He got quickly to his feet. They walked on for a while. “My parents are getting a divorce,” he said. “Uh-huh,” Grant said. “My dad moved out last month. He has his own place in Mill Valley now.” “Uh-huh.” “He never carries my sister any more. He never even picks her up.” “And he says you have dinosaurs on the brain,” Grant said. Tim sighed. “Yeah.” “You miss him?” Grant said. “Not really,” Tim said. “Sometimes. She misses him more.” “Who, your mother?” “No, Lex. My mom has a boyfriend. She knows him from work.” They walked in silence for a while, passing T/N/03 and T/N/04. “Have you met him?” Grant said. “Yeah.” “How is he?” “He’s okay,” Tim said. “He’s younger than my dad, but he’s bald.” “How does he treat you?” “I don’t know. Okay. I think he just tries to get on my good side. I don’t know what’s going to happen. Sometimes my mom says we’ll have to sell the house and move. Sometimes he and my mom fight, late at night. I sit in my room and play with my computer, but I can still hear it.” “Uh-huh,” Grant said. “Are you divorced?” “No,” Grant said. “My wife died a long time ago.” “And now you’re with Dr. Sattler?” Grant smiled in the darkness. “No. She’s my student.” “You mean she’s still in school?” “Graduate school, yes.” Grant paused long enough to shift Lex to his other shoulder, and then they continued on, past T/N/05 and T/N/06. There was the rumble of thunder in the distance. The storm had moved to the south. There was very little sound in the forest except for the drone of cicadas and the soft croaking of tree frogs. “You have children?” Tim asked. “No,” Grant said. “Are you going to marry Dr. Sattler?” “No, she’s marrying a nice doctor in Chicago sometime next year.” “Oh,” Tim said. He seemed surprised to hear it. They walked along for a while. “Then who are you going to marry?” “I don’t think I’m going to marry anybody,” Grant said. “Me neither,” Tim said. They walked for a while. Tim said, “Are we going to walk all night?” “I don’t think I can,” Grant said. “We’ll have to stop, at least for a few hours.” He glanced at his watch. “We’re okay. We’ve got almost fifteen hours before we have to be back. Before the ship reaches the mainland.” “Where are we going to stop?” Tim asked, immediately. Grant was wondering the same thing. His first thought was that they might climb a tree, and sleep up there. But they would have to climb very high to get safely away from the animals, and Lex might fall out while she was asleep. And tree branches were hard; they wouldn’t get any rest. At least, he wouldn’t. They needed someplace really safe. He thought back to the plans he had seen on the jet coming down.


Jurassic Park _ A Novel -- Crichton, Michael -- Jurassic Park 1, 2012 -- Random House Publishing Group -- 9780307763051 -- 3de76fc510cf7aa828af34881aaf1176 -- Anna’s Archive.3

He remembered that there were outlying buildings for each of the different divisions. Grant didn’t know what they were like, because plans for the individual buildings weren’t included. And he couldn’t remember exactly where they were, but he remembered they were scattered all around the park. There might be buildings somewhere nearby. But that was a different requirement from simply crossing a barrier and getting out of the tyrannosaur paddock. Finding a building meant a search strategy of some kind. And the best strategies were— “Tim, can you hold your sister for me? I’m going to climb a tree and have a look around.” High in the branches, he had a good view of the forest, the tops of the trees extending away to his left and right. They were surprisingly near the edge of the forest—directly ahead the trees ended before a clearing, with an electrified fence and a pale concrete moat. Beyond that, a large open field in what he assumed was the sauropod paddock. In the distance, more trees, and misty moonlight sparkling on the ocean. Somewhere he heard the bellowing of a dinosaur, but it was far away. He put on Tim’s night-vision goggles and looked again. He followed the gray curve of the moat, and then saw what he was looking for: the dark strip of a service road, leading to the flat rectangle of a roof. The roof was barely above ground level, but it was there. And it wasn’t far. Maybe a quarter of a mile or so from the tree. When he came back down, Lex was sniffling. “What’s the matter?” “I heard an aminal.” “It won’t bother us. Are you awake now? Come on.” He led her to the fence. It was twelve feet high, with a spiral of barbed wire at the top. It seemed to stretch far above them in the moonlight. The moat was immediately on the other side. Lex looked up at the fence doubtfully. “Can you climb it?” Grant asked her. She handed him her glove, and her baseball. “Sure. Easy.” She started to climb. “But I bet Timmy can’t.” Tim spun in fury: “You shut up.” “Timmy’s afraid of heights.” “I am not.” She climbed higher. “Are so.” “Am not.” “Then come and get me.” Grant turned to Tim, pale in the darkness. The boy wasn’t moving. “You okay with the fence, Tim?” “Sure.” “Want some help?” “Timmy’s a fraidy-cat,” Lex called. “What a stupid jerk,” Tim said, and he started to climb. “It’s freezing,” Lex said. They were standing waist-deep in smelly water at the bottom of a deep concrete moat. They had climbed the fence without incident, except that Tim had torn his shirt on the coils of barbed wire at the top. Then they had all slid down into the moat, and now Grant was looking for a way out. “At least I got Timmy over the fence for you,” Lex said.


Jurassic Park _ A Novel -- Crichton, Michael -- Jurassic Park 1, 2012 -- Random House Publishing Group -- 9780307763051 -- 3de76fc510cf7aa828af34881aaf1176 -- Anna’s Archive.4

“He really is scared most times.” “Thanks for your help,” Tim said sarcastically. In the moonlight, he could see floating lumps on the surface. He moved along the moat, looking at the concrete wall on the far side. The concrete was smooth; they couldn’t possibly climb it. “Eww,” Lex said, pointing to the water. “It won’t hurt you, Lex.” Grant finally found a place where the concrete had cracked and a vine grew down toward the water. He tugged on the vine, and it held his weight. “Let’s go, kids.” They started to climb the vine, back to the field above. It took only a few minutes to cross the field to the embankment leading to the below-grade service road, and the maintenance building off to the right. They passed two motion sensors, and Grant noticed with some uneasiness that the sensors were still not working, nor were the lights. More than two hours had passed since the power first went out, and it was not yet restored. Somewhere in the distance, they heard the tyrannosaur roar. “Is he around here?” Lex said. “No,” Grant said. “We’re in another section of park from him.” They slid down a grassy embankment and moved toward the concrete building. In the darkness it was forbidding, bunker-like. “What is this place?” Lex said. “It’s safe,” Grant said, hoping that was true. The entrance gate was large enough to drive a truck through. It was fitted with heavy bars. Inside, they could see, the building was an open shed, with piles of grass and bales of hay stacked among equipment. The gate was locked with a heavy padlock. As Grant was examining it, Lex slipped sideways between the bars. “Come on, you guys.” Tim followed her. “I think you can do it, Dr. Grant.” He was right; it was a tight squeeze, but Grant was able to ease his body between the bars and get into the shed. As soon as he was inside, a wave of exhaustion struck him. “I wonder if there’s anything to eat,” Lex said. “Just hay.” Grant broke open a bale, and spread it around on the concrete. The hay in the center was warm. They lay down, feeling the warmth. Lex curled up beside him, and closed her eyes. Tim put his arm around her. He heard the sauropods trumpeting softly in the distance. Neither child spoke. They were almost immediately snoring. Grant raised his arm to look at his watch, but it was too dark to see. He felt the warmth of the children against his own body. Grant closed his eyes, and slept.


Jurassic Park _ A Novel -- Crichton, Michael -- Jurassic Park 1, 2012 -- Random House Publishing Group -- 9780307763051 -- 3de76fc510cf7aa828af34881aaf1176 -- Anna’s Archive.1

Jurassic Park CONTROL Muldoon and Gennaro came into the control room just as Arnold clapped his hands and said, “Got you, you little son of a bitch.” “What is it?” Gennaro said. Arnold pointed to the screen: Vg1 = GetHandl {dat.dt} tempCall {itm.temp} Vg2 = GetHandl {dat.itl} tempCall {itm.temp} if Link(Vgl, Vg2) set Lim(Vg1, Vg2) return if Link(Vg2,Vgl) set Lim(Vg2,Vg1) return → on whte_rbt.obj link set security (Vg1), perimeter (Vg2) limitDat.1 = maxBits (%22) to {limit.04} set on limitDat.2 = setzero, setfive, 0 {limit .2-var(dzh)} → on fini.obj call link.sst {security, perimeter} set to on → on fini.obj set link.sst {security, perimeter} restore → on fini.obj delete line rf whte_rbt.obj, fini.obj Vg1 = GetHandl {dat.dt} tempCall {itm.temp} Vg2 = GetHandl {dat.itl} tempCall {itm.temp} limitDat.4 = maxBits (%33) to {limit .04} set on limitDat.5 = setzero, setfive, 0 {limit .2-var(szh)} “That’s it,” Arnold said, pleased. “That’s what?” Gennaro asked, staring at the screen. “I finally found the command to restore the original code. The command called ‘fini.obj’ resets the linked parameters, namely the fence and the power.” “Good,” Muldoon said. “But it does something else,” Arnold said. “It then erases the code lines that refer to it. It destroys all evidence it was ever there. Pretty slick.” Gennaro shook his head. “I don’t know much about computers.” Although he knew enough to know what it meant when a high-tech company went back to the source code. It meant big, big problems. “Well, watch this,” Arnold said, and he typed in the command: FINI.OBJ The screen flickered and immediately changed. Vg1 = GetHandl {dat.dt} tempCall {itm.temp} Vg2 = GetHandl {dat.itl} tempCall {itm.temp} if Link(Vg1,Vg2) set Lim(Vg1,Vg2) return if Link(Vg2,Vg1) set Lim(Vg2,Vg1) return limitDat.1 = maxBits (%22) to {limit .04} set on limitDat.2 = setzero, setfive, 0 {limit .2-var(dzh)} Vg1 = GetHandl {dat.dt} tempCall {itm.temp} Vg2 = GetHandl {dat.itl} tempCall {itm.temp} limitDat.4 = maxBits (%33) to {limit .04} set on limitDat.5 = setzero, setfive, 0 {limit .2-var(szh)} Muldoon pointed to the windows. “Look!” Outside, the big quartz lights were coming on throughout the park. They went to the windows and looked out. “Hot damn,” Arnold said. Gennaro said, “Does this mean the electrified fences are back on?” “You bet it does,” Arnold said. “It’ll take a few seconds to get up to full power, because we’ve got fifty miles of fence out there, and the generator has to charge the capacitors along the way. But in half a minute we’ll be back in business.” Arnold pointed to the vertical glass see-through map of the park. On the map, bright red lines were snaking out from the power station, moving throughout the park, as electricity surged through the fences. “And the motion sensors?” Gennaro said. “Yes, them, too. It’ll be a few minutes while the computer counts. But everything’s working,” Arnold said. “Half past nine, and we’ve got the whole damn thing back up and running.” Grant opened his eyes. Brilliant blue light was streaming into the building through the bars of the gate.


Jurassic Park _ A Novel -- Crichton, Michael -- Jurassic Park 1, 2012 -- Random House Publishing Group -- 9780307763051 -- 3de76fc510cf7aa828af34881aaf1176 -- Anna’s Archive.2

Quartz light: the power was back on! Groggily, he looked at his watch. It was just nine-thirty. He’d been asleep only a couple of minutes. He decided he could sleep a few minutes more, and then he would go back up to the field and stand in front of the motion sensors and wave, setting them off. The control room would spot him; they’d send a car out to pick him and the kids up, he’d tell Arnold to recall the supply ship, and they’d all finish the night in their own beds back in the lodge. He would do that right away. In just a couple of minutes. He yawned, and closed his eyes again. “Not bad,” Arnold said in the control room, staring at the glowing map. “There’s only three cutouts in the whole park. Much better than I hoped for.” “Cutouts?” Gennaro said. “The fence automatically cuts out short-circuited sections,” he explained. “You can see a big one here, in sector twelve, near the main road.” “That’s where the rex knocked the fence down,” Muldoon said. “Exactly. And another one is here in sector eleven. Near the sauropod maintenance building.” “Why would that section be out?” Gennaro said. “God knows,” Arnold said. “Probably storm damage or a fallen tree. We can check it on the monitor in a while. The third one is over there by the jungle river. Don’t know why that should be out, either.” As Gennaro looked, the map became more complex, filling with green spots and numbers. “What’s all this?” “The animals. The motion sensors are working again, and the computer’s starting to identify the location of all the animals in the park. And anybody else, too.” Gennaro stared at the map. “You mean Grant and the kids …” “Yes. We’ve reset our search number above four hundred. So, if they’re out there moving around,” Arnold said, “the motion sensors will pick them up as additional animals.” He stared at the map. “But I don’t see any additionals yet.” “Why does it take so long?” Gennaro said. “You have to realize, Mr. Gennaro,” Arnold said, “that there’s a lot of extraneous movement out there. Branches blowing in the wind, birds flying around, all kinds of stuff. The computer has to eliminate all the background movement. It may take—ah. Okay. Count’s finished.” Gennaro said, “You don’t see the kids?” Arnold twisted in his chair, and looked back to the map. “No,” he said, “at the moment, there are no additionals on the map at all. Everything out there has been accounted for as a dinosaur. They’re probably up in a tree, or somewhere else where we can’t see them. I wouldn’t worry yet. Several animals haven’t shown up, like the big rex. That’s probably because it’s sleeping somewhere and not moving. The people may be sleeping, too. We just don’t know.” Muldoon shook his head. “We better get on with it,” he said.


“We need to repair the fences, and get the animals back into their paddocks. According to that computer, we’ve got five to herd back to the proper paddocks. I’ll take the maintenance crews out now.” Arnold turned to Gennaro. “You may want to see how Dr. Malcolm is doing. Tell Dr. Harding that Muldoon will need him in about an hour to supervise the herding. And I’ll notify Mr. Hammond that we’re starting our final cleanup.” Gennaro passed through the iron gates and went in the front door of the Safari Lodge. He saw Ellie Sattler coming down the hallway, carrying towels and a pan of steaming water. “There’s a kitchen at the other end,” she said. “We’re using that to boil water for the dressings.” “How is he?” Gennaro asked. “Surprisingly good,” she said. Gennaro followed Ellie down to Malcolm’s room, and was startled to hear the sound of laughter. The mathematician lay on his back in the bed, with Harding adjusting an IV line. “So the other man says, ‘I’ll tell you frankly, I didn’t like it, Bill. I went back to toilet paper!’ ” Harding was laughing. “It’s not bad, is it?” Malcolm said, smiling. “Ah, Mr. Gennaro. You’ve come to see me. Now you know what happens from trying to get a leg up on the situation.” Gennaro came in, tentatively. Harding said, “He’s on fairly high doses of morphine.” “Not high enough, I can tell you,” Malcolm said. “Christ, he’s stingy with his drugs. Did they find the others yet?” “No, not yet,” Gennaro said. “But I’m glad to see you doing so well.” “How else should I be doing,” Malcolm said, “with a compound fracture of the leg that is likely septic and beginning to smell rather, ah, pungent? But I always say, if you can’t keep a sense of humor …” Gennaro smiled. “Do you remember what happened?” “Of course I remember,” Malcolm said. “Do you think you could be bitten by a Tyrannosaurus rex and it would escape your mind? No indeed, I’ll tell you, you’d remember it for the rest of your life. In my case, perhaps not a terribly long time. But, still—yes, I remember.” Malcolm described running from the Land Cruiser in the rain, and being chased down by the rex. “It was my own damned fault, he was too close, but I was panicked. In any case, he picked me up in his jaws.” “How?” Gennaro said. “Torso,” Malcolm said, and lifted his shirt. A broad semicircle of bruised punctures ran from his shoulder to his navel. “Lifted me up in his jaws, shook me bloody hard, and threw me down. And I was fine—terrified of course, but, still and all, fine—right up to the moment he threw me. I broke the leg in the fall. But the bite was not half bad.” He sighed. “Considering.” Harding said, “Most of the big carnivores don’t have strong jaws. The real power is in the neck musculature.


The jaws just hold on, while they use the neck to twist and rip. But with a small creature like Dr. Malcolm, the animal would just shake him, and then toss him.” “I’m afraid that’s right,” Malcolm said. “I doubt I’d have survived, except the big chap’s heart wasn’t in it. To tell the truth, he struck me as a rather clumsy attacker of anything less than an automobile or a small apartment building.” “You think he attacked halfheartedly?” “It pains me to say it,” Malcolm said, “but I don’t honestly feel I had his full attention. He had mine, of course. But, then, he weighs eight tons. I don’t.” Gennaro turned to Harding and said, “They’re going to repair the fences now. Arnold says Muldoon will need your help herding animals.” “Okay,” Harding said. “So long as you leave me Dr. Sattler, and ample morphine,” Malcolm said. “And so long as we do not have a Malcolm Effect here.” “What’s a Malcolm Effect?” Gennaro said. “Modesty forbids me,” Malcolm said, “from telling you the details of a phenomenon named after me.” He sighed again, and closed his eyes. In a moment, he was sleeping. Ellie walked out into the hallway with Gennaro. “Don’t be fooled,” she said. “It’s a great strain on him. When will you have a helicopter here?” “A helicopter?” “He needs surgery on that leg. Make sure they send for a helicopter, and get him off this island.”


Jurassic Park THE PARK The portable generator sputtered and roared to life, and the quartz floodlights glowed at the ends of their telescoping arms. Muldoon heard the soft gurgle of the jungle river a few yards to the north. He turned back to the maintenance van and saw one of the workmen coming out with a big power saw. “No, no,” he said. “Just the ropes, Carlos. We don’t need to cut it.” He turned back to look at the fence. They had difficulty finding the shorted section at first, because there wasn’t much to see: a small protocarpus tree was leaning against the fence. It was one of several that had been planted in this region of the park, their feathery branches intended to conceal the fence from view. But this particular tree had been tied down with guy wires and turnbuckles. The wires had broken free in the storm, and the metal turnbuckles had blown against the fence and shorted it out. Of course, none of this should have happened; grounds crews were supposed to use plastic-coated wires and ceramic turnbuckles near fences. But it had happened anyway. In any case, it wasn’t going to be a big job. All they had to do was pull the tree off the fence, remove the metal fittings, and mark it for the gardeners to fix in the morning. It shouldn’t take more than twenty minutes. And that was just as well, because Muldoon knew the dilophosaurs always stayed close to the river. Even though the workmen were separated from the river by the fence, the dilos could spit right through it, delivering their blinding poison. Ramón, one of the workmen, came over. “Señor Muldoon,” he said, “did you see the lights?” “What lights?” Muldoon said. Ramón pointed to the east, through the jungle. “I saw it as we were coming out. It is there, very faint. You see it? It looks like the lights of a car, but it is not moving.” Muldoon squinted. It probably was just a maintenance light. After all, power was back on. “We’ll worry about it later,” he said. “Right now let’s just get that tree off the fence.” Arnold was in an expansive mood. The park was almost back in order. Muldoon was repairing the fences. Hammond had gone off to supervise the transfer of the animals with Harding. Although he was tired, Arnold was feeling good; he was even in a mood to indulge the lawyer, Gennaro. “The Malcolm Effect?” Arnold said. “You worried about that?” “I’m just curious,” Gennaro said. “You mean you want me to tell you why Ian Malcolm is wrong?” “Sure.” Arnold lit another cigarette. “It’s technical.” “Try me.” “Okay,” Arnold said. “Chaos theory describes nonlinear systems. It’s now become a very broad theory that’s been used to study everything from the stock market to heart rhythms. A very fashionable theory. Very trendy to apply it to any complex system where there might be unpredictability. Okay?” “Okay,” Gennaro said.


“Ian Malcolm is a mathematician specializing in chaos theory. Quite amusing and personable, but basically what he does, besides wear black, is use computers to model the behavior of complex systems. And John Hammond loves the latest scientific fad, so he asked Malcolm to model the system at Jurassic Park. Which Malcolm did. Malcolm’s models are all phase-space shapes on a computer screen. Have you seen them?” “No,” Gennaro said. “Well, they look like a weird twisted ship’s propeller. According to Malcolm, the behavior of any system follows the surface of the propeller. You with me?” “Not exactly,” Gennaro said. Arnold held his hand in the air. “Let’s say I put a drop of water on the back of my hand. That drop is going to run off my hand. Maybe it’ll run toward my wrist. Maybe it’ll run toward my thumb, or down between my fingers. I don’t know for sure where it will go, but I know it will run somewhere along the surface of my hand. It has to.” “Okay,” Gennaro said. “Chaos theory treats the behavior of a whole system like a drop of water moving on a complicated propeller surface. The drop may spiral down, or slip outward toward the edge. It may do many different things, depending. But it will always move along the surface of the propeller.” “Okay.” “Malcolm’s models tend to have a ledge, or a sharp incline, where the drop of water will speed up greatly. He modestly calls this speeding-up movement the Malcolm Effect. The whole system could suddenly collapse. And that was what he said about Jurassic Park. That it had inherent instability.” “Inherent instability,” Gennaro said. “And what did you do when you got his report?” “We disagreed with it, and ignored it, of course,” Arnold said. “Was that wise?” “It’s self-evident,” Arnold said. “We’re dealing with living systems, after all. This is life, not computer models.” In the harsh quartz lights, the hypsilophodont’s green head hung down out of the sling, the tongue dangling, the eyes dull. “Careful! Careful!” Hammond shouted, as the crane began to lift. Harding grunted and eased the head back onto the leather straps. He didn’t want to impede circulation through the carotid artery. The crane hissed as it lifted the animal into the air, onto the waiting flatbed truck. The hypsy was a small dryosaur, seven feet long, weighing about five hundred pounds. She was dark green with mottled brown spots. She was breathing slowly, but she seemed all right. Harding had shot her a few moments before with the tranquilizer gun, and apparently he had guessed the correct dose. There was always a tense moment dosing these big animals. Too little and they would run off into the forest, collapsing where you couldn’t get to them. Too much and they went into terminal cardiac arrest. This one had taken a single bounding leap and keeled over. Perfectly dosed. “Watch it! Easy!” Hammond was shouting to the workmen. “Mr. Hammond,” Harding said.


“Please.” “Well, they should be careful—” “They are being careful,” Harding said. He climbed up onto the back of the flatbed as the hypsy came down, and he set her into the restraining harness. Harding slipped on the cardiogram collar that monitored heartbeat, then picked up the big electronic thermometer the size of a turkey baster and slipped it into the rectum. It beeped: 96.2 degrees. “How is she?” Hammond asked fretfully. “She’s fine,” Harding said. “She’s only dropped a degree and a half.” “That’s too much,” Hammond said. “Too deep.” “You don’t want her waking up and jumping off the truck,” Harding snapped. Before coming to the park, Harding had been the chief of veterinary medicine at the San Diego Zoo, and the world’s leading expert on avian care. He flew all over the world, consulting with zoos in Europe, India, and Japan on the care of exotic birds. He’d had no interest when this peculiar little man showed up, offering him a position in a private game park. But when he learned what Hammond had done … It was impossible to pass up. Harding had an academic bent, and the prospect of writing the first Textbook of Veterinary Internal Medicine: Diseases of Dinosauria was compelling. In the late twentieth century, veterinary medicine was scientifically advanced; the best zoos ran clinics little different from hospitals. New textbooks were merely refinements of old. For a world-class practitioner, there were no worlds left to conquer. But to be the first to care for a whole new class of animals: that was something! And Harding had never regretted his decision. He had developed considerable expertise with these animals. And he didn’t want to hear from Hammond now. The hypsy snorted and twitched. She was still breathing shallowly; there was no ocular reflex yet. But it was time to get moving. “All aboard,” Harding shouted. “Let’s get this girl back to her paddock.” “Living systems,” Arnold said, “are not like mechanical systems. Living systems are never in equilibrium. They are inherently unstable. They may seem stable, but they’re not. Everything is moving and changing. In a sense, everything is on the edge of collapse.” Gennaro was frowning. “But lots of things don’t change; body temperature doesn’t change, all kinds of other—” “Body temperature changes constantly,” Arnold said. “Constantly. It changes cyclically over twenty-four hours, lowest in the morning, highest in the afternoon. It changes with mood, with disease, with exercise, with outside temperature, with food. It continuously fluctuates up and down. Tiny jiggles on a graph. Because, at any moment, some forces are pushing temperature up, and other forces are pulling it down. It is inherently unstable. And every other aspect of living systems is like that, too.” “So you’re saying …” “Malcolm’s just another theoretician,” Arnold said. “Sitting in his office, he made a nice mathematical model, and it never occurred to him that what he saw as defects were actually necessities.


Look: when I was working on missiles, we dealt with something called ‘resonant yaw.’ Resonant yaw meant that, even though a missile was only slightly unstable off the pad, it was hopeless. It was inevitably going to go out of control, and it couldn’t be brought back. That’s a feature of mechanical systems. A little wobble can get worse until the whole system collapses. But those same little wobbles are essential to a living system. They mean the system is healthy and responsive. Malcolm never understood that.” “Are you sure he didn’t understand that? He seems pretty clear on the difference between living and nonliving—” “Look,” Arnold said. “The proof is right here.” He pointed to the screens. “In less than an hour,” he said, “the park will all be back on line. The only thing I’ve got left to clear is the telephones. For some reason, they’re still out. But everything else will be working. And that’s not theoretical. That’s a fact.” The needle went deep into the neck, and Harding injected the medrine into the anesthetized female dryosaur as she lay on her side on the ground. Immediately the animal began to recover, snorting and kicking her powerful hind legs. “Back, everybody,” Harding said, scrambling away. “Get back.” The dinosaur staggered to her feet, standing drunkenly. She shook her lizard head, stared at the people standing back in the quartz lights, and blinked. “She’s drooling,” Hammond said, worried. “Temporary,” Harding said. “It’ll stop.” The dryosaur coughed, and then moved slowly across the field, away from the lights. “Why isn’t she hopping?” “She will,” Harding said. “It’ll take her about an hour to recover fully. She’s fine.” He turned back to the car. “Okay, boys, let’s go deal with the stego.” Muldoon watched as the last of the stakes was pounded into the ground. The lines were pulled taut, and the protocarpus tree was lifted clear. Muldoon could see the blackened, charred streaks on the silver fence where the short had occurred. At the base of the fence, several ceramic insulators had burst. They would have to be replaced. But before that could be done, Arnold would have to shut down all the fences. “Control. This is Muldoon. We’re ready to begin repair.” “All right,” Arnold said. “Shutting out your section now.” Muldoon glanced at his watch. Somewhere in the distance, he heard soft hooting. It sounded like owls, but he knew it was the dilophosaurs. He went over to Ramón and said, “Let’s finish this up. I want to get to those other sections of fence.” An hour went by. Donald Gennaro stared at the glowing map in the control room as the spots and numbers flickered and changed. “What’s happening now?” Arnold worked at the console. “I’m trying to get the phones back. So we can call about Malcolm.” “No, I mean out there.” Arnold glanced up at the board. “It looks as if they’re about done with the animals, and the two sections.


Jurassic Park _ A Novel -- Crichton, Michael -- Jurassic Park 1, 2012 -- Random House Publishing Group -- 9780307763051 -- 3de76fc510cf7aa828af34881aaf1176 -- Anna’s Archive.5

Just as I told you, the park is back in hand. With no catastrophic Malcolm Effect. In fact, there’s just that third section of fence.…” “Arnold.” It was Muldoon’s voice. “Yes?” “Have you seen this bloody fence?” “Just a minute.” On one of the monitors, Gennaro saw a high angle down on a field of grass, blowing in the wind. In the distance was a low concrete roof. “That’s the sauropod maintenance building,” Arnold explained. “It’s one of the utility structures we use for equipment, feed storage, and so on. We have them all around the park, in each of the paddocks.” On the monitor, the video image panned. “We’re turning the camera now to get a look at the fence.…” Gennaro saw a shining wall of metallic mesh in the light. One section had been trampled, knocked flat. Muldoon’s Jeep and work crew were there. “Huh,” Arnold said. “Looks like the rex went into the sauropod paddock.” Muldoon said, “Fine dining tonight.” “We’ll have to get him out of there,” Arnold said. “With what?” Muldoon said. “We haven’t got anything to use on a rex. I’ll fix this fence, but I’m not going in there until daylight.” “Hammond won’t like it.” “We’ll discuss it when I get back,” Muldoon said. “How many sauropods will the rex kill?” Hammond said, pacing around the control room. “Probably just one,” Harding said. “Sauropods are big; the rex can feed off a single kill for several days.” “We have to go out and get him tonight,” Hammond said. Muldoon shook his head. “I’m not going in there until daylight.” Hammond was rising up and down on the balls of his feet, the way he did whenever he was angry. “Are you forgetting you work for me?” “No, Mr. Hammond, I’m not forgetting. But that’s a full-grown adult tyrannosaur out there. How do you plan to get him?” “We have tranquilizer guns.” “We have tranquilizer guns that shoot a twenty-cc dart,” Muldoon said. “Fine for an animal that weighs four or five hundred pounds. That tyrannosaur weighs eight tons. It wouldn’t even feel it.” “You ordered a larger weapon.…” “I ordered three larger weapons, Mr. Hammond, but you cut the requisition, so we got only one. And it’s gone. Nedry took it when he left.” “That was pretty stupid. Who let that happen?” “Nedry’s not my problem, Mr. Hammond,” Muldoon said. “You’re saying,” Hammond said, “that, as of this moment, there is no way to stop the tyrannosaur?” “That’s exactly what I’m saying,” Muldoon said. “That’s ridiculous,” Hammond said. “It’s your park, Mr. Hammond. You didn’t want anybody to be able to injure your precious dinosaurs. Well, now you’ve got a rex in with the sauropods, and there’s not a damned thing you can do about it.” He left the room. “Just a minute,” Hammond said, hurrying after him. Gennaro stared at the screens, and listened to the shouted argument in the hallway outside.


Jurassic Park _ A Novel -- Crichton, Michael -- Jurassic Park 1, 2012 -- Random House Publishing Group -- 9780307763051 -- 3de76fc510cf7aa828af34881aaf1176 -- Anna’s Archive.6

He said to Arnold, “I guess you don’t have control of the park yet, after all.” “Don’t kid yourself,” Arnold said, lighting another cigarette. “We have the park. It’ll be dawn in a couple of hours. We may lose a couple of dinos before we get the rex out of there, but, believe me, we have the park.”


Jurassic Park DAWN Grant was awakened by a loud grinding sound, followed by a mechanical clanking. He opened his eyes and saw a bale of hay rolling past him on a conveyor belt, up toward the ceiling. Two more bales followed it. Then the clanking stopped as abruptly as it had begun, and the concrete building was silent again. Grant yawned. He stretched sleepily, winced in pain, and sat up. Soft yellow light came through the side windows. It was morning: he had slept the whole night! He looked quickly at his watch: 5:00 a.m. Still almost six hours to go before the boat had to be recalled. He rolled onto his back, groaning. His head throbbed, and his body ached as if he had been beaten up. From around the corner, he heard a squeaking sound, like a rusty wheel. And then Lex giggling. Grant stood slowly, and looked at the building. Now that it was daylight, he could see it was some kind of a maintenance building, with stacks of hay and supplies. On the wall he saw a gray metal box and a stenciled sign: SAUROPOD MAINTENANCE BLDG (04). This must be the sauropod paddock, as he had thought. He opened the box and saw a telephone, but when he lifted the receiver he heard only hissing static. Apparently the phones weren’t working yet. “Chew your food,” Lex was saying. “Don’t be a piggy, Ralph.” Grant walked around the corner and found Lex by the bars, holding out handfuls of hay to an animal outside that looked like a large pink pig and was making the squeaking sounds Grant had heard. It was actually an infant triceratops, about the size of a pony. The infant didn’t have horns on its head yet, just a curved bony frill behind big soft eyes. It poked its snout through the bars toward Lex, its eyes watching her as she fed it more hay. “That’s better,” Lex said. “There’s plenty of hay, don’t worry.” She patted the baby on the head. “You like hay, don’t you, Ralph?” Lex turned back and saw him. “This is Ralph,” Lex said. “He’s my friend. He likes hay.” Grant took a step and stopped, wincing. “You look pretty bad,” Lex said. “I feel pretty bad.” “Tim, too. His nose is all swollen up.” “Where is Tim?” “Peeing,” she said. “You want to help me feed Ralph?” The baby triceratops looked at Grant. Hay stuck out of both sides of its mouth, dropping on the floor as it chewed. “He’s a very messy eater,” Lex said. “And he’s very hungry.” The baby finished chewing and licked its lips. It opened its mouth, waiting for more. Grant could see the slender sharp teeth, and the beaky upper jaw, like a parrot. “Okay, just a minute,” Lex said, scooping up more straw from the concrete floor. “Honestly, Ralph,” she said, “you’d think your mother never fed you.” “Why is his name Ralph?” “Because he looks like Ralph.


At school.” Grant came closer and touched the skin of the neck gently. “It’s okay, you can pet him,” Lex said. “He likes it when you pet him, don’t you, Ralph?” The skin felt dry and warm, with the pebbled texture of a football. Ralph gave a little squeak as Grant petted it. Outside the bars, its thick tail swung back and forth with pleasure. “He’s pretty tame.” Ralph looked from Lex to Grant as it ate, and showed no sign of fear. It reminded Grant that the dinosaurs didn’t have ordinary responses to people. “Maybe I can ride him,” Lex said. “Let’s not.” “I bet he’d let me,” Lex said. “It’d be fun to ride a dinosaur.” Grant looked out the bars past the animal, to the open fields of the sauropod compound. It was growing lighter every minute. He should go outside, he thought, and set off one of the motion sensors on the field above. After all, it might take the people in the control room an hour to get out here to him. And he didn’t like the idea that the phones were still down.… He heard a deep snorting sound, like the snort of a very large horse, and suddenly the baby became agitated. It tried to pull its head back through the bars, but got caught on the edge of its frill, and it squeaked in fright. The snorting came again. It was closer this time. Ralph reared up on its hind legs, frantic to get out from between the bars. It wriggled its head back and forth, rubbing against the bars. “Ralph, take it easy,” Lex said. “Push him out,” Grant said. He reached up to Ralph’s head and leaned against it, pushing the animal sideways and backward. The frill popped free and the baby fell outside the bars, losing its balance and flopping on its side. Then the baby was covered in shadow, and a huge leg came into view, thicker than a tree trunk. The foot had five curved toenails, like an elephant’s. Ralph looked up and squeaked. A head came down into view: six feet long, with three long white horns, one above each of the large brown eyes and a smaller horn at the tip of the nose. It was a full-grown triceratops. The big animal peered at Lex and Grant, blinking slowly, and then turned its attention to Ralph. A tongue came out and licked the baby. Ralph squeaked and rubbed up against the big leg happily. “Is that his mom?” Lex said. “Looks like it,” Grant said. “Should we feed the mom, too?” Lex said. But the big triceratops was already nudging Ralph with her snout, pushing the baby away from the bars. “Guess not.” The infant turned away from the bars and walked off. From time to time, the big mother nudged her baby, guiding it away, as they both walked out into the fields. “Good-bye, Ralph,” Lex said, waving.


Tim came out of the shadows of the building. “Tell you what,” Grant said. “I’m going up on the hill to set off the motion sensors, so they’ll know to come get us. You two stay here and wait for me.” “No,” Lex said. “Why? Stay here. It’s safe here.” “You’re not leaving us,” she said. “Right, Timmy?” “Right,” Tim said. “Okay,” Grant said. They crawled through the bars, stepping outside. It was just before dawn. The air was warm and humid, the sky soft pink and purple. A white mist clung low to the ground. Some distance away, they saw the mother triceratops and the baby moving away toward a herd of large duckbilled hadrosaurs, eating foliage from trees at the edge of the lagoon. Some of the hadrosaurs stood knee-deep in the water. They drank, lowering their flat heads, meeting their own reflections in the still water. Then they looked up again, their heads swiveling. At the water’s edge, one of the babies ventured out, squeaked, and scrambled back while the adults watched indulgently. Farther south, other hadrosaurs were eating the lower vegetation. Sometimes they reared up on their hind legs, resting their forelegs on the tree trunks, so they could reach the leaves on higher branches. And in the far distance, a giant apatosaur stood above the trees, the tiny head swiveling on the long neck. The scene was so peaceful Grant found it hard to imagine any danger. “Yow!” Lex shouted, ducking. Two giant red dragonflies with six-foot wingspans hummed past them. “What was that?” “Dragonflies,” he said. “The Jurassic was a time of huge insects.” “Do they bite?” Lex said. “I don’t think so,” Grant said. Tim held out his hand. One of the dragonflies lighted on it. He could feel the weight of the huge insect. “He’s going to bite you,” Lex warned. But the dragonfly just slowly flapped its red-veined transparent wings, and then, when Tim moved his arm, flew off again. “Which way do we go?” Lex said. “There.” They started walking across the field. They reached a black box mounted on a heavy metal tripod, the first of the motion sensors. Grant stopped and waved his hand in front of it back and forth, but nothing happened. If the phones didn’t work, perhaps the sensors didn’t work, either. “We’ll try another one,” he said, pointing across the field. Somewhere in the distance, they heard the roar of a large animal. “Ah hell,” Arnold said. “I just can’t find it.” He sipped coffee and stared bleary-eyed at the screens. He had taken all the video monitors off line. In the control room, he was searching the computer code. He was exhausted; he’d been working for twelve straight hours. He turned to Wu, who had come up from the lab. “Find what?” “The phones are still out. I can’t get them back on. I think Nedry did something to the phones.” Wu lifted one phone, heard hissing.


“Sounds like a modem.” “But it’s not,” Arnold said. “Because I went down into the basement and shut off all the modems. What you’re hearing is just white noise that sounds like a modem transmitting.” “So the phone lines are jammed?” “Basically, yes. Nedry jammed them very well. He’s inserted some kind of a lockout into the program code, and now I can’t find it, because I gave that restore command which erased part of the program listings. But apparently the command to shut off the phones is still resident in the computer memory.” Wu shrugged. “So? Just reset: shut the system down and you’ll clear memory.” “I’ve never done it before,” Arnold said. “And I’m reluctant to do it. Maybe all the systems will come back on start-up—but maybe they won’t. I’m not a computer expert, and neither are you. Not really. And without an open phone line, we can’t talk to anybody who is.” “If the command is RAM-resident, it won’t show up in the code. You can do a RAM dump and search that, but you don’t know what you’re searching for. I think all you can do is reset.” Gennaro stormed in. “We still don’t have any telephones.” “Working on it.” “You’ve been working on it since midnight. And Malcolm is worse. He needs medical attention.” “It means I’ll have to shut down,” Arnold said. “I can’t be sure everything will come back on.” Gennaro said, “Look. There’s a sick man over in that lodge. He needs a doctor or he’ll die. You can’t call for a doctor unless you have a phone. Four people have probably died already. Now, shut down and get the phones working!” Arnold hesitated. “Well?” Gennaro said. “Well, it’s just … the safety systems don’t allow the computer to be shut down, and—” “Then turn the goddamn safety systems off! Can’t you get it through your head that he’s going to die unless he gets help?” “Okay,” Arnold said. He got up and went to the main panel. He opened the doors, and uncovered the metal swing-latches over the safety switches. He popped them off, one after another. “You asked for it,” Arnold said. “And you got it.” He threw the master switch. The control room was dark. All the monitors were black. The three men stood there in the dark. “How long do we have to wait?” Gennaro said. “Thirty seconds,” Arnold said. “P-U!” Lex said, as they crossed the field. “What?” Grant said. “That smell!” Lex said. “It stinks like rotten garbage.” Grant hesitated. He stared across the field toward the distant trees, looking for movement. He saw nothing. There was hardly a breeze to stir the branches. It was peaceful and silent in the early morning. “I think it’s your imagination,” he said. “Is not—” Then he heard the honking sound. It came from the herd of duckbilled hadrosaurs behind them. First one animal, then another and another, until the whole herd had taken up the honking cry.


The duckbills were agitated, twisting and turning, hurrying out of the water, circling the young ones to protect them.… They smell it, too, Grant thought. With a roar, the tyrannosaur burst from the trees fifty yards away, near the lagoon. It rushed out across the open field with huge strides. It ignored them, heading toward the herd of hadrosaurs. “I told you!” Lex screamed. “Nobody listens to me!” In the distance, the duckbills were honking and starting to run. Grant could feel the earth shake beneath his feet. “Come on, kids!” He grabbed Lex, lifting her bodily off the ground, and ran with Tim through the grass. He had glimpses of the tyrannosaur down by the lagoon, lunging at the hadrosaurs, which swung their big tails in defense and honked loudly and continuously. He heard the crashing of foliage and trees, and when he looked over again, the duckbills were charging. In the darkened control room, Arnold checked his watch. Thirty seconds. The memory should be cleared by now. He pushed the main power switch back on. Nothing happened. Arnold’s stomach heaved. He pushed the switch off, then on again. Still nothing happened. He felt sweat on his brow. “What’s wrong?” Gennaro said. “Oh hell,” Arnold said. Then he remembered you had to turn the safety switches back on before you restarted the power. He flipped on the three safeties, and covered them again with the latch covers. Then he held his breath, and turned the main power switch. The room lights came on. The computer beeped. The screens hummed. “Thank God,” Arnold said. He hurried to the main monitor. There were rows of labels on the screen: Gennaro reached for the phone, but it was dead. No static hissing this time—just nothing at all. “What’s this?” “Give me a second,” Arnold said. “After a reset, all the system modules have to be brought on line manually.” Quickly, he went back to work. “Why manually?” Gennaro said. “Will you just let me work, for Christ’s sake?” Wu said, “The system is not intended to ever shut down. So, if it does shut down, it assumes that there is a problem somewhere. It requires you to start up everything manually. Otherwise, if there were a short somewhere, the system would start up, short out, start up again, short out again, in an endless cycle.” “Okay,” Arnold said. “We’re going.” Gennaro picked up the phone and started to dial, when he suddenly stopped. “Jesus, look at that,” he said. He pointed to one of the video monitors. But Arnold wasn’t listening. He was staring at the map, where a tight cluster of dots by the lagoon had started to move in a coordinated way. Moving fast, in a kind of swirl. “What’s happening?” Gennaro said. “The duckbills,” Arnold said tonelessly. “They’ve stampeded.” The duckbills charged with surprising speed, their enormous bodies in a tight cluster, honking and roaring, the infants squealing and trying to stay out from underfoot.


The herd raised a great cloud of yellow dust. Grant couldn’t see the tyrannosaur. The duckbills were running right toward them. Still carrying Lex, he ran with Tim toward a rocky outcrop, with a stand of big conifers. They ran hard, feeling the ground shake beneath their feet. The sound of the approaching herd was deafening, like the sound of jets at an airport. It filled the air, and hurt their ears. Lex was shouting something, but he couldn’t hear what she was saying, and as they scrambled onto the rocks, the herd closed in around them. Grant saw the immense legs of the first hadrosaurs that charged past, each animal weighing five tons, and then they were enveloped in a cloud so dense he could see nothing at all. He had the impression of huge bodies, giant limbs, bellowing cries of pain as the animals wheeled and circled. One duckbill struck a boulder and it rolled past them, out into the field beyond. In the dense cloud of dust, they could see almost nothing beyond the rocks. They clung to the boulders, listening to the screams and honks, the menacing roar of the tyrannosaur. Lex dug her fingers into Grant’s shoulder. Another hadrosaur slammed its big tail against the rocks, leaving a splash of hot blood. Grant waited until the sounds of the fighting had moved off to the left, and then he pushed the kids to start climbing the largest tree. They climbed swiftly, feeling for the branches, as the animals stampeded all around them in the dust. They went up twenty feet, and then Lex clutched at Grant and refused to go farther. Tim was tired, too, and Grant thought they were high enough. Through the dust, they could see the broad backs of the animals below as they wheeled and honked. Grant propped himself against the coarse bark of the trunk, coughed in the dust, closed his eyes, and waited. Arnold adjusted the camera as the herd moved away. The dust slowly cleared. He saw that the hadrosaurs had scattered, and the tyrannosaur had stopped running, which could only mean it had made a kill. The tyrannosaur was now near the lagoon. Arnold looked at the video monitor and said, “Better get Muldoon to go out there and see how bad it is.” “I’ll get him,” Gennaro said, and left the room.


Jurassic Park THE PARK A faint crackling sound, like a fire in a fireplace. Something warm and wet tickled Grant’s ankle. He opened his eyes and saw an enormous beige head. The head tapered to a flat mouth shaped like the bill of a duck. The eyes, protruding above the flat duckbill, were gentle and soft like a cow’s. The duck mouth opened and chewed branches on the limb where Grant was sitting. He saw large flat teeth in the cheek. The warm lips touched his ankle again as the animal chewed. A duckbilled hadrosaur. He was astonished to see it up close. Not that he was afraid; all the species of duckbilled dinosaurs were herbivorous, and this one acted exactly like a cow. Even though it was huge, its manner was so calm and peaceful Grant didn’t feel threatened. He stayed where he was on the branch, careful not to move, and watched as it ate. The reason Grant was astonished was that he had a proprietary feeling about this animal: it was probably a maiasaur, from the late Cretaceous in Montana. With John Horner, Grant had been the first to describe the species. Maiasaurs had an upcurved lip, which gave them the appearance of smiling. The name meant “good mother lizard”; maiasaurs were thought to protect their eggs until the babies were born and could take care of themselves. Grant heard an insistent chirping, and the big head swung down. He moved just enough to see the baby hadrosaur scampering around the feet of the adult. The baby was dark beige with black spots. The adult bent her head low to the ground and waited, unmoving, while the baby stood up on its hind legs, resting its front legs on the mother’s jaw, and ate the branches that protruded from the side of the mother’s mouth. The mother waited patiently until the baby had finished eating, and dropped back down to all fours again. Then the big head came back up toward Grant. The hadrosaur continued to eat, just a few feet from him. Grant looked at the two elongated airholes on top of the flat upper bill. Apparently the dinosaur couldn’t smell Grant. And even though the left eye was looking right at him, for some reason the hadrosaur didn’t react to him. He remembered how the tyrannosaur had failed to see him, the previous night. Grant decided on an experiment. He coughed. Instantly the hadrosaur froze, the big head suddenly still, the jaws no longer chewing. Only the eye moved, looking for the source of the sound. Then, after a moment, when there seemed to be no danger, the animal resumed chewing. Amazing, Grant thought. Sitting in his arms, Lex opened her eyes and said, “Hey, what’s that?” The hadrosaur trumpeted in alarm, a loud resonant honk that so startled Lex that she nearly fell out of the tree. The hadrosaur pulled its head away from the branch and trumpeted again.


“Don’t make her mad,” Tim said, from the branch above. The baby chirped and scurried beneath the mother’s legs as the hadrosaur stepped away from the tree. The mother cocked her head and peered inquisitively at the branch where Grant and Lex were sitting. With its upturned smiling lips, the dinosaur had a comical appearance. “Is it dumb?” Lex said. “No,” Grant said. “You just surprised her.” “Well,” Lex said, “is she going to let us get down, or what?” The hadrosaur had backed ten feet away from the tree. She honked again. Grant had the impression she was trying to frighten them away. But the dinosaur didn’t really seem to know what to do. She acted confused and uneasy. They waited in silence, and after a minute the hadrosaur approached the branch again, jaws moving in anticipation. She was clearly going to resume eating. “Forget it,” Lex said. “I’m not staying here.” She started to climb down the branches. At her movement, the hadrosaur trumpeted in fresh alarm. Grant was amazed. He thought, It really can’t see us when we don’t move. And after a minute it literally forgets that we’re here. This was just like the tyrannosaur—another classic example of an amphibian visual cortex. Studies of frogs had shown that amphibians only saw moving things, like insects. If something didn’t move, they literally didn’t see it. The same thing seemed to be true of dinosaurs. In any case, the maiasaur now seemed to find these strange creatures climbing down the tree too upsetting. With a final honk, she nudged her baby, and lumbered slowly away. She paused once, and looked back at them, then continued on. They reached the ground. Lex shook herself off. Both children were covered in a layer of fine dust. All around them, the grass had been flattened. There were streaks of blood, and a sour smell. Grant looked at his watch. “We better get going, kids,” he said. “Not me,” Lex said. “I’m not walking out there any more.” “We have to.” “Why?” “Because,” Grant said, “we have to tell them about the boat. Since they can’t seem to see us on the motion sensors, we have to go all the way back ourselves. It’s the only way.” “Why can’t we take the raft?” Tim said. “What raft?” Tim pointed to the low concrete maintenance building with the bars, where they had spent the night. It was twenty yards away, across the field. “I saw a raft back there,” he said. Grant immediately understood the advantages. It was now seven o’clock in the morning. They had at least eight miles to go. If they could take a raft along the river, they would make much faster progress than going overland. “Let’s do it,” Grant said. Arnold punched the visual search mode and watched as the monitors began to scan throughout the park, the images changing every two seconds.


It was tiring to watch, but it was the fastest way to find Nedry’s Jeep, and Muldoon had been adamant about that. He had gone out with Gennaro to look at the stampede, but now that it was daylight, he wanted the car found. He wanted the weapons. His intercom clicked. “Mr. Arnold, may I have a word with you, please?” It was Hammond. He sounded like the voice of God. “You want to come here, Mr. Hammond?” “No, Mr. Arnold,” Hammond said. “Come to me. I’m in the genetics lab with Dr. Wu. We’ll be waiting for you.” Arnold sighed, and stepped away from the screens. Grant stumbled deep in the gloomy recesses of the building. He pushed past five-gallon containers of herbicide, tree-pruning equipment, spare tires for a Jeep, coils of cyclone fencing, hundred-pound fertilizer bags, stacks of brown ceramic insulators, empty motor-oil cans, work lights and cables. “I don’t see any raft.” “Keep going.” Bags of cement, lengths of copper pipe, green mesh … and two plastic oars hung on clips on the concrete wall. “Okay,” he said, “but where’s the raft?” “It must be here somewhere,” Tim said. “You never saw a raft?” “No, I just assumed it was here.” Poking among the junk, Grant found no raft. But he did find a set of plans, rolled up and speckled with mold from humidity, stuck back in a metal cabinet on the wall. He spread the plans on the floor, brushing away a big spider. He looked at them for a long time. “I’m hungry.…” “Just a minute.” They were detailed topographical charts for the main area of the island, where they now were. According to this, the lagoon narrowed into the river they had seen earlier, which twisted northward … right through the aviary … and on to within a half-mile of the visitor lodge. He flipped back through the pages. How to get to the lagoon? According to the plans, there should be a door at the back of the building they were in. Grant looked up, and saw it, recessed back in the concrete wall. The door was wide enough for a car. Opening it, he saw a paved road running straight down toward the lagoon. The road was dug below ground level, so it couldn’t be seen from above. It must be another service road. And it led to a dock at the edge of the lagoon. And clearly stenciled on the dock was RAFT STORAGE. “Hey,” Tim said, “look at this.” He held out a metal case to Grant. Opening it, Grant found a compressed-air pistol and a cloth belt that held darts. There were six darts in all, each as thick as his finger. Labeled MORO-709. “Good work, Tim.” He slung the belt around his shoulder, and stuck the gun in his trousers. “Is it a tranquilizer gun?” “I’d say so.” “What about the boat?” Lex said. “I think it’s on the dock,” Grant said. They started down the road.


Grant carried the oars on his shoulder. “I hope it’s a big raft,” Lex said, “because I can’t swim.” “Don’t worry,” he said. “Maybe we can catch some fish,” she said. They walked down the road with the sloping embankment rising up on both sides of them. They heard a deep rhythmic snorting sound, but Grant could not see where it was coming from. “Are you sure there’s a raft down here?” Lex said, wrinkling her nose. “Probably,” Grant said. The rhythmic snorting became louder as they walked, but they also heard a steady droning, buzzing sound. When they reached the end of the road, at the edge of the small concrete dock, Grant froze in shock. The tyrannosaur was right there. It was sitting upright in the shade of a tree, its hind legs stretched out in front. Its eyes were open but it was not moving, except for its head, which lifted and fell gently with each snorting sound. The buzzing came from the clouds of flies that surrounded it, crawling over its face and slack jaws, its bloody fangs, and the red haunch of a killed hadrosaur that lay on its side behind the tyrannosaur. The tyrannosaur was only twenty yards away. Grant felt sure it must have seen him, but the big animal did not respond. It just sat there. It took him a moment to realize: the tyrannosaur was asleep. Sitting up, but asleep. He signaled to Tim and Lex to stay where they were. Grant walked slowly forward onto the dock, in full view of the tyrannosaur. The big animal continued to sleep, snoring softly. Near the end of the dock, a wooden shed was painted green to blend with the foliage. Grant quietly unlatched the door and looked inside. He saw a half-dozen orange life vests hanging on the wall, several rolls of wire-mesh fencing, some coils of rope, and two big rubber cubes sitting on the floor. The cubes were strapped tight with flat rubber belts. Rafts. He looked back at Lex. She mouthed: No boat. He nodded, Yes. The tyrannosaur raised its forelimb to swipe at the flies buzzing around its snout. But otherwise it did not move. Grant pulled one of the cubes out onto the dock. It was surprisingly heavy. He freed the straps, found the inflation cylinder. With a loud hiss, the rubber began to expand, and then with a hiss-whap! it popped fully open on the dock. The sound was fearfully loud in their ears. Grant turned, stared up at the dinosaur. The tyrannosaur grunted, and snorted. It began to move. Grant braced himself to run, but the animal shifted its ponderous bulk and then it settled back against the tree trunk and gave a long, growling belch. Lex looked disgusted, waving her hand in front of her face. Grant was soaked in sweat from the tension. He dragged the rubber raft across the dock. It flopped into the water with a loud splash.


The dinosaur continued to sleep. Grant tied the boat up to the dock, and returned to the shed to take out two life preservers. He put these in the boat, and then waved for the kids to come out onto the dock. Pale with fear, Lex waved back, No. He gestured: Yes. The tyrannosaur continued to sleep. Grant stabbed in the air with an emphatic finger. Lex came silently, and he gestured for her to get into the raft; then Tim got in, and they both put on their life vests. Grant got in and pushed off. The raft drifted silently out into the lagoon. Grant picked up his paddles and fitted them into the oarlocks. They moved farther from the dock. Lex sat back, and sighed loudly with relief. Then she looked stricken, and put her hand over her mouth. Her body shook, with muffled sounds: she was suppressing a cough. She always coughed at the wrong times! “Lex,” Tim whispered fiercely, looking back toward the shore. She shook her head miserably, and pointed to her throat. He knew what she meant: a tickle in her throat. What she needed was a drink of water. Grant was rowing, and Tim leaned over the side of the raft and scooped his hand in the lagoon, holding his cupped hand toward her. Lex coughed loudly, explosively. In Tim’s ears, the sound echoed across the water like a gunshot. The tyrannosaur yawned lazily, and scratched behind its ear with its hind foot, just like a dog. It yawned again. It was groggy after its big meal, and it woke up slowly. On the boat, Lex was making little gargling sounds. “Lex, shut up!” Tim said. “I can’t help it,” she whispered, and then she coughed again. Grant rowed hard, moving the raft powerfully into the center of the lagoon. On the shore, the tyrannosaur stumbled to its feet. “I couldn’t help it, Timmy!” Lex shrieked miserably. “I couldn’t help it!” “Shhhh!” Grant was rowing as fast as he could. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter,” she said. “We’re far enough away. He can’t swim.” “Of course he can swim, you little idiot!” Tim shouted at her. On the shore, the tyrannosaur stepped off the dock and plunged into the water. It moved strongly into the lagoon after them. “Well, how should I know?” she said. “Everybody knows tyrannosaurs can swim! It’s in all the books! Anyway, all reptiles can swim!” “Snakes can’t.” “Of course snakes can. You idiot!” “Settle down,” Grant said. “Hold on to something!” Grant was watching the tyrannosaur, noticing how the animal swam. The tyrannosaur was now chest-deep in the water, but it could hold its big head high above the surface. Then Grant realized the animal wasn’t swimming, it was walking, because moments later only the very top of the head—the eyes and nostrils—protruded above the surface.


By then it looked like a crocodile, and it swam like a crocodile, swinging its big tail back and forth, so the water churned behind it. Behind the head, Grant saw the hump of the back, and the ridges along the length of tail, as it occasionally broke the surface. Exactly like a crocodile, he thought unhappily. The biggest crocodile in the world. “I’m sorry, Dr. Grant!” Lex wailed. “I didn’t mean it!” Grant glanced over his shoulder. The lagoon was no more than a hundred yards wide here, and they had almost reached the center. If he continued, the water would become shallow again. The tyrannosaur would be able to walk again, and he would move faster in shallow water. Grant swung the boat around, and began to row north. “What are you doing?” The tyrannosaur was now just a few yards away. Grant could hear its sharp snorting breaths as it came closer. Grant looked at the paddles in his hands, but they were light plastic—not weapons at all. The tyrannosaur threw its head back and opened its jaws wide, showing rows of curved teeth, and then in a great muscular spasm lunged forward to the raft, just missing the rubber gunwale, the huge skull slapping down, the raft rocking away on the crest of the splash. The tyrannosaur sank below the surface, leaving gurgling bubbles. The lagoon was still. Lex gripped the gunwale handles and looked back. “Did he drown?” “No,” Grant said. He saw bubbles—then a faint ripple along the surface—coming toward the boat— “Hang on!” he shouted, as the head bucked up beneath the rubber, bending the boat and lifting it into the air, spinning them crazily before it splashed down again. “Do something!” Alexis screamed. “Do something!” Grant pulled the air pistol out of his belt. It looked pitifully small in his hands, but there was the chance that, if he shot the animal in a sensitive spot, in the eye or the nose— The tyrannosaur surfaced beside the boat, opened its jaws, and roared. Grant aimed, and fired. The dart flashed in the light, and smacked into the cheek. The tyrannosaur shook its head, and roared again. And suddenly they heard an answering roar, floating across the water toward them. Looking back, Grant saw the juvenile T-rex on the shore, crouched over the killed sauropod, claiming the kill as its own. The juvenile slashed at the carcass, then raised its head high and bellowed. The big tyrannosaur saw it, too, and the response was immediate—it turned back to protect its kill, swimming strongly toward the shore. “He’s going away!” Lex squealed, clapping her hands. “He’s going away! Naah-naah-na-na-naah! Stupid dinosaur!” From the shore, the juvenile roared defiantly. Enraged, the big tyrannosaur burst from the lagoon at full speed, water streaming from its enormous body as it raced up the hill past the dock. The juvenile ducked its head and fled, its jaws still filled with ragged flesh.


Jurassic Park _ A Novel -- Crichton, Michael -- Jurassic Park 1, 2012 -- Random House Publishing Group -- 9780307763051 -- 3de76fc510cf7aa828af34881aaf1176 -- Anna’s Archive.7

The big tyrannosaur chased it, racing past the dead sauropod, disappearing over the hill. They heard its final threatening bellow, and then the raft moved to the north, around a bend in the lagoon, to the river. Exhausted from rowing, Grant collapsed back, his chest heaving. He couldn’t catch his breath. He lay gasping in the raft. “Are you okay, Dr. Grant?” Lex asked. “From now on, will you just do what I tell you?” “Oh-kay,” she sighed, as if he had just made the most unreasonable demand in the world. She trailed her arm in the water for a while. “You stopped rowing,” she said. “I’m tired,” Grant said. “Then how come we’re still moving?” Grant sat up. She was right. The raft drifted steadily north. “There must be a current.” The current was carrying them north, toward the hotel. He looked at his watch and was astonished to see it was fifteen minutes past seven. Only fifteen minutes had passed since he had last looked at his watch. It seemed like two hours. Grant lay back against the rubber gunwales, closed his eyes, and slept.


Jurassic Park SEARCH Gennaro sat in the Jeep and listened to the buzzing of the flies, and stared at the distant palm trees wavering in the heat. He was astonished by what looked like a battleground: the grass was trampled flat for a hundred yards in every direction. One big palm tree was uprooted from the ground. There were great washes of blood in the grass, and on the rocky outcropping to their right. Sitting beside him, Muldoon said, “No doubt about it. Rexy’s been among the hadrosaurs.” He took another drink of whiskey, and capped the bottle. “Damn lot of flies,” he said. They waited, and watched. Gennaro drummed his fingers on the dashboard. “What are we waiting for?” Muldoon didn’t answer immediately. “The rex is out there somewhere,” he said, squinting at the landscape in the morning sun. “And we don’t have any weapons worth a damn.” “We’re in a Jeep.” “Oh, he can outrun the Jeep, Mr. Gennaro,” Muldoon said, shaking his head. “Once we leave this road and go onto open terrain, the best we can do in a four-wheel drive is thirty, forty miles an hour. He’ll run us right down. No problem for him.” Muldoon sighed. “But I don’t see much moving out there now. You ready to live dangerously?” “Sure,” Gennaro said. Muldoon started the engine, and at the sudden sound, two small othnielians leapt up from the matted grass directly ahead. Muldoon put the car in gear. He drove in a wide circle around the trampled site, and then moved inward, driving in decreasing concentric circles until he finally came to the place in the field where the little othnielians had been. Then he got out and walked forward in the grass, away from the Jeep. He stopped as a dense cloud of flies lifted into the air. “What is it?” Gennaro called. “Bring the radio,” Muldoon said. Gennaro climbed out of the Jeep and hurried forward. Even from a distance he could smell the sour-sweet odor of early decay. He saw a dark shape in the grass, crusted with blood, legs askew. “Young hadrosaur,” Muldoon said, staring down at the carcass. “The whole herd stampeded, and the young one got separated, and the T-rex brought it down.” “How do you know?” Gennaro said. The flesh was ragged from many bites. “You can tell from the excreta,” Muldoon said. “See those chalky white bits there in the grass? That’s hadro spoor. Uric acid makes it white. But you look there”—he pointed to a large mound, rising knee-high in the grass—“that’s tyrannosaur spoor.” “How do you know the tyrannosaur didn’t come later?” “The bite pattern,” Muldoon said. “See those little ones there?” He pointed along the belly. “Those are from the othys. Those bites haven’t bled. They’re postmortem, from scavengers. Othys did that.


But the hadro was brought down by a bite on the neck—you see the big slash there, above the shoulder blades—and that’s the T-rex, no question.” Gennaro bent over the carcass, staring at the awkward, trampled limbs with a sense of unreality. Beside him, Muldoon flicked on his radio. “Control.” “Yes,” John Arnold said, over the radio. “We got another hadro dead. Juvenile.” Muldoon bent down among the flies and checked the skin on the sole of the right foot. A number was tattooed there. “Specimen is number HD/09.” The radio crackled. “I’ve got something for you,” Arnold said. “Oh? What’s that?” “I found Nedry.” The Jeep burst through the line of palm trees along the east road and came out into a narrower service road, leading toward the jungle river. It was hot in this area of the park, the jungle close and fetid around them. Muldoon was fiddling with the computer monitor in the Jeep, which now showed a map of the resort with overlaid grid lines. “They found him up on remote video,” he said. “Sector 1104 is just ahead.” Farther up the road, Gennaro saw a concrete barrier, and the Jeep parked alongside it. “He must have taken the wrong turnoff,” Muldoon said. “The little bastard.” “What’d he take?” Gennaro asked. “Wu says fifteen embryos. Know what that’s worth?” Gennaro shook his head. “Somewhere between two and ten million,” Muldoon said. He shook his head. “Big stakes.” As they came closer, Gennaro saw the body lying beside the car. The body was indistinct and green—but then green shapes scattered away, as the Jeep pulled to a stop. “Compys,” Muldoon said. “The compys found him.” A dozen procompsognathids, delicate little predators no larger than ducks, stood at the edge of the jungle, chittering excitedly as the men climbed out of the car. Dennis Nedry lay on his back, the chubby boyish face now red and bloated. Flies buzzed around the gaping mouth and thick tongue. His body was mangled—the intestines torn open, one leg chewed through. Gennaro turned away quickly, to look at the little compys, which squatted on their hind legs a short distance away and watched the men curiously. The little dinosaurs had five-fingered hands, he noticed. They wiped their faces and chins, giving them an eerily human quality which— “I’ll be damned,” Muldoon said. “Wasn’t the compys.” “What?” Muldoon was shaking his head. “See these blotches? On his shirt and his face? Smell that sweet smell like old, dried vomit?” Gennaro rolled his eyes. He smelled it. “That’s dilo saliva,” Muldoon said. “Spit from the dilophosaurs. You see the damage on the corneas, all that redness. In the eyes it’s painful but not fatal. You’ve got about two hours to wash it out with the antivenin; we keep it all around the park, just in case. Not that it mattered to this bastard. They blinded him, then ripped him down the middle. Not a nice way to go.


Maybe there’s justice in the world after all.” The procompsognathids squeaked and hopped up and down as Gennaro opened the back door and took out gray metal tubing and a stainless-steel case. “It’s all still there,” he said. He handed two dark cylinders to Gennaro. “What’re these?” Gennaro said. “Just what they look like,” Muldoon said. “Rockets.” As Gennaro backed away, he said, “Watch it—you don’t want to step in something.” Gennaro stepped carefully over Nedry’s body. Muldoon carried the tubing to the other Jeep, and placed it in the back. He climbed behind the wheel. “Let’s go.” “What about him?” Gennaro said, pointing to the body. “What about him?” Muldoon said. “We’ve got things to do.” He put the car in gear. Looking back, Gennaro saw the compys resume their feeding. One jumped up and squatted on Nedry’s open mouth as it nibbled the flesh of his nose. The jungle river became narrower. The banks closed in on both sides until the trees and foliage overhanging the banks met high above to block out the sun. Tim heard the cry of birds, and saw small chirping dinosaurs leaping among the branches. But mostly it was silent, the air hot and still beneath the canopy of trees. Grant looked at his watch. It was eight o’clock. They drifted along peacefully, among dappled patches of light. If anything, they seemed to be moving faster than before. Awake now, Grant lay on his back and stared up at the branches overhead. In the bow, he saw her reaching up. “Hey, what’re you doing?” he said. “You think we can eat these berries?” She pointed to the trees. Some of the overhanging branches were close enough to touch. Tim saw clusters of bright red berries on the branches. “No,” Grant said. “Why? Those little dinosaurs are eating them.” She pointed to small dinosaurs, scampering in the branches. “No, Lex.” She sighed, dissatisfied with his authority. “I wish Daddy was here,” she said. “Daddy always knows what to do.” “What’re you talking about?” Tim said. “He never knows what to do.” “Yes, he does,” she sighed. Lex stared at the trees as they slid past, their big roots twisting toward the water’s edge. “Just because you’re not his favorite …” Tim turned away, said nothing. “But don’t worry, Daddy likes you, too. Even if you’re into computers and not sports.” “Dad’s a real sports nut,” Tim explained to Grant. Grant nodded. Up in the branches, small pale yellow dinosaurs, barely two feet tall, hopped from tree to tree. They had beaky heads, like parrots. “You know what they call those?” Tim said. “Microceratops.” “Big deal,” Lex said. “I thought you might be interested.” “Only very young boys,” she said, “are interested in dinosaurs.” “Says who?” “Daddy.” Tim started to yell, but Grant raised his hand. “Kids,” he said, “shut up.” “Why?” Lex said, “I can do what I want, if I—” Then she fell silent, because she heard it, too.


It was a bloodcurdling shriek, from somewhere downriver. “Well, where the hell is the damn rex?” Muldoon said, talking into the radio. “Because we don’t see him here.” They were back at the sauropod compound, looking out at the trampled grass where the hadrosaurs had stampeded. The tyrannosaur was nowhere to be found. “Checking now,” Arnold said, and clicked off. Muldoon turned to Gennaro. “Checking now,” he repeated sarcastically. “Why the hell didn’t he check before? Why didn’t he keep track of him?” “I don’t know,” Gennaro said. “He’s not showing up,” Arnold said, a moment later. “What do you mean, he’s not showing up?” “He’s not on the monitors. Motion sensors aren’t finding him.” “Hell,” Muldoon said. “So much for the motion sensors. You see Grant and the kids?” “Motion sensors aren’t finding them, either.” “Well, what are we supposed to do now?” Muldoon said. “Wait,” Arnold said. “Look! Look!” Directly ahead, the big dome of the aviary rose above them. Grant had seen it only from a distance; now he realized it was enormous—a quarter of a mile in diameter or more. The pattern of geodesic struts shone dully through the light mist, and his first thought was that the glass must weigh a ton. Then, as they came closer, he saw there wasn’t any glass—just struts. A thin mesh hung inside the elements. “It isn’t finished,” Lex said. “I think it’s meant to be open like that,” Grant said. “Then all the birds can fly out.” “Not if they’re big birds,” Grant said. The river carried them beneath the edge of the dome. They stared upward. Now they were inside the dome, still drifting down the river. But within minutes the dome was so high above them that it was hardly visible in the mist. Grant said, “I seem to remember there’s a second lodge here.” Moments later, he saw the roof of a building over the tops of the trees to the north. “You want to stop?” Tim said. “Maybe there’s a phone. Or motion sensors.” Grant steered toward the shore. “We need to try to contact the control room. It’s getting late.” They clambered out, slipping on the muddy bank, and Grant hauled the raft out of the water. Then he tied the rope to a tree and they set off, through a dense forest of palm trees.


Jurassic Park AVIARY “I just don’t understand,” John Arnold said, speaking into the phone. “I don’t see the rex, and I don’t see Grant and the kids anywhere, either.” He sat in front of the consoles and gulped another cup of coffee. All around him, the control room was strewn with paper plates and half-eaten sandwiches. Arnold was exhausted. It was 8:00 a.m. on Saturday. In the fourteen hours since Nedry destroyed the computer that ran Jurassic Park, Arnold had patiently pulled systems back on line, one after another. “All the park systems are back, and functioning correctly. The phones are working. I’ve called for a doctor for you.” On the other end of the line, Malcolm coughed. Arnold was talking to him in his room at the lodge. “But you’re having trouble with the motion sensors?” “Well, I’m not finding what I am looking for.” “Like the rex?” “He’s not reading at all now. He started north about twenty minutes ago, following along the edge of the lagoon, and then I lost him. I don’t know why, unless he’s gone to sleep again.” “And you can’t find Grant and the kids?” “No.” “I think it’s quite simple,” Malcolm said. “The motion sensors cover an inadequate area.” “Inadequate?” Arnold bristled. “They cover ninety-two—” “Ninety-two percent of the land area, I remember,” Malcolm said. “But if you put the remaining areas up on the board, I think you’ll find that the eight percent is topologically unified, meaning that those areas are contiguous. In essence, an animal can move freely anywhere in the park and escape detection, by following a maintenance road or the jungle river or the beaches or whatever.” “Even if that were so,” Arnold said, “the animals are too stupid to know that.” “It’s not clear how stupid the animals are,” Malcolm said. “You think that’s what Grant and the kids are doing?” Arnold said. “Definitely not,” Malcolm said, coughing again. “Grant’s no fool. He clearly wants to be detected by you. He and the kids are probably waving at every motion sensor in sight. But maybe they have other problems we don’t know about. Or maybe they’re on the river.” “I can’t imagine they’d be on the river. The banks are very narrow. It’s impossible to walk along there.” “Would the river bring them all the way back here?” “Yes, but it’s not the safest way to go, because it passes through the aviary.…” “Why wasn’t the aviary on the tour?” Malcolm said. “We’ve had problems setting it up. Originally the park was intended to have a treetop lodge built high above the ground, where visitors could observe the pterodactyls at flight level. We’ve got four dactyls in the aviary now—actually, they’re cearadactyls, which are big fish-eating dactyls.” “What about them?” “Well, while we finished the lodge, we put the dactyls in the aviary to acclimate them. But that was a big mistake. It turns out our fish-hunters are territorial.” “Territorial?” “Fiercely territorial,” Arnold said.


“They fight among themselves for territory—and they’ll attack any other animal that comes into the area they’ve marked out.” “Attack?” “It’s impressive,” Arnold said. “The dactyls glide to the top of the aviary, fold up their wings, and dive. A thirty-pound animal will strike a man on the ground like a ton of bricks. They were knocking the workmen unconscious, cutting them up pretty badly.” “That doesn’t injure the dactyls?” “Not so far.” “So, if those kids are in the aviary …” “They’re not,” Arnold said. “At least, I hope they’re not.” “Is that the lodge?” Lex said. “What a dump.” Beneath the aviary dome, Pteratops Lodge was built high above the ground, on big wooden pylons, in the middle of a stand of fir trees. But the building was unfinished and unpainted; the windows were boarded up. The trees and the lodge were splattered with broad white streaks. “I guess they didn’t finish it, for some reason,” Grant said, hiding his disappointment. He glanced at his watch. “Come on, let’s go back to the boat.” The sun came out as they walked along, making the morning more cheerful. Grant looked at the latticework shadows on the ground from the dome above. He noticed that the ground and the foliage were spattered with broad streaks of the same white chalky substance that had been on the building. And there was a distinctive, sour odor in the morning air. “Stinks here,” Lex said. “What’s all the white stuff?” “Looks like reptile droppings. Probably from the birds.” “How come they didn’t finish the lodge?” “I don’t know.” They entered a clearing of low grass, dotted with wild flowers. They heard a long, low whistle. Then an answering whistle, from across the forest. “What’s that?” “I don’t know.” Then Grant saw the dark shadow of a cloud on the grassy field ahead. The shadow was moving fast. In moments, it had swept over them. He looked up and saw an enormous dark shape gliding above them, blotting out the sun. “Yow!” Lex said. “Is it a pterodactyl?” “Yes,” Tim said. Grant didn’t answer. He was entranced by the sight of the huge flying creature. In the sky above, the pterodactyl gave a low whistle and wheeled gracefully, turning back toward them. “How come they’re not on the tour?” Tim said. Grant was wondering the same thing. The flying dinosaurs were so beautiful, so graceful as they moved through the air. As Grant watched, he saw a second pterodactyl appear in the sky, and a third, and a fourth. “Maybe because they didn’t finish the lodge,” Lex said. Grant was thinking these weren’t ordinary pterodactyls. They were too large. They must be cearadactyls, big flying reptiles from the early Cretaceous. When they were high, these looked like small airplanes. When they came lower, he could see the animals had fifteen-foot wingspans, furry bodies, and heads like crocodiles’. They ate fish, he remembered. South America and Mexico.


Lex shaded her eyes and looked up at the sky. “Can they hurt us?” “I don’t think so. They eat fish.” One of the dactyls spiraled down, a flashing dark shadow that whooshed past them with a rush of warm air and a lingering sour odor. “Wow!” Lex said. “They’re really big.” And then she said, “Are you sure they can’t hurt us?” “Pretty sure.” A second dactyl swooped down, moving faster than the first. It came from behind, streaked over their heads. Grant had a glimpse of its toothy beak and the furry body. It looked like a huge bat, he thought. But Grant was impressed with the frail appearance of the animals. Their huge wingspans—the delicate pink membranes stretched across them—so thin they were translucent—everything reinforced the delicacy of the dactyls. “Ow!” Lex shouted, grabbing her hair. “He bit me!” “He what?” Grant said. “He bit me! He bit me!” When she took her hand away, he saw blood on her fingers. Up in the sky, two more dactyls folded their wings, collapsing into small dark shapes that plummeted toward the ground. They made a kind of scream as they hurtled downward. “Come on!” Grant said, grabbing their hands. They ran across the meadow, hearing the approaching scream, and he flung himself on the ground at the last moment, pulling the kids down with him, as the two dactyls whistled and squeaked past them, flapping their wings. Grant felt claws tear the shirt along his back. Then he was up, pulling Lex back onto her feet, and running with Tim a few feet forward while overhead two more birds wheeled and dove toward them, screaming. At the last moment, he pushed the kids to the ground, and the big shadows flapped past. “Uck,” Lex said, disgusted. He saw that she was streaked with white droppings from the birds. Grant scrambled to his feet. “Come on!” He was about to run when Lex shrieked in terror. He turned back and saw that one of the dactyls had grabbed her by the shoulders with its hind claws. The animal’s huge leathery wings, translucent in the sunlight, flapped broadly on both sides of her. The dactyl was trying to take off, but Lex was too heavy, and while it struggled it repeatedly jabbed at her head with its long pointed jaw. Lex was screaming, waving her arms wildly. Grant did the only thing he could think to do. He ran forward and jumped up, throwing himself against the body of the dactyl. He knocked it onto its back on the ground, and fell on top of the furry body. The animal screamed and snapped; Grant ducked his head away from the jaws and pushed back, as the giant wings beat around his body. It was like being in a tent in a windstorm. He couldn’t see; he couldn’t hear; there was nothing but the flapping and shrieking and the leathery membranes. The clawed legs scratched frantically at his chest.


Lex was screaming. Grant pushed away from the dactyl and it squeaked and gibbered as it flapped its wings and struggled to turn over, to right itself. Finally it pulled in its wings like a bat and rolled over, lifted itself up on its little wing claws, and began to walk that way. He paused, astonished. It could walk on its wings! Lederer’s speculation was right! But then the other dactyls were diving down at them and Grant was dizzy, off balance, and in horror he saw Lex run away, her arms over her head … Tim shouting at the top of his lungs.… The first of them swooped down and she threw something and suddenly the dactyl whistled and climbed. The other dactyls immediately climbed and chased the first into the sky. The fourth dactyl flapped awkwardly into the air to join the others. Grant looked upward, squinting to see what had happened. The three dactyls chased the first, screaming angrily. They were alone in the field. “What happened?” Grant said. “They got my glove,” Lex said. “My Darryl Strawberry special.” They started walking again. Tim put his arm around her shoulders. “Are you all right?” “Of course, stupid,” she said, shaking him off. She looked upward. “I hope they choke and die,” she said. “Yeah,” Tim said. “Me, too.” Up ahead, they saw the boat on the shore. Grant looked at his watch. It was eight-thirty. He now had two and a half hours to get back. Lex cheered as they drifted beyond the silver aviary dome. Then the banks of the river closed in on both sides, the trees meeting overhead once more. The river was narrower than ever, in some places only ten feet wide, and the current flowed very fast. Lex reached up to touch the branches as they went past. Grant sat back in the raft and listened to the gurgle of the water through the warm rubber. They were moving faster now, the branches overhead slipping by more rapidly. It was pleasant. It gave a little breeze in the hot confines of the overhanging branches. And it meant they would get back that much sooner. Grant couldn’t guess how far they had come, but it must be several miles at least from the sauropod building where they had spent the night. Perhaps four or five miles. Maybe even more. That meant they might be only an hour’s walk from the hotel, once they left the raft. But after the aviary, Grant was in no hurry to leave the river again. For the moment, they were making good time. “I wonder how Ralph is,” Lex said. “He’s probably dead or something.” “I’m sure he’s fine.” “I wonder if he’d let me ride him.” She sighed, sleepy in the sun. “That would be fun, to ride Ralph.” Tim said to Grant, “Remember back at the stegosaurus? Last night?” “Yes.” “How come you asked them about frog DNA?” “Because of the breeding,” Grant said.


“They can’t explain why the dinosaurs are breeding, since they irradiate them, and since they’re all females.” “Right.” “Well, irradiation is notoriously unreliable and probably doesn’t work. I think that’ll eventually be shown here. But there is still the problem of the dinosaurs’ being female. How can they breed when they’re all female?” “Right,” Tim said. “Well, across the animal kingdom, sexual reproduction exists in extraordinary variety.” “Tim’s very interested in sex,” Lex said. They both ignored her. “For example,” Grant said, “many animals have sexual reproduction without ever having what we would call sex. The male releases a spermatophore, which contains the sperm, and the female picks it up at a later time. This kind of exchange does not require quite as much physical differentiation between male and female as we usually think exists. Male and female are more alike in some animals than they are in human beings.” Tim nodded. “But what about the frogs?” Grant heard sudden shrieks from the trees above, as the microceratopsians scattered in alarm, shaking the branches. The big head of the tyrannosaur lunged through the foliage from the left, the jaws snapping at the raft. Lex howled in terror, and Grant paddled away toward the opposite bank, but the river here was only ten feet wide. The tyrannosaur was caught in the heavy growth; it butted and twisted its head, and roared. Then it pulled its head back. Through the trees that lined the riverbank, they saw the huge dark form of the tyrannosaur, moving north, looking for a gap in the trees that lined the bank. The microceratopsians had all gone to the opposite bank, where they shrieked and scampered and jumped up and down. In the raft, Grant, Tim, and Lex stared helplessly as the tyrannosaur tried to break through again. But the trees were too dense along the banks of the river. The tyrannosaur again moved downstream, ahead of the boat, and tried again, shaking the branches furiously. But again it failed. Then it moved off, heading farther downstream. “I hate him,” Lex said. Grant sat back in the boat, badly shaken. If the tyrannosaur had broken through, there was nothing he could have done to save them. The river was so narrow that it was hardly wider than the raft. It was like being in a tunnel. The rubber gunwales often scraped on the mud as the boat was pulled along by the swift current. He glanced at his watch. Almost nine. The raft continued down-stream. “Hey,” Lex said, “listen!” He heard snarling, interspersed by a repeated hooting cry. The cries were coming from beyond a curve, farther downriver. He listened, and heard the hooting again. “What is it?” Lex said. “I don’t know,” Grant said. “But there’s more than one of them.” He paddled the boat to the opposite bank, grabbed a branch to stop the raft. The snarling was repeated. Then more hooting. “It sounds like a bunch of owls,” Tim said. Malcolm groaned.


“Isn’t it time for more morphine yet?” “Not yet,” Ellie said. Malcolm sighed. “How much water have we got here?” “I don’t know. There’s plenty of running water from the tap—” “No, I mean, how much stored? Any?” Ellie shrugged. “None.” “Go into the rooms on this floor,” Malcolm said, “and fill the bathtubs with water.” Ellie frowned. “Also,” Malcolm said, “have we got any walkie-talkies? Flashlights? Matches? Sterno stoves? Things like that?” “I’ll look around. You planning for an earthquake?” “Something like that,” Malcolm said. “Malcolm Effect implies catastrophic changes.” “But Arnold says all the systems are working perfectly.” “That’s when it happens,” Malcolm said. Ellie said, “You don’t think much of Arnold, do you?” “He’s all right. He’s an engineer. Wu’s the same. They’re both technicians. They don’t have intelligence. They have what I call ‘thintelligence.’ They see the immediate situation. They think narrowly and they call it ‘being focused.’ They don’t see the surround. They don’t see the consequences. That’s how you get an island like this. From thintelligent thinking. Because you cannot make an animal and not expect it to act alive. To be unpredictable. To escape. But they don’t see that.” “Don’t you think it’s just human nature?” Ellie said. “God, no,” Malcolm said. “That’s like saying scrambled eggs and bacon for breakfast is human nature. It’s nothing of the sort. It’s uniquely Western training, and much of the rest of the world is nauseated by the thought of it.” He winced in pain. “The morphine’s making me philosophical.” “You want some water?” “No. I’ll tell you the problem with engineers and scientists. Scientists have an elaborate line of bullshit about how they are seeking to know the truth about nature. Which is true, but that’s not what drives them. Nobody is driven by abstractions like ‘seeking truth.’ “Scientists are actually preoccupied with accomplishment. So they are focused on whether they can do something. They never stop to ask if they should do something. They conveniently define such considerations as pointless. If they don’t do it, someone else will. Discovery, they believe, is inevitable. So they just try to do it first. That’s the game in science. Even pure scientific discovery is an aggressive, penetrative act. It takes big equipment, and it literally changes the world afterward. Particle accelerators scar the land, and leave radioactive byproducts. Astronauts leave trash on the moon. There is always some proof that scientists were there, making their discoveries. Discovery is always a rape of the natural world. Always. “The scientists want it that way. They have to stick their instruments in. They have to leave their mark. They can’t just watch. They can’t just appreciate. They can’t just fit into the natural order. They have to make something unnatural happen. That is the scientist’s job, and now we have whole societies that try to be scientific.” He sighed, and sank back.


Ellie said, “Don’t you think you’re overstating—” “What does one of your excavations look like a year later?” “Pretty bad,” she admitted. “You don’t replant, you don’t restore the land after you dig?” “No.” “Why not?” She shrugged. “There’s no money, I guess.…” “There’s only enough money to dig, but not to repair?” “Well, we’re just working in the badlands.…” “Just the badlands,” Malcolm said, shaking his head. “Just trash. Just byproducts. Just side effects… I’m trying to tell you that scientists want it this way. They want byproducts and trash and scars and side effects. It’s a way of reassuring themselves. It’s built into the fabric of science, and it’s increasingly a disaster.” “Then what’s the answer?” “Get rid of the thintelligent ones. Take them out of power.” “But then we’d lose all the advances—” “What advances?” Malcolm said irritably. “The number of hours women devote to housework has not changed since 1930, despite all the advances. All the vacuum cleaners, washer-dryers, trash compactors, garbage disposals, wash-and-wear fabrics … Why does it still take as long to clean the house as it did in 1930?” Ellie said nothing. “Because there haven’t been any advances,” Malcolm said. “Not really. Thirty thousand years ago; when men were doing cave paintings at Lascaux, they worked twenty hours a week to provide themselves with food and shelter and clothing. The rest of the time, they could play, or sleep, or do whatever they wanted. And they lived in a natural world, with clean air, clean water, beautiful trees and sunsets. Think about it. Twenty hours a week. Thirty thousand years ago.” Ellie said, “You want to turn back the clock?” “No,” Malcolm said. “I want people to wake up. We’ve had four hundred years of modern science, and we ought to know by now what it’s good for, and what it’s not good for. It’s time for a change.” “Before we destroy the planet?” she said. He sighed, and closed his eyes. “Oh dear,” he said. “That’s the last thing I would worry about.” In the dark tunnel of the jungle river, Grant went hand over hand, holding branches, moving the raft cautiously forward. He still heard the sounds. And finally he saw the dinosaurs. “Aren’t those the ones that are poison?” “Yes,” Grant said. “Dilophosaurus.” Standing on the riverbank were two dilophosaurs. The ten-foot-tall bodies were spotted yellow and black. Underneath, the bellies were bright green, like lizards. Twin red curving crests ran along the top of the head from the eyes to the nose, making a V shape above the head. The bird-like quality was reinforced by the way they moved, bending to drink from the river, then rising to snarl and hoot. Lex whispered, “Should we get out and walk?” Grant shook his head no. The dilophosaurs were smaller than the tyrannosaur, small enough to slip through the dense foliage at the banks of the river. And they seemed quick, as they snarled and hooted at each other.