one to demand the manna you send us daily. But Your people are hungry for food. I will continue to pray on the top of this mountain to soften your generous heart."
"Damn it!" expressed Sara.
She picked up her keyboard and loaded the food matrix; surprisingly, another alarm went off. This time, the nutritional supplement had run out.
"Damn it!" Sara spat.
"Estimated food loading time: 15 hours," said the electronic voice of the artificial intelligence.
Sara glanced at her control panel. The other control rooms were empty. None of her superiors were present at the moment. She nibbled at one of her fingernails, her eyes darting from side to side as if watching a tennis match.
Another warning message appeared on the screen. This time, the study group's spirit guide was more gracious, asking for food and the sacrifice of the firstborn.
"WTF! What a drama! No wonder they gave them the Prime Directive to grow and reproduce, otherwise they would have died out long ago," Sara squealed.
Sara bit her lips, her fingers drumming on the table of her station. Finally, she decided to answer, to make them understand that their food would arrive soon.
"Be patient, the food is coming soon, my children."
Sara kept an eye on a half-finished box of donuts and had (in her mind) a great idea. She programmed the synthesizer and sent donuts to the subjects.
"What could possibly go wrong?" she asked herself.
Soon a message appeared on her screen.
"Lord: We are grateful for your food. We have never tasted anything so delicious. And if it's not too much to ask, are you even a woman?"
A shiver ran down Sara's spine. She had forgotten to turn on the voice modulator.
After fifteen minutes, Sara still had both hands on her head. Her eyes were bulging out of their sockets.
The artificial intelligence of her control module recommended that the study group be purged.
Sara refused to wipe out the primitive society under her command, she would not make the mistake of flooding the planet again to solve the problem.
She picked up the console and decided to send one last message.
"I am; I can be female or male; My existence is beyond your understanding. Do not question your God. Do not make me pour out my wrath on you."
Thirty minutes passed and there was no response. It seemed to her that they had gotten the message.
Sara programmed the food synthesizer with the necessary supplement for the next 15 years. That way it wouldn't happen again.
"Surely they'll soon forget the incident," she said to herself in consolation.
"What could possibly go wrong?", asked herself
...
Two thousand years later, the temples celebrated the new representative of the pontifical matriarch with donuts.