Breaking the Malthusian Trap

Everything hinged on today, but he wished he could have cleaned out his desk first.

The elevator doors glided open, and Dr. Alfred Mortiz entered the boardroom. Corbin Maxwell, heir to Prometheus Pharmaceuticals, casually inspected the skyline. A darling of DC and Wall Street alike, Corbin treated this tower like his castle. Alfred thought it was another phallic monstrosity assaulting Mother Earth. Malthus would’ve wept. Outside, sunlight from the unseasonably warm day burned off the neighboring skyscrapers. He felt like a rat stuck inside a test chamber.

“He’s here, Father,” Corbin said into a conferencing speaker, gesturing toward Alfred. “Rumor is, we’re close to unveiling the drug.”

“It’s not a drug. They are Phagocytes. Highly complex organisms, not simple Ibuprofen.”

“In layman’s terms,” Corbin said. His chuckle grated Alfred’s teeth. When Corbin wanted something, he got it.

“They’re cells that eat cells…”

“Products of…deforestation…Amazon,” Mr. Maxwell hacked through the microphone. He sounded horrible.

“So why haven’t we gone to market? I thought the trials were concluded?”

“They were. Initial tests were…carnivorous. However, we learned that they could be trained with bits of the desired target. Once trained, they were like maggots on necrotic flesh—targeted destruction of cancer without needing chemo or radiation.”

“What happens when they, uh, finish their meal?”

“That was difficult. The untrained Phagocytes would devour any organic material and then multiply exponentially, but trained ones will simply go dormant before dying harmlessly.”

“Miraculous…” Corbin said.

“Precisely.”

“We need miracles, right Father?”

Alfred drew a deep breath, fighting to keep emotion from his voice, “The trials have been conclusive. However, due to the specimen's rarity, all trials were localized to Prometheus Pharmaceuticals.”

Corbin waved dismissively, “A few calls, and we’ll bypass any concerns. I know two senators who would love to run on this news.”

“Sir, I–”

“You’re certain our results are accurate.”

“Yes, but–”

“Then we proceed–”

“Sir!” Alfred shouted, surprising even himself. “I must object in the harshest of terms. You cannot cut corners with medicine.”

“I agree...with Alfred,” Mr. Maxwell hacked, breaking the silence.

“Father, it's perfect. Founder of Prometheus Pharmaceutical’s stage four cancer cured by our miracle drug!”

Mr. Maxwell’s response was a series of hacking coughs. Corbin cut the line.

“Your objection is noted. You're dismissed. Daddy will forgive me when he can breathe again. Team, I want distribution plans for a million treatments...”

Once Corbin knew what he wanted, it was his...

...just as Alfred hoped.

Back in his office, Alfred deliberately knocked over his briefcase. Stooping amongst the papers, he removed…a frequency emitter.

Only Alfred knew these Phagocytes danced to a certain song. They would enter dormancy only when exposed to this specific frequency. It would be the greatest medical crisis in history, yet Earth's illness required intervention. They would call for Corbin's head, the pompous fool who played god despite the scientist's objections.

Alfred smiled.

Exponential growth pushed humanity into an extinction event, Alfred thought it was about time Mother Nature used it for her revenge.

Tonight called for Champagne.

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A/N:

This was my entry for this Spring's writing battle--information below. Though I did not advance out of the house round, this piece landed about where I expected it to, and it was a great learning experience. Onto the next one!

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