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more than a bad idea? I push away self-derision with each swallow of my lump-ridden throat.
    Would Ray still have died if I never left my apartment? Did my being here obstruct the flow of what might have otherwise been a close call? My own death is a realistic scenario now—one I wouldn’t have envisioned an hour ago.
    My options don’t inspire hope. Making contact with the authorities is the best-case scenario, though I haven’t located any method of communication. Waiting out the agents is another alternative, though less desirable. They seem intent on remaining steadfast.
    The third option is as unlikely as it is insane: guiding the robot out across the hangar in hopes of intimidating the agents.
    Leaning back in the bolstered leather of the command seat, quiet desperation reminds me of my limitations. It’s not like driving a car—it’s not like operating any type of vehicle I’ve ever been in. Last-minute heroics seem foolish.
    The reel of colored, alternating buttons and labels goes round the panels once more before I reach out and do the only thing I know to do—I hit the “escape” key on the keyboard. To my satisfaction, the menus return to their default setting, each with a main scroll bar.
    I slide the bar to my left with a renewed sense of purpose. It is accompanied by an electronic “tick” like the first one. Surprise and relief bubble inside my stomach as promising menu choices appear: Satellite links, data uploads, Wi-Fi connectivity, radio bands…
    My index finger jabs into the flat button for the radio bands; I nearly miss it in my haste. When I connect with it, the hiss of static fills the cockpit. The leftmost monitor begins to scan available frequencies: citizens band, FM, marine, military, police, amateur radio…
    A square touch pad appears on the control panel; I skim across it, watching the cursor float toward the police band. I tap the nearby “Select” button, but to my horror, everything goes black again. The quiet hum returns as does the video presence of Thomas Worthington.
    He peers close into whatever device recorded—or records—him. “Have you considered what is now your reality? Is it upsetting? The sensation of being trapped, confined in this metal womb—you feel you have no recourse.”
    My mouth opens with an empty reply. There are no words to describe the aggravation I feel at his indifference.
    “The world outside is waiting, though it doesn’t know it. Humanity is pregnant with an unknown anticipation. And there’s you. You will witness the first steps into the next great phase of civilization. The world will linger no longer.”
    “You’re not making any sense,” I plead with the monitor. “I need help. Can’t you understand that?”
    Thomas pauses long enough to give me the quizzical look of which I’m growing tired. His head tilts and his eyes narrow as if he’s confused with what he sees. “What do you fear?”
    “What the…are you joking?” Sweat soaks through the underarms of my T-shirt.
    “Do you fear loss of control? It’s within reach. Do you fear death? It’s near, though not in the way you think. It’s all very simple, what you have to do. The destiny at hand will come to pass whether you assume command or rot inside with your apprehension.”
    I point at the monitor as if I’m accusing Thomas. “I don’t have to listen to this—I don’t have to listen to you.” Then I jab the “escape” button on the keyboard once more.
    Thomas disappears, and the cockpit reawakens with the twinkle of red and blue. The forward video display comes into grainy focus.
    Outside, the agents wrestle with what looks like a cannon-like device, steering it across the floor on casters. Its cylindrical form sits atop a swivel mount. Various tubes and wires emerge from several points and feed their way into the base of the frame. A keypad and monitor rest behind.
    One of the agents focuses his attention on fitting a compact mass of metal into the shallow