DR. CATALYST WAS SPEAKING OUT LOUD TO HIMSELF, rehearsing for the next recording he would soon release to the media. The boat was docked in the river that ran right past Undersea Land. He had carried the dog inside. He believed it was named Apollo, if he remembered correctly from the audio recordings from his bugs at NPS headquarters. It was stirring now, the effects of the tranquilizer beginning to wear off.

The cage trap now rested on the concrete. Dr. Catalyst opened a small door on the side and placed the dog on a blanket he had laid on the bottom.

With his tablet he activated the winch, and the cage rose in the air. Another touch and it swung over the tank until it hung suspended, ten feet above the swimming creatures.

“I am not a monster,” Dr. Catalyst said to the empty aquarium. “I am no criminal. It is not I, nor the creatures I have created, who have damaged our environment to the point of no repair. In my quest for change I have used controversial methods. But it has never been my intention to harm anyone.” He paced back and forth, repeating the lines over and over. In one of his previous media statements, he had asked for the public to join him. His hope had been for his supporters to get in the way of the authorities. But so far, only a few fringe environmental groups had offered token support. He was sure it was because he was being unfairly portrayed by the media.

“There is a saying that desperate times call for desperate measures. I have made my conditions clear: Close the Everglades to the public. Cease all efforts to reclaim the Pterogators from the park. Close all beaches, and allow my newest species to clear the reefs of the destructive lionfish. If that does not happen by ten A.M. tomorrow, the automated timer above this tank will open the floor of the cage. I do not need to provide the graphic details of what will happen next. I ask the members of the media to use restraint in showing this video to children. It was not my wish to take this drastic step, but I have been given no choice. Ten A.M. tomorrow.”

When he was ready, he activated the wireless video cameras. The split screens showed a view from the cage floor into the tank below. The water was a foamy mass of swirling fins, tails, and teeth. A longer view showed Apollo, who had come groggily to his feet. Still dazed, he was sniffing around this strange new enclosure. A third shot, at an angle, showed the cage hanging above the tank. Apollo was clearly visible inside it.

After recording several minutes of video, Dr. Catalyst finally pushed the audio-record button and recited his comments. Once completed, he replayed them. The program allowed him to overlay the audio with the video images of Apollo in the cage and the Muraecudas swimming below him.

When the video was done to his satisfaction, he emailed it to his list of media contacts, including Dr. Geaux’s personal NPS address. There was no way it could be traced back to him.

He activated the winch and lowered the cage safely to the ground beside the tank. There was no reason to leave the pooch suspended there. Unlikely as it was, something could happen to the mechanism, and there was no need for an unnecessary accident.

Apollo barked louder, growling low in his throat as Dr. Catalyst approached the cage.

“Easy, boy,” he said calmly. “It’s all right. I’ve got a nice, cozy room for you to stay in. Food, water, a bone.”

His words had no effect. Apollo was angry. Snarling and snapping now any time Dr. Catalyst squatted next to the cage and reached for the latch on the door. It was almost amusing, he thought, the amount of indignation such a small creature could show. As the dog seemed to calm for a moment, he lifted the latch and opened the door.

An explosive, ink-black ball of angry fur catapulted out of the cage and a mouthful of sharp teeth sank into Dr. Catalyst’s injured hand. He screamed and stood, trying to free himself, but the dog’s grip was unbreakable.

He shouted in pain and dropped his tablet. It bounced and clattered on the ground. With his free hand he clawed at the dog’s jaws, desperately trying to get loose, but Apollo was committed and would not let go. Waves of agony cascaded up his arm.

“LET GO!” he bellowed. To his complete surprise, Apollo did just that, dropping the short distance to the ground, landing deftly on his feet. He darted quickly behind Dr. Catalyst and sank his jaws into the calf muscle of his right leg.

Dr. Catalyst howled and danced and shook, but no matter what he tried, he couldn’t break free.

“Ow! OW!” he shouted again, but he was in an awkward position and finally tripped over his own feet, tumbling to the ground and striking his forehead on the hard cement floor. Dr. Catalyst didn’t believe his day could get much worse, but it did. Apollo let go and backed away, crouched and growling.

What the doctor did not know is that when Apollo was a puppy and Emmet was a little boy, Apollo’s favorite game in the world wasn’t fetch, it was “grab and go.” Emmet would throw a ball or a stick, and instead of returning it, Apollo would entice his young master to pursue him through the yard or field.

The trouble was Apollo enjoyed playing “grab and go” at the worst times, with the most inconvenient objects. Anything in the house that fell to the floor was fair game. Apollo would snatch it up with his jaws and be off like the wind.

As Apollo spotted Dr. Catalyst’s tablet computer now lying on the floor, the old game kicked in. He grabbed the tablet in his jaws.

And he went.