“In an attempt to restore the richness of the lands surrounding the area, we met with the local farmers and convinced them to utilize a native seed bank to foster genetic diversity; this would enable the plants and animals to adapt to the climate change that was affecting the fauna. The project was extremely important because the predictions for southwestern Australia and similar areas in South Africa were dire: up to sixty percent of the plant species had been forecast to go extinct within a hundred years. Word spread, and within four years the farmers’ crops had been diversified and strengthened across the region without the use of man-made fertilizers and pesticides.

“When Monsanto found out what we were doing, the company bribed our local officials, who forged a deal with farmers that contracted them to purchase genetically manipulated seeds—seeds designed to yield only one crop. In addition to these sterile seeds, Monsanto sold farmers genetically altered soybeans modified to tolerate applications of their own manufactured herbicide, Roundup. This scenario wasn’t just taking place in Australia, it was happening all across the globe. Instead of producing fruits and vegetable from plants harvested from a healthy, diverse ecosystem, Monsanto had convinced public officials that genetic manipulation was the key to feeding the world. Moving from country to country like a pestilence, the corporation handed out millions of dollars in grant money to universities to quell any negative research while they lobbied and bribed heads of state to use their seeds in their quest to monopolize the entire agricultural industry.

“The Great Die-Off was no accident, Dr. Eisenbraun; it was nature’s response to the systematic sterilization of the planet’s food source. Four point seven billion people died because corporate profits outweighed the needs of the people, and it will happen again unless we succeed on Europa.”

“More tales from the Maharaj Doctrine of Flower Power, eh Bella?” The man ascending the rock stairwell appeared to be in his late thirties. He spoke with a heavy Dutch accent. “Kyle Graulus, biologist.”

I shook the proffered hand, which was slick with grease and perspiration. Fighting the urge to plunge my hand in the fish pond, I introduced myself.

“Ja, I know. GOLEM has you working in the lower level with me. Come.”

Bella Maharaj cast her haunting violet-blue gaze my way as I dutifully followed the Dutchman down the spiral stairwell. The steps wobbled a disturbing six inches beneath our combined weights.

Kyle pointed above our heads to where the aluminum staircase was bolted to the ceiling. “Anchor bolts must have stripped.” He looked up at the nearest sensory orb. “GOLEM, add: Replace arboretum anchor bolts with aero gel supports to the Oceanus II knockout list.”

“Acknowledged.”