Donald mulled over what Arak had said. All he knew for sure was that he didn’t trust him. From Donald’s point of view the man was too ingratiating. All this fantastic hospitality had to be some kind of trap. Yet Donald had no idea for what purpose other than to get them off their guard.
Donald turned and looked out the end of the room. The group was halfway to the columned pavilion and silhouetted against its illuminated exterior. Redirecting his eyes, Donald stared at the two worker clones, who were standing motionless to the side against the wall. They appeared so human it was hard for Donald to believe they were part machine as Arak had said. Maybe it was just another lie, Donald thought.
“Worker, I want some more drink,” Donald said.
The female worker clone immediately picked up the pitcher on the sideboard and stepped over to the table. Her shoulder-length hair was sorrel colored. She had pale, translucent skin. Leaning over she began to fill Donald’s cup.
Donald suddenly grabbed her wrist without warning. Her skin felt cold beneath his fingers. She did not jump or even appreciably respond. Instead she kept on pouring.
Donald tightened his grip to get a reaction, but it was to no avail. The woman finished filling the glass then righted the pitcher despite Donald’s grasp. Donald was taken aback. The woman was shockingly strong.
Tilting his head back Donald looked up into the woman’s frozen face. She did not try to detach herself from his grasp but rather blankly returned his stare. Donald let go of the woman’s arm.
“What is your name?” he asked.
She did not respond verbally or in any other fashion. Other than rhythmical breathing there was no other movement. She didn’t even blink.
“Worker clone, speak!” Donald ordered.
Silence persisted. Donald looked over at the male worker clone, but there was no response from him either.
“How come you people work and the others don’t?” Donald asked.
There was no response from either clone.
“All right,” Donald said. “Workers, leave!”
Instantly the two workers went to the door from which they’d come and disappeared. Donald got up and opened the door. Beyond it, a stairway descended into darkness.
Closing the door, Donald walked over to the open end of the room. He looked out at the scene. The light, which had been so bright earlier, had faded, as if the nonexistent sun had nearly set. Donald could just make out Arak and the others approaching the pavilion. He shook his head. He wondered again if he was dreaming. Everything seemed so bizarre yet disturbingly real. He felt his arms and his face. He felt normal to his touch.
Donald took a deep breath. Intuitively he knew that he was facing the most demanding mission of his career. He hoped that his training wouldn’t fail him, particularly his training regarding being a prisoner of war.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
In their own scatological vernacular, Richard and Michael were “scared shitless,” but their unspoken credo was to deny it. Just like their reaction to the perils of saturation diving they responded with a distorted macho bravado designed to conceal their true feelings.
“Do you think those girls we saw earlier will be here at the party?” Richard asked Michael. They had lagged a few steps behind the others en route to the celebration in the pavilion.
“We can always hope,” Michael responded.
They walked in silence for a few steps. They could hear Arak talking with Suzanne and Perry, but they didn’t care to listen.
“Do you really think we were asleep for over a month?” Michael asked.
Richard stopped short. “You’re not going soft on me, are you?”
“No!” Michael insisted. “I was just asking.” Sleep had never been the solace for Michael that it was for others. As a child he used to be plagued with nightmares. After he’d gone to sleep, his father would come home drunk and beat up his mother. When he woke up, he tried to intervene, but the result was always the same: he, too, was beaten. Unfortunately, the process of sleep got inextricably associated with these episodes, so for Michael the idea of being asleep for a month was a source of enormous anxiety.
“Hello!” Richard said while giving Michael a series of slaps on the face. “Anybody home?”
Michael deflected Richard’s irritating jabs. “Cut it out!”
“Remember, we’re not worrying about all this horseshit,” Richard said. “There’s something screwy going on here sure as shooting, but who cares. We’re going to enjoy ourselves, not like that jerk, Fuller. God! Just listening to him talk makes me glad we were tossed out of the freakin’ Navy. Otherwise we’d be taking orders from guys like him.”
“Of course we’re going to enjoy ourselves,” Michael insisted. “But I was just thinking, like, you know, it’s a long time to be zonked.”
“Well, don’t think!” Richard said. “You’ll get yourself all screwed up.”
“All right!” Michael said.
Suzanne called out for them to catch up; she and the others were waiting.
“And to top it all off, we got to deal with old mother hen,” Richard added.
The two divers caught up to the rest of the group, who’d stopped at the base of the steps leading up to the pavilion entrance.
“Is everything okay?” Suzanne asked them.
“Peachy,” Richard said, forcing a smile.
“Arak just told us something you two might find interesting,” Suzanne said. “I assume you’ve noticed how it is getting dark as if the sun had set.”
“We noticed,” Richard said testily.
“They have night and day down here,” Suzanne said. “And we learned the light comes from bioluminescence.”
The two divers tilted their heads back to look straight up.
“I see stars,” Michael said.
“Those are relatively small pinpoints of blue-white bioluminescence,” Arak said. “It was our intent to re-create the world as we knew it, which certainly included the circadian cycle. The difference from your world is that our days and nights are longer, and they are the same length year-round. Of course our years are longer as well.”
“So you lived in the external world before you moved down here,” Suzanne said.
“Absolutely,” Arak answered.
“When did you make the move?” Suzanne asked.
Arak held up his hands defensively. He laughed. “We are getting ahead of ourselves. I’m not supposed to be encouraging you to ask questions this evening. Remember, that’s to be tomorrow.”
“Just one more,” Perry pleaded. “It’s an easy one, I’m sure. Where do you get all your energy down here?”
Arak sighed with exasperation.
“It’s the last question, I promise,” Perry said. “At least for tonight.”
“And you are a man of your word?” Arak questioned.
“For sure,” Perry said.
“Our energy comes from two main sources,” Arak said. “First is geothermal by tapping the earth’s core. But that creates the problem of getting rid of excess heat, which we do in two ways. One by allowing magma to well up along what you people call the mid-oceanic ridge, and two by cooling with circulated seawater. The seawater heat exchange requires a large volume, which does provide us an opportunity to filter out plankton. The downside is that the process creates oceanic currents, but you people have learned to live with them, particularly the one you call the Gulf Stream.
“The second source of energy is from fusion. We split water into oxygen, which we breath, and hydrogen, which we fuse. But this is the kind of discussion we’ll be having tomorrow. Tonight I want you to experience and enjoy, mostly enjoy.”
“And we aim to do just that,” Richard said. “But tell me, is this going to be a wet or dry party?”
“I’m afraid that is a term I’m not familiar with,” Arak said.
“It refers generally to alcohol,” Richard said. “Do you people have any on hand?”
“But of course,” Arak said. “Wine, beer, and a particularly pure spirit we call crystal. The wine and the beer are similar to what you are used to. But the crystal is different, and I advise you to go easy until you are accustomed to it.”