My stomach drops.
Dresh flips through the documents in front of her. "The research itself," she says. "The neural interface project. There have been some…concerns raised."
I tilt my head. "Concerns."
"About methodology," she says, still not looking up. "About the safety record in the lab."
"Walker's safety record is consistent with the experimental nature of her work," I say. "Every incident has been documented, reviewed, and resolved. None have resulted in lasting harm."
"There was a significant adverse event several weeks ago," Veth says.
"Which was contained within the lab, documented within the hour, and is currently the subject of ongoing investigation that has already produced valuable research data," I say. "If the committee has reviewed the incident report, they'll note it was filed the same day."
"By you," Dresh says.
"By me," I confirm. "As her supervisor. Yes."
She looks up. There is something in her expression I don't like—not hostility, exactly, but the particular brand of deliberate patience people employ when they've already made a decision and are simply waiting for the correct moment to announce it.
"The committee has some broader questions," she says, "about the suitability of this particular area of research for the University of M’mir.”
Something cold moves through me.
"The project has been approved," I say carefully. "It was reviewed and funded through the standard channels."
"Circumstances change."
"Nothing material has changed about the project."
"The researcher's judgment has been called into question."
I set my pen down. "On what basis."
It isn't a question, not really. It's a warning—the only one I intend to give.
Dresh doesn't take it. "There is a pattern," she says, "in researchers of Walker's background?—"
"Walker's background," I repeat.
"—of a certain…enthusiasm that can outpace practical judgment. We saw it with the McRae incident three years ago. We've seen it in the broader literature on human researchers working in advanced xenobiology contexts?—"
"You're describing a species," I say. My voice comes out very quiet.
Across the table, Councillor Maren—a Skoll woman I've always respected—shifts in her seat.
"We're describing a documented pattern," Veth says, more carefully than Dresh. "The research is ambitious. The researcher is young. And the incident in the lab?—"
"Was not a lapse in judgment," I say. "It was an unexpected result in an experimental protocol. That is what experiments produce. If the committee is suggesting that the capacity for unexpected results disqualifies a researcher, I'd invite them to revisit the foundational research on which half this department's reputation rests, because most of it was built on exactly that."
"Professor Rhyss," Dresh says, in a tone that attempts to sound reasonable and doesn't quite get there. "We're not questioning the research categorically. We're questioning whether this institution is the appropriate venue for this particular project, given the risk profile, and whether a human researcher operating outside her home discipline is best positioned to?—"
"Outside her home discipline." I hear the words come out of my mouth. I hear, very distantly, the tone of them. "Her home discipline is neuroscience. Her primary expertise is translatortechnology. This project sits at the intersection of both. There is no researcher on this campus better positioned for it. There is, frankly, no researcher on this planet better positioned for it."
"Her human physiology presents limitations?—"
"Her human physiology gives her a perspective on pain response that none of our xenobiological researchers share, because she has lived in a human body and knows what it is to have a nervous system that doesn't map cleanly onto our existing models. That isn't a limitation. That is the entire point."
Veth raises a hand. "Professor?—"
