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SEPTEMBER 16
4:14 P.M.

Geoffrey and Thatcher skipped like a stone across the globe, landing twice before taking a Lear jet to Pearl Harbor, where they boarded a different C-2A Greyhound and found themselves in the same place they had started, sitting in the window seats behind the plane’s wings.

“Imagine a world where there is no intelligent life-where there is no mankind,” Thatcher droned on to a numb Geoffrey. “Imagine, Doctor, how nature would advance only in exact proportion to the resources available and retreat with perfect modesty as those resources became scarce. There was a stretch of time that lasted for millions of years before the arrival of so-called ‘rational’ apes, when the rain forest covered continents, and countless species of more humble apes flourished. Life in telligent enough to enjoy interacting with nature, but not intelligent enough to challenge it, to harness it, or to attempt to control it: the golden age of primates. Surely this step, just before Reason, was the most sublime reached by life on Earth, wouldn’t you agree, Doctor? The ‘rational animal’ is the most grandiose oxymoron in existence: a ventriloquist’s dummy that mimics and mocks nature with its mysticism and science.”

Geoffrey had been enduring Thatcher’s droning Jeremiad for the better part of six hours now on this last, unbearably long leg of their trip. He had been spared only by a fitful nap two hours earlier, and even then he had dreamed an infinite loop of the scientist’s dreary doomsaying.

It was bad enough having the Redmond Principle wielded at him, but if Geoffrey had to suffer one more oblique reference to Thatcher’s Tetteridge Award, or the big fat check that would accompany the Genius Grant he was suspiciously so certain of receiving, or the Pulitzer Prize he was laying odds on winning, or another celebrity he’d had lunch with, Geoffrey would probably need to use the barf bag affixed to the back of the seat in front of him.

Geoffrey heard something clunk loudly on the roof of the plane. “Excuse me, Thatcher.” Grateful for the distraction, he climbed out of his seat and walked forward.

When he got to the cockpit he saw a gleaming KC-135 Stratotanker detach its fuel probe and pull away from the Greyhound in a graceful display of aerial acrobatics.

The Greyhound pilot gave a thumbs-up to the Stratotanker. “Muchas gracias, muchacho!” The pilot glanced back at Geoffrey. “Sky bridge!” he explained. “This is one of two C-2As the Navy fitted for aerial refueling. They’re the only aircraft that can reach this place and land on an aircraft carrier.”

“So that’s how this thing can fly so far in one leg?” Geoffrey asked.

“Correct. We had to set up the sky bridge as soon as the carrier group was in place.”

Geoffrey grinned, marveling at the circuit that had been put into place to reach the incredibly remote location.

“Speaking of, I think that’s your island right there!” The copilot pointed.

Far below, Geoffrey saw dozens of huge naval vessels ringing a brown-cliffed island on the distant horizon. As they drew nearer, Geoffrey thought the island resembled a wide Bundt cake, slightly glazed with white guano around its rim.

The pilot hailed the Enterprise’s control tower.

“You better get back to your seat and strap in, Dr. Binswanger. If you’ve never landed on a carrier deck, when the tailhook catches us you’ll be glad you’re facing backwards.”

“OK.” Geoffrey hurried back to his seat. “We’re about to land,” he told Thatcher.

Thatcher was irritated at the interruption. He tossed a few sunflower seeds into his mouth from a vest pocket. “As I was saying, if this isn’t a hoax, perhaps it’s Mother Earth’s perverse way of eradicating us-a little curiosity out here waiting to kill the cat.” Thatcher chuckled.

“Mm-hmm,” Geoffrey said.

“Intelligence, wouldn’t you agree, Dr. Binswanger, is the snake in the Garden of Eden? The fatal virus planet Earth was unlucky enough to contract? Or is that too heavy for you?”

Geoffrey shook his head and looked out the window. Seeing a few of the gray leviathans of the Enterprise Joint Task Group, the seriousness of the situation they were about to enter finally struck him.

Thatcher continued, seemingly intoxicated by his own baritone voice. “Unfortunately, I doubt Henders Island will live up to the hype. Island ecologies are wimpy. No offense, Doctor.”

Geoffrey wondered what Thatcher was driving at now, but then he remembered he was wearing his T-shirt from Kaua’i that said “CONSERVE ISLAND HABITATS” in faded green letters on the mud-red fabric. He shook his head. “None taken, Thatcher. Island ecologies are wimpy. That’s why we can learn so much from them. They’re the canaries in the coal mine. Which is why I doubt we’ll see anything to write home about here. Canaries rarely eat cats.”

Thatcher raised his bushy eyebrows. “Ah, but don’t you admit a certain morbid hope? I mean, what if this were some thing world-changing? After all, giant dodder from the island of Japan is spreading across North America. You know, the stuff that looks like yellow Silly String? If you’re not aware of the study a three-inch cutting produced a growth the length of three football fields in just two months during an experiment conducted in Texas in 2002. When you attack it, it germinates. If you chop it up, every part grows into a complete plant. And the most amusing thing about giant dodder,” Thatcher leaned toward Geoffrey confidentially, “is that it kills any plant it infects, whether it be the lowly weed or the mighty oak.” Thatcher giggled with genuine joy.

“I’m familiar with dodder, Thatcher, but I’m not sure we’ll find anything quite so dramatic here.” Geoffrey pointed out the window. “Especially if that’s the island we’re talking about.”

The airplane had rapidly lost altitude. Now, it made a low pass around the island’s cliff as they approached the carrier. Geoffrey noticed the trimaran yacht anchored in a cove cut into the western wall of the island.

“Hey, that’s the ship from the show! I guess that much wasn’t faked. They really did come all the way out here.”

“We’ll be landing on Enterprise and a Sea Dragon will Charlie you to Henders Army Base,” the pilot called back to them. “There’s a top-level meeting at seventeen hundred hours.”

Geoffrey adjusted his watch to the time-zone uncertainly. “That’s less than an hour from now. Right?”

“Right,” the copilot said.

“Can’t we stretch and get something to eat first?” Thatcher wadded up the plastic wrapper of his sunflower seeds and stuffed it in pocket number twelve.

“Attendance mandatory, sir,” the pilot replied. “The President called the meeting!”

After a sharp involuntary intake of breath, Thatcher smiled. “I never imagined I would be summoned by the President. Did you, Dr. Binswanger?”

Geoffrey looked out the window as the carrier deck rose beneath them. He braced for impact. “No.”

“Hold on, guys!” the pilot shouted.

Thatcher gasped. “Dear Lord!”