Jurassic Park: A Novel (14 page)

“Oh balls,” Hammond growled, from the back.

“And second, the graph from the Public Health Service is almost certainly unrelated to any animals that have escaped.”

Grant said, “How do you know that?”

“You’ll notice that the graph alternates between high and low
spikes,” Malcolm said. “That is characteristic of many complex systems. For example, water dripping from a tap. If you turn on the faucet just a little, you’ll get a constant drip, drip, drip. But if you open it a little more, so that there’s a bit of turbulence in the flow, then you’ll get alternating large and small drops. Drip drip … Drip drip … Like that. You can try it yourself. Turbulence produces alternation—it’s a signature. And you will get an alternating graph like this for the spread of any new illness in a community.”

“But why do you say it isn’t caused by escaped dinosaurs?” Grant said.

“Because it is a nonlinear signature,” Malcolm said. “You’d need hundreds of escaped dinosaurs to cause it. And I don’t think hundreds of dinosaurs have escaped. So I conclude that some other phenomenon, such as a new variety of flu, is causing the fluctuations you see in the graph.”

Gennaro said, “But you think that dinosaurs have escaped?”

“Probably, yes.”

“Why?”

“Because of what you are attempting here. Look, this island is an attempt to re-create a natural environment from the past. To make an isolated world where extinct creatures roam freely. Correct?”

“Yes.”

“But from my point of view, such an undertaking is impossible. The mathematics are so self-evident that they don’t need to be calculated. It’s rather like my asking you whether, on a billion dollars in income, you had to pay tax. You wouldn’t need to pull out your calculator to check. You’d know tax was owed. And, similarly, I know overwhelmingly that one cannot successfully duplicate nature in this way, or hope to isolate it.”

“Why not? After all, there are zoos.…”

“Zoos don’t re-create nature,” Malcolm said. “Let’s be clear. Zoos take the nature that already exists and modify it
very
slightly, to create holding pens for animals. Even those minimal modifications often fail. The animals escape with regularity. But a zoo is not a model for this park. This park is attempting something far more ambitious than that. Something much more akin to making a space station on earth.”

Gennaro shook his head. “I don’t understand.”

“Well, it’s very simple. Except for the air, which flows freely, everything about this park is meant to be isolated. Nothing gets in,
nothing out. The animals kept here are never to mix with the greater ecosystems of earth. They are never to escape.”

“And they never have,” Hammond snorted.

“Such isolation is impossible,” Malcolm said flatly. “It simply cannot be done.”

“It can. It’s done all the time.”

“I beg your pardon,” Malcolm said. “But you don’t know what you are talking about.”

“You arrogant little snot,” Hammond said. He stood, and walked out of the room.

“Gentlemen, gentlemen,” Gennaro said.

“I’m sorry,” Malcolm said, “but the point remains. What we call ‘nature’ is in fact a complex system of far greater subtlety than we are willing to accept. We make a simplified image of nature and then we botch it up. I’m no environmentalist, but you have to understand what you don’t understand. How many times must the point be made? How many times must we see the evidence? We build the Aswan Dam and claim it is going to revitalize the country. Instead, it destroys the fertile Nile Delta, produces parasitic infestation, and wrecks the Egyptian economy. We build the—”

“Excuse me,” Gennaro said. “But I think I hear the helicopter. That’s probably the sample for Dr. Grant to look at.” He started out of the room. They all followed.

At the foot of the mountain, Gennaro was screaming over the sound of the helicopter. The veins of his neck stood out. “You did
what
? You invited
who
?”

“Take it easy,” Hammond said.

Gennaro screamed, “Are you out of your goddamned
mind
?”

“Now, look here,” Hammond said, drawing himself up. “I think we have to get something clear—”

“No,” Gennaro said. “No,
you
get something clear. This is not a social outing. This is not a weekend excursion—”

“This is my island,” Hammond said, “and I can invite whomever I want.”

“This is a serious investigation of your island because your investors are concerned that it’s out of control. We think this is a very dangerous place, and—”

“You’re not going to shut me down, Donald—”

“I will if I have to—”

“This is a safe place,” Hammond said, “no matter what that damn mathematician is saying—”

“It’s not—”

“And I’ll demonstrate its safety—”

“And I want you to put them right back on that helicopter,” Gennaro said.

“Can’t,” Hammond said, pointing toward the clouds. “It’s already leaving.” And, indeed, the sound of the rotors was fading.

“God damn it,” Gennaro said, “don’t you see you’re needlessly risking—”

“Ah ah,” Hammond said. “Let’s continue this later. I don’t want to upset the children.”

Grant turned, and saw two children coming down the hillside, led by Ed Regis. There was a bespectacled boy of about eleven, and a girl a few years younger, perhaps seven or eight, her blond hair pushed up under a Mets baseball cap, and a baseball glove slung over her shoulder. The two kids made their way nimbly down the path from the helipad, and stopped some distance from Gennaro and Hammond.

Low, under his breath, Gennaro said, “
Christ.
”

“Now, take it easy,” Hammond said. “Their parents are getting a divorce, and I want them to have a fun weekend here.”

The girl waved tentatively.

“Hi, Grandpa,” she said. “We’re here.”

Tim Murphy could see at once that something was wrong. His grandfather was in the middle of an argument with the younger, red-faced man opposite him. And the other adults, standing behind, looked embarrassed and uncomfortable. Alexis felt the tension, too, because she hung back, tossing her baseball in the air. He had to push her: “Go on, Lex.”

“Go on yourself, Timmy.”

“Don’t be a worm,” he said.

Lex glared at him, but Ed Regis said cheerfully, “I’ll introduce you to everybody, and then we can take the tour.”

“I have to go,” Lex said.

“I’ll just introduce you first,” Ed Regis said.

“No, I have to go.”

But Ed Regis was already making introductions. First to Grandpa, who kissed them both, and then to the man he was arguing with. This man was muscular and his name was Gennaro. The rest of the introductions were a blur to Tim. There was a blond woman wearing shorts, and a man with a beard who wore jeans and a Hawaiian shirt. He looked like the outdoors type. Then a fat college kid who had something to do with computers, and finally a thin man in black, who didn’t shake hands, but just nodded his head. Tim was trying to organize his impressions, and was looking at the blond woman’s legs, when he suddenly realized that he knew who the bearded man was.

“Your mouth is open,” Lex said.

Tim said, “I know him.”

“Oh
sure.
You just met him.”

“No,” Tim said. “I have his book.”

The bearded man said, “What book is that, Tim?”

“Lost World of the Dinosaurs,”
Tim said.

Alexis snickered. “Daddy says Tim has dinosaurs on the brain,” she said.

Tim hardly heard her. He was thinking of what he knew about Alan Grant. Alan Grant was one of the principal advocates of the theory that dinosaurs were warm-blooded. He had done lots of digging at the place called Egg Hill in Montana, which was famous because so many dinosaur eggs had been found there. Professor Grant had found most of the dinosaur eggs that had ever been discovered. He was also a good illustrator, and he drew the pictures for his own books.

“Dinosaurs on the brain?” the bearded man said. “Well, as a matter of fact, I have that same problem.”

“Dad says dinosaurs are really stupid,” Lex said. “He says Tim should get out in the air and play more sports.”

Tim felt embarrassed. “I thought you had to go,” he said.

“In a minute,” Lex said.

“I thought you were in such a rush.”

“I’m the one who would know, don’t you think, Timothy?” she said, putting her hands on her hips, copying her mother’s most irritating stance.

“Tell you what,” Ed Regis said. “Why don’t we all just head on over to the visitor center, and we can begin our tour.” Everybody started walking. Tim heard Gennaro whisper to his grandfather, “I could kill you for this,” and then Tim looked up and saw that Dr. Grant had fallen into step beside him.

“How old are you, Tim?”

“Eleven.”

“And how long have you been interested in dinosaurs?” Grant asked.

Tim swallowed. “A while now,” he said. He felt nervous to be talking to Dr. Grant. “We go to museums sometimes, when I can talk my family into it. My father.”

“Your father’s not especially interested?”

Tim nodded, and told Grant about his family’s last trip to the Museum of Natural History. His father had looked at a skeleton and said, “That’s a big one.”

Tim had said, “No, Dad, that’s a medium-size one, a camptosaurus.”

“Oh, I don’t know. Looks pretty big to me.”

“It’s not even full-grown, Dad.”

His father squinted at the skeleton. “What is it, Jurassic?”

“Jeez. No. Cretaceous.”

“Cretaceous? What’s the difference between Cretaceous and Jurassic?”

“Only about a hundred million years,” Tim said.

“Cretaceous is older?”

“No, Dad, Jurassic is older.”

“Well,” his father said, stepping back, “it looks pretty damn big to me.” And he turned to Tim for agreement. Tim knew he had better agree with his father, so he just muttered something. And they went on to another exhibit.

Tim stood in front of one skeleton—a
Tyrannosaurus rex
, the mightiest predator the earth had ever known—for a long time. Finally his father said, “What are you looking at?”

“I’m counting the vertebrae,” Tim said.

“The vertebrae?”

“In the backbone.”

“I know what vertebrae are,” his father said, annoyed. He stood there a while longer and then he said, “Why are you counting them?”

“I think they’re wrong. Tyrannosaurs should only have thirty-seven vertebrae in the tail. This has more.”

“You mean to tell me,” his father said, “that the Museum of Natural History has a skeleton that’s wrong? I can’t believe that.”

“It’s wrong,” Tim said.

His father stomped off toward a guard in the corner. “What did you do now?” his mother said to Tim.

“I didn’t do anything,” Tim said. “I just said the dinosaur is wrong, that’s all.”

And then his father came back with a funny look on his face, because of course the guard told him that the tyrannosaurus had too many vertebrae in the tail.

“How’d you know that?” his father asked.

“I read it,” Tim said.

“That’s pretty amazing, son,” he said, and he put his hand on his shoulder, giving it a squeeze. “You know how many vertebrae belong in that tail. I’ve never seen anything like it. You really do have dinosaurs on the brain.”

And then his father said he wanted to catch the last half of the Mets game on TV, and Lex said she did, too, so they left the museum. And Tim didn’t see any other dinosaurs, which was why they had come there in the first place. But that was how things happened in his family.

How things
used
to happen in his family. Tim corrected himself. Now that his father was getting a divorce from his mother, things would probably be different. His father had already moved out, and even though it was weird at first, Tim liked it. He thought his mother had a boyfriend, but he couldn’t be sure, and of course he would never mention it to Lex. Lex was heartbroken to be separated from her father, and in the last few weeks she had become so obnoxious that—

“Was it 5027?” Grant said.

“I’m sorry?” Tim said.

“The tyrannosaurus at the museum. Was it 5027?”

“Yes,” Tim said. “How’d you know?”

Grant smiled. “They’ve been talking about fixing it for years. But now it may never happen.”

“Why is that?”

“Because of what is taking place here,” Grant said, “on your grandfather’s island.”

Tim shook his head. He didn’t understand what Grant was talking about. “My mom said it was just a resort, you know, with swimming and tennis.”

“Not exactly,” Grant said. “I’ll explain as we walk along.”

Now I’m a damned baby-sitter,
Ed Regis thought unhappily, tapping his foot as he waited in the visitor center. That was what the old man had told him: You watch my kids like a hawk, they’re your responsibility for the weekend.

Ed Regis didn’t like it at all. He felt degraded. He wasn’t a damn baby-sitter. And, for that matter, he wasn’t a damned tour guide, even for VIPs. He was the head of public relations for Jurassic Park, and he had much to prepare between now and the opening, a year away. Just to coordinate with the PR firms in San Francisco and London, and the agencies in New York and Tokyo, was a full-time job—especially since the agencies couldn’t yet be told what the resort’s real attraction was. The firms were all designing teaser campaigns, nothing specific, and they were unhappy. Creative people needed nurturing. They needed encouragement to do their best work. He couldn’t waste his time taking scientists on tours.

But that was the trouble with a career in public relations—nobody saw you as a professional. Regis had been down here on the island off and on for the past seven months, and they were still pushing odd jobs on him. Like that episode back in January. Harding should have handled that. Harding, or Owens, the general contractor. Instead, it had fallen to Ed Regis. What did he know about taking care of some sick workman? And now he was a damn tour guide and baby-sitter. He turned back and counted the heads. Still one short.

Then, in the back, he saw Dr. Sattler emerge from the bathroom.

“All right, folks, let’s begin our tour on the second floor.”