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tablets were turned back on, distracting many of the
audience away from my clumsy explanations. By the end of the
interview I was exhausted, falling asleep in my office chair as
soon as I sat down in front of my computer.
     
    Noah must have
been pleased with how I handled the journalists, because soon
afterwards I was invited to join him in person on his research
flagship, the Jubilee . The Jubilee was stationed on
the far side of the world. The transfer required two flights by
helicopter and one by private jet, so I knew this meeting was
important to Noah. The cost was immaterial to him in comparison to
the expense of the rest of his enterprise, but Noah hated the idea
of time being lost in such a wasteful manner.
    I don’t know
why he and the Jubilee were so far from the rest of the fleet, and
I didn’t bother to ask. Three heavyset security guards escorted me
onto the boat and up to a reception area. The guards looked like
the sort of men found in the Russian riot police, so I didn’t argue
with them. They checked my papers, frisked me twice and led me to
an unmarked door.
    I entered what
appeared to be a combination of office and laboratory. Shelves of
chemicals lined the walls, and posters of complex biochemistry
pathways hung from the ceiling.
    “Welcome, Dr.
Attenborough!” boomed a familiar voice from beside me.
    I turned to see
a small, bearded man wearing a lab coat and carrying a beaker full
of blue liquid. He put the beaker down on a shelf and shook my hand
with gusto.
    “A pleasure to
meet you in person,” I said as calmly as I could.
    “Sit down, sit
down!” he ordered, pointing at a seat.
    His voice was
warmer and louder than it had sounded over the earpiece.
    “How is my
Park?” he asked, taking his own seat behind his desk.
    Unlike the rest
of his office, Noah’s desk was tidy and uncluttered. I glanced
across his lab as I updated him on my work, which I know he had
been following closely. He asked intelligent questions, made a few
relevant suggestions and then moved on to the interviews.
    “A lot of them
thought you are doing this all for the money,” I said, knowing that
this couldn’t be the case: there were far easier ways to make money
than this.
    “Money? Nah,”
said Noah dismissively, “we don’t need their money, but we do need
their goodwill. Did you know that the Parklands 1 has been
followed by a Chinese submarine for the last six months? I know.
I’ve seen the sensor data from the flock of hunter-killer UAVs that
the U.S. has been flying over the fleet. Don’t ask who showed me
that data, because they certainly weren’t meant to. Let’s just say
that the novelty of a miniature lion is a temptation better than
gold.”
    I knew he was
right; Noah never sells his animals, but sometimes he gives them as
gifts. There is a herd of tiny zebra living on the White House
lawns, and I had heard that a certain hacker in Thailand has a
whale living in his bathtub. I hadn’t known that he had been using
them as bribes, but it made sense.
    “I’ve had to
establish a network of such spies everywhere, and they all say the
same thing. The U.S., the E.U., China, Russia and the rest are
unhappy with us. They want our science, they want our secrets, and
they aren’t afraid to use force to get them. They only thing
stopping them is that nobody wants to fire the first shot. We have
enemies, son, enemies who are not above covert action. Last
year a whale was stolen from us by the Japanese, or possibly the
Russians. They think they can use our science to make themselves
great, or at least less contemptible.”
    Noah banged his
hand heavily on the table in a rare show of passion. I wondered
which country he was born in, and I was never able to place either
his accent or his features.
    “The Park will
be a shield of publicity, winning over popular support. Woe betide
the government that messes with its people’s entertainment. In
addition, it’s an excellent distraction from our real work,”