“Shouldn’t eat meat anyway,” Jen grumbled.

“Then tell all the humans who’ll get skin lesions because…”

“The U.N. supplies hats and sunglasses to everyone. Besides, a few pence worth of cream clears away pre-cancerous—”

“What about wild animals then? Savannah baboons were doing fine, their habitat declared safe just ten years ago. Now so many are going blind, they have to be collected into the arks after all. How do you think we’ll cope with that here?” Pauline gestured into the vast atrium of London Ark, with its tier upon tier of enclosed, artificial habitats. The huge edifice of hanging gardens and meticulously regulated environments was a far cry from its origins in the old Regent’s Park Zoo. And it was only one out of almost a hundred such structures, scattered all over the world.

“You’ll cope the way you have all along,” Jen answered. “By stretching facilities, putting in extra hours, making do—”

“For now! But what about tomorrow? The next catastrophe? Jen, I can’t believe I’m hearing this. You led the fight for the arks from the beginning!”

“So? Am I a traitor then, if I say that part of the job has succeeded? Why, in some places we’ve even made additions to the gene pool, like Baby here.” She nodded toward the furry pachyderm inside the big cage. “You should have faith in your own work, Pauline. Habitat restoration will come off the drawing boards someday. Most of these species should be back outside in only a few centuries—”

“Centuries!”

“Yes, surely. What’s a few hundred years, compared to the age of this planet?”

Pauline sniffed dubiously. But Jen cut in, putting on a touch of Cockney accent for good measure. “Cor, why d’ye take it all so bloody personally, dearie-o? Step back a minute. What’s the worst that can happen?”

“We could lose every unprotected terrestrial species massing over ten kilos!” the young woman replied fiercely.