Dr. Rowan Moss's Arc

Chapter 4 of 4

Rowan walked past the archive building toward the northern sector. She wanted to check the habitat boundaries before starting her next round of observations. The path curved between tall grasses and maintenance sheds. Ahead, something gleamed in the afternoon light—a tall decorative pole topped with an ornate brass compass. The needle turned slowly, catching the breeze. She stopped and studied it. The design was beautiful but practical too. Engineers had placed directional markers throughout the biodome so workers wouldn't get lost in the larger sectors. Rowan pulled out her notepad and sketched its position. When she tracked animal movements across habitats, these markers would help her map exact locations. Every detail mattered when building complete records. She continued along the path and spotted another structure mounted on a weathered post. Glass bulbs floated inside a tall tube, each one a different color. Brass and copper fittings wrapped around the frame, and a circular gauge sat fixed to its side. The colored bulbs shifted position slightly as she watched. This was a thermometer—old-fashioned but precise. The barometer next to it showed steady pressure. Rowan stepped closer and read the temperature from the lowest floating bulb. Seventy-one degrees. She wrote it down and checked the date on her notes. Scientists had placed instruments like this throughout the biodome decades ago when they first began studying how the climate worked inside the dome. The device still functioned, still measured, still mattered. Rowan added a note to check this spot weekly. Temperature changes affected breeding seasons and migration patterns. If she wanted complete records of the endangered species, she needed to track the environment that shaped their lives. The biodome held answers everywhere—in the animals, in the land, and in the tools left behind by those who came before her. Dusk settled over the sector as she finished her boundary check. Rowan turned back toward the main path and stopped. Small lights flickered in the grasses ahead. She moved closer and watched insects rise from the vegetation. Their bodies glowed—blue, then green, then pale yellow. They moved together, hundreds of them, creating patterns in the darkening air. She'd read about bioluminescent species in the biodome but hadn't seen them active yet. Rowan pulled out her notepad and sketched what she saw. These insects marked trails through the habitat. At night, when her eyes couldn't track animals in darkness, she could follow these glowing paths instead. The insects would show her where nocturnal animals moved. She wrote down the location and time. Tomorrow she would return after sunset with her camera. The biodome taught her something new every day—not just about the endangered species she came to study, but about all the small pieces that made their world work. The insects drifted toward a cluster of rocks in the distance. Rowan followed their glow and found a natural pool nestled at the base of eroded sandstone. Water sat still and clear in the basin. Animal tracks pressed into the mud around its edge—deer, small rodents, maybe wolves. Brass instruments mounted on nearby posts measured humidity and wind direction. She knelt and examined the tracks more closely. Fresh prints, less than an hour old. The endangered species came here to drink, especially at dusk when the heat faded. She set her equipment bag down and photographed the tracks from three angles. This watering hole was a gathering point, a place where observation would give her the most information. She added it to her map and circled it twice. Tomorrow she would set up a camera on one of the posts. The biodome kept revealing its patterns—where animals moved, where they rested, where they returned. Her records were growing, one discovery at a time, exactly as they should.