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  “You sure?”

  “Yeah, I’m fine.”

  “‘Cause if you wanna talk, I can call him and schedule a….”

  “No!” Armada firmly interjected. “No. Thanks, I’ll be all right.”

  Garret looked Armada up and down, contemplating how he should end the conversation.

  “Okay,” he said, patting Armada on his shoulder. “Why don’t you take it easy for the night. We can handle the dorm.”

  Armada nodded his head and watched as Garret pulled himself to the entryway and float out into the transfer tube.

  Eighteen minutes, he thought. But I wasn’t unconscious. I couldn’t have been. That was no hallucination.

  He reached out for the rung at the head of his bed, pulled himself under the top bunk, and secured his mattress restraints.

  No way I imagined that! Armada told himself. The helmet camera would have….

  “My helmet camera!” he shouted from the confines of his bed.

  He lifted his head from his pillow to see if anyone was coming or maybe overheard his exclamation.

  If I can get to the Arena kiosk later, he silently rationalized, I can access the Master Server and examine my files. I bet they keep everything. Tracking movement, audio and video recordings … I can prove there was a blackout!

  ***

  Three a.m.

  “Evan,” the voice summoned; not too loud, but enough to roust Armada from his deep slumber. “Evan.”

  Armada felt for the mattress restraints and, one by one, delicately unlatched the clasps. He stealthily swung his legs out and pulled himself from under the top bunk. He floated beside the stack of beds, listening carefully. Once he determined no one else was awake, Armada ever so slowly extended his arm to grab one of the rungs mounted on the ceiling. He focused on controlling his movement so as not to activate the motion sensors. If he moved too quickly, or made too broad a stroke of his arms or legs, the sensors would automatically turn on the lights and the video cameras would engage. Armada folded his arms towards his chest and locked his legs straight. He gripped and released the rungs directly in front of his chest, as if he were dog paddling in a pool, floating as lifelessly as possible.

  Suddenly, the lights in the transfer tube came on. However, Armada neither saw nor heard anyone in the tube. He waited for a few moments and the light in the tube shut off. He gingerly eased himself into the corridor and waited. Armada peered into the darkness and could see only the tiny green glow of the video cameras on the ceiling. He crept through the connecting tunnel until, at long last, he reached the entry to the Arena.

  Armada extended his left arm and grasped the underside of the lip where the Arena joined the connecting tunnel to the dormitories. He steadied his torso, released the ceiling rung from his right hand, and drew himself into the Arena. Even though the communication kiosk was just inside the entry, there were still two motion-sensitive cameras he had to contend with. Armada moved in as close and slow as possible to the kiosk screen and keyboard. Once he powered up the terminal, Armada ran a risk of the light from the monitor activating the cameras. He pressed his chest against the screen and pushed the power button. The screen briefly flickered, then went black. He backed away from the terminal and, after a moment, the monitor flashed the Engenechem logo and a window appeared, prompting the user to enter their log on credentials. Armada entered the administrative name and password, then proceeded to hack his way into the Master Server. Once the security systems were bypassed, he logged in as Dr. White, but rerouted the log on to reflect the address of a terminal from a different department on the SUBOS.

  Armada ran searches for ‘Evan Armada Nine’ and ‘POG AV.’ While waiting for the search results, he ran another search for ‘WATCHER’ and ‘Chloe Rover Seven.’ In no time at all, a green flag appeared in the bottom left corner of the screen, and then, almost immediately after receiving the first notification, a second green flag appeared. Before he opened the reports, Armada created an internal e-mail to Chloe’s terminal number.

  ‘Haven’t communicated with you recently,’ he typed, ‘but have much to tell you. I know it’s late, but hopefully you will find this early. Armada.’

  He clicked ‘Send,’ retrieved the search reports, and was just about to open one of the attachments when an e-mail alert blinked off and on several times.

  ‘So you’re actually saying something instead of just repeating my name over and over?’ the message read.

  Armada read the note several times before responding.

  ‘What are you talking about? I haven’t sent you anything in weeks. By the way, why are you awake at this hour and at your terminal?’

  Confused by the meaning of Chloe’s message, Armada opted to wait for a reply instead of opening one of the reports. The computer ‘dinged’ with another incoming letter from Chloe.

  ‘Uh-huh, likely story. We’re modifying the L-GEN; addition of Geiger meter.’

  ‘How many times did I contact you?’ Armada quickly typed in response. ‘When did I attempt to contact you? If you still have messages, give me the terminal number and address they came from.’

  He felt a yawn coming on and was preparing to straighten out his arms for a good stretch when he remembered where he was. Armada tried his best to stifle the yawn by gritting his teeth together.

  He opened the reply from Chloe as soon as the bell chimed.

  ‘Week before last, two times back to back; this Monday, two times back to back, and eight hours ago, again, two times back to back. No terminal number or IP address. Just a time stamp. What’s going on? I’m confused.’

  ‘Me too,’ he wrote, followed by, ‘I heard someone call me ‘Evan,’ almost eight hours ago. The voice came from inside my helmet.’ He placed his hand on the button to send the message, but hesitated to do so.

  Something weird is going on, he thought, and now it’s happening to Chloe.

  Armada sent the note to Chloe and instantly regretted telling her anything at all.

  Why weren’t there any identification properties in the e-mails? he asked himself.

  He opened the notes from his conversation with Chloe and all three letters had properly populated fields with information identifying where and when the communiques were generated; terminal number, address, time, file size … everything was there.

  The bell chimed once again and Armada pulled up the newest letter from Chloe.

  ‘You know what’s really strange?’ she wrote, ‘As I was leaving my class Monday night, I entered the hallway and the lights went dim; I could have sworn I heard someone call me. It was a man’s voice.’

  ‘Let me do some investigating,’ he suggested. ‘If you can, be at your terminal at 3:00 a.m. I’ll contact you then. By the way, the lights and cameras are all motion and sound-sensitive. Be quiet, move slow, and take small strides. Talk to you in twenty-four. Armada.’

  Chloe sent an immediate and short, ‘Til then.’

  This made Armada smile.

  After clearing out the mailbox, Armada retrieved the four attachments and opened all of them at one time. He focused his attention, however, on the ‘POG AV’ report. The list contained data like who was on which comm-link, what time they connected to the POG, how much time was recorded in both video with voice from the individual helmets, and another amount of time recorded in just that person’s communications. Tonight, there were nearly two hundred clones attached to the POG. Armada scoured the report for ‘Evan Euclid Four’ and ‘Evan Achilles Two.’ Once he located their individual POG data lines, he copied both lines and pasted them into a new document. He compared the two, but nothing obvious jumped out at him. The second line entry of the ‘AV’ report was his, so he copied and pasted the information about him in the other document. Armada studied the grid entries and thought back to the events from several hours before.

  When he looked closely at the ‘video’ columns for the grid, Armada said to himself, If there was no blackout or power outage and I was supposedly unconscious for a
lmost twenty minutes … then why do I show to have an additional ten minutes of recorded video footage?

  CHAPTER 13

  THE ARKS

  “Mr. Wyczthack!” the reporter shouted. “When do you anticipate these artificial habitats to go active?”

  “Well, as I stated earlier,” Dr. Wyczthack began, “that date will be totally dependent on construction first. After that, we’ll make decisions on when to move forward.”

  “Sir! Sir!” one of the journalists hollered, jumping up from her seat. “A moment ago you referred to these … environments, as you describe them … in the plural tense. How many will be produced and exactly which species will you be housing?”

  “Three … and every specie.”

  “Every specie of what specifically?” a tech-blogger called out.

  “Every specie, every animal, every breed. When I say every specie, I mean … every … specie.”

  “So, the three habitats will be designated for different animals?” a news anchor loudly asked.

  “No, no, no,” Cain said, shaking his head. “Look, people, let me say it again. We are in the process of constructing three artificial habitats to house every breed, every specie of every living creature. There won’t be a ‘bird’ habitat, and then a carnivore habitat and so on. Three separate environments and a male and female of every living creature will go in each environment.”

  The horde of journalists, reporters, and bloggers had looks of befuddlement on their faces.

  “Let me give you an example,” Cain stated, obviously frustrated by the lack of understanding, “There are eight species of bears. We have the black bear, both North American and Asiatic, that’s two. The panda, three; the brown bear, four; the sloth bear, five; then the polar bear, that’s six; the spectacled bear, seven, and coming in at number eight is the sun bear. Now, we plan on capturing a male and female for each of those eight species of bears, and placing all sixteen bears in each of the three environments. For those of you who happen to be mathematically deficient, that comes out to forty-eight bears.”

  “And you’re gonna do this … why?” a woman asked, sarcastically.

  “For the future of our planet, young lady. As we have all known for nearly five decades now, our world is slowly dying … and we’re the ones killing it!”

  “Since when did Engenechem become such a benevolent corporation with a conscience, especially about conservation?” the same woman followed up.

  “We have always had a soft heart for the survival of Earth’s creatures. That’s why we’re partnering with more than one hundred forty zoos, universities, conservation groups, corporations, individuals from the private sector, and friendly governments from around the globe to assist us in this undertaking. It will take the people of this world working in unity for the one common purpose of saving it for future generations.”

  “Can you be more specific about how these affiliates will be assisting you?” a television reporter shouted.

  “Sure I can. I don’t want to name names just yet, but one in particular will be gathering specimens from the Pacific Northwest, British Columbia, Alaska, and the Arctic Circle. Muskox, bison, bighorn sheep, caribou, and so on, until such a time as we are properly and adequately prepared for the Arks to go live. Once we know the Arks are stable, then we’ll relocate all specimens to the SUBOS for transfer.”

  “Transfer to where, sir?” a woman seated in the front row asked.

  “To the Arks, my dear.”

  “Well, when you say ‘transfer,’ it makes it sound as if they, the animals, will be going somewhere else, after arriving at the SUBOS,” she replied.

  “The animals will be received at the SUBOS be it by air, rail, or truck. They are then to be quarantined for seventy-two hours to recover from their journey before boarding the SUBOS to be transferred to the Arks.”

  “Wait a minute!” a man shouted, leaping from his chair. “You’re not building these Arks on the base … you’re assembling them at the Aerie. You’re building them as orbital stations. Aren’t you?”

  All eyes and ears were fixed on Cain in anticipation of his answer. He surveyed the faces of the anxious newshounds knowing that whatever his reply may be, the coverage of the press conference would focus on his next spoken word.

  “Yes,” he softly stated with a slight smirk in the corner of his mouth.

  The throng of reporters, bloggers, cameramen, and photojournalists leapt from their seats. They clambered about the stage and podium to get their microphones and cameras as close to Dr. Wyczthack as possible. Cain held his hands in the air in an attempt to regain control of his press conference. Those in the back of the room stood in the chairs vacated by the hungry information seekers.

  “Ladies and gentlemen: please, return to your seats,” Cain firmly instructed. “I will not proceed with you behaving in this manner!”

  “How will these animals be fed?” and “Isn’t this unfair to the animals?” the reporters shouted angrily.

  “What gives you the right…?” followed by, “Do Greenpeace and PETA know of your agenda?” the journalists shrieked.

  After a few shoving matches and Cain’s silent resolve, the crowd in front of the podium slowly dissipated and everyone eventually returned to their seats.

  “Yes, we are constructing three artificial environments with varying habitats to house, preserve, study, and reproduce the beasts of the Earth. And yes, PETA, Greenpeace, the ASPCA, Ducks Unlimited, the Sierra Club and World Wildlife Federation … they’re all fully aware of our intentions and plans. In fact, many of the world’s leading animal rights and advocacy groups have played an integral part in the development and design of this program.”

  “But why place them in a space station?” a woman shouted.

  “Well, let’s think about this for a moment. When Al Gore released his documentary, he stated that due to all of the man-made global warming, the polar ice caps will melt, thereby causing our oceans to rise by more than twenty feet. Billions of people would either be killed or displaced, and hundreds, if not thousands, of different animal species would be wiped out, followed by a global economic collapse. Do you all remember that? Then, there was the summit in France, where all of the rich, developed countries agreed to a worldwide carbon tax to redistribute the wealth to the poorer, underutilized and underdeveloped regions of our fare planet. What, I ask you, has changed since then?”

  Cain looked about the room and snarkily stated, “That wasn’t a rhetorical question, boys and girls. I’m waiting for one of you to answer my question.”

  It was as if the reporters were suddenly transported back to their days of elementary school. Not one of them was willing, or brave enough, to engage Cain one on one in a room full of phones, cameras, and microphones.

  “Nothing has changed!” Cain blasted. “So we at Engenechem have spearheaded the programs and initiatives to bring about the desired changes and results of the global populace that the governments were unable to provide. Now, if Earth does not survive the meddlesome and destructive actions of mankind, where can humans go to reestablish the species? How do we get there? Who gets to go? How long will it take to get to wherever we’re going?”

  The brood of reporters sat quietly in their seats, mesmerized with Cain and his speech.

  “The closest Earthlike, rocky planet, Kepler 452B, is fourteen hundred light years away. It’s five times the mass of our own planet and has a sun that’s estimated to be 1.5 billion years old, in a stable burning phase and has 20 percent greater luminosity. But that information does nothing for us right here and right now.”

  “What does it matter if a planet is rocky or not?” a man in the back of the room asked.

  “It’s a sign that means there are heavy elements present and available, and that the sphere isn’t primarily comprised of gases. But the surface gravity on Kepler 452B is double that of Earth. If we were to look closer to our neighborhood for a habitable planet, our only choice is Mars. On average, the red planet is roughly
one hundred forty million miles away. IF we were to journey to Mars, and depending on when we launched, the distance might be as little as thirty-three million miles or as great as two hundred fifty million miles away. Once we get there, we’ll have to contend with surface gravity that’s forty percent less than that of Earth’s gravity. The list goes on and on and on as we expand on this plan. Gravity, atmosphere, soil, temperature, water, natural resources, energy … it’s staggering when you compile all of the ‘what ifs’ and….”

  “What you’re telling us,” a woman in the first row rudely interrupted, “is Engenechem is collecting animals on a grand scale to conduct tests that will determine if life can be relocated and sustained on another planet. Is that correct?”

  Cain leaned from left to right a couple of times, took a sip of water from a bottle under his podium, and cleared his throat.

  “That’s an oversimplistic way of putting it, but in the nutshell of it, yes, we will be conducting animal experiments that will….”

  Once again the crowd of activists jumped to their feet, all in a hot and lathered dither over the mere mention of animal experimentation.

  Cain reached for his water bottle and took a step back, away from the microphone and podium. He calmly twisted the cap and took another sip. Dr. Wyczthack placed the cap on the bottle and held his hands behind him. He glowered at the faces of the rabid pack of reporters until, finally, they got the hint and took their seats.

  “Are you done?” he sarcastically inquired, leaning into the microphone. “If not, I’ll end this conference now and ban you AND your networks, your magazines, your newspapers, and your websites from ever entering this facility again!”

  No one dared make a move or a sound.

  “Now, as I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted … yes, we will be conducting animal experiments in the Arks. But these tests are not what you’re thinking. We need to determine if the Sumatran and Javran species of rhinoceros can adequately adapt to a zero-gravity atmosphere temporarily and in the long term adapt to and reproduce in an artificial environment minus sixty percent the gravity of Earth. Muskox, javelina, elephant, Saint Bernard, a parakeet, the hummingbird, sea otters—everything needs to undergo proper testing for determining if the species is salvageable and transferable.”