Logic consists of lines of code; these lines of code follow distinct patterns to anticipate certain behavior and phenomenon. These patterns do not allow for unexpected variables, to function the variables must remain constant.

Ian Malcolm

1867

For the first years of her changed profession the Vision had been put to sea with the intent of running the Federal blockade. She was a small side- wheel steamer, built to hug the coastline. Her paddle-wheels were fastened on both sides empowered by her boiler room below. A crew of forty manned her stations and despite her inadequacy for the open ocean, never had she faltered in her service to her commander. She was a swift vessel, nearly eighty meters in length, and nearly 200 in tonnage.

For nearly four years she stuck to the darkest shadows. Her rooms that once carried five-hundred passengers were converted into a makeshift cargo hold. Her smoking room, where in another life the air was filled with debates over politicians such as Stephen Douglass and the trials of the fairly recent war with Mexico, was converted to house powder and shot. Gone were the echoes of ribald jokes and stories of the great west.

In the fall of sixty-three she fought in the engagement of Arkansas Post. That battle nearly sank her; she had taken a hit from a sixteen pounder that significantly damaged the Texas, as the pilot house was called during her days as a passenger ship, injuring Stevens, their pilot to the point where he succumbed the next evening. Another had killed three men in a Stateroom converted to accommodate several cannon.

That time, a third of the Confederate fleet had thrown up their hands in surrender. She was among the few ships to escape, being towed by the Shenandoah. And thus she put in for fuel and repairs in Arkansas. Her commander, Artemus Glendale, discovered amongst the coal shipment a large chunk of Amber. He knew this to be tree resin that had hardened. After polishing it, he determined that there were, in fact, two mosquitoes , in the years before the war, he had a professor of Cambridge as a guest. He had taken a passing interest in the great beasts of the past, the Iguanodon with its spiked thumb, and the fearsome Allosaur with its terrible fangs. He thought perhaps the Professor would appreciate the gift he would bestow upon him, but that would not be. The Professor had been killed shortly after in the food riots.

The South was lost at that moment he had thought. Or, it was lost at the very placed the stone on display in the officer's mess, once a Salon, as a symbol of their tenacity. The battle of Charleston was the last for the Vision and she was fortunate to escape. The war was lost not long after. The Vision steamed south. Her crew was fearful of arrest by the Federal Army. It was a long journey from the sunny south to the mysterious jungle of Central America. There was a warship sent to find them and it was Glendale's intention not to be found. So the year of 1867 found him walking the streets of a fishing village in search of more work.

He missed his home; he missed his lovely wife Anna and his son and daughter. He had managed to write to them of his intention to sail to the land to the south until time passed and they were forgotten. He had no idea if they had received his letter; he was in no position to receive a response. It had been a long time; perhaps she had given him up for dead and had married another. Maybe she had died of the Cholera. He might never know. In a month's time he had gathered supplies for the journey. He should have enough fuel to bring his weary crew home. Two years of outfoxing the union captain had taken a toll on had made Voyages to Cuba and Jamaica these last two years, always through the sea of Cortez. Each time nearing the place of his birth and hearing no good as regards former confederates. Each time he returned from where he came.

In the states carpetbaggers were arresting suspected rebels. Lincoln had been shot in the Ford Theater, and with him died his promises. It had been a long time since he had heard English. The last being an Australian on a German ship, the Australian had told him of another way through to the , he had learned things had changed in America and he was willing to attempt a return. He would take his cargo by the Isle of Los Cinco De Muerte. The Five deaths, five fog shrouded islands. He had been told to keep to the left. The left was clear of the great reefs. From his journey to the east he could have a direct run to Cuba and then to Galveston. It would shave off some time from their long journey.

He had heard that the Natives avoided the Isle at all costs. He had heard that it was a hell pit that had sent ships to their grave on the murky that time, he had talked to some of the townspeople about the area. One of the early kings had vanquished a forgotten people. He had given their leader his choice of deaths. Death by burning on Matanceros. Death by drowning on Muerte. Death by crushing on Tac`ano. Death by hanging on Sorna. Death by decapitation on Pena. The warrior had chosen them all. It was a great story.

He had heard many such stories. Stories about ghost ships and sirens, any who dared sail the watery deep was well to beware, but it was not in him to believe in the supernatural. He did believe that he should keep to the left and skirt the was impatient to get home. He could see the villagers with their great carts full of goods going on their wayward way. He could see some jungle birds picking around in the undergrowth. They were looking for bugs. The gangplank to the steamer bustled with activity; soon it would be time to stoke the fires and head out into that bay ahead. The stormy part of the year was past. He had his Bo`sun check the men. The great gangplank be taken up. He set his instruments to read the pressure from below. Slowly the great wheels turned and The Vision set sail.

1985

Isla Sorna: An Island in the five deaths chain

Henry Wu considered what lay on the desk, the object was rough. It had aspects of a circle,yet part of it was flat as if it had been smoothed over with some kind of tool. It had been found in the river. It was improbable that a chunk of Amber would just happen to be on an island where it was needed for something besides jewelry,but there it was. Even more improbable it had two mosquitoes inside. Wu began the work of extracting the Velociraptor blood.

1997

Chayton sat in the jungle. He ignored the flies buzzing around him, even allowing them to light on his body; they were attracted by the blood smell. The air was still, a haunting melody of distant creatures reached his ears. Not far through the undergrowth was a small brook. He could hear that too. He felt his beard, it wasn't particularly long just covered his cheeks and chin. He had seen his reflection in a puddle and had felt a chill when he had seen his own haunting gray eyes. He wondered why the sight of them should disturb him so much. They were,after all, his own. But the feeling stayed with him;what had those eyes seen? He had no idea.

He watched the way he had come with calm detachment, the heat had driven all but one thought from his mind; she was coming. He could see the carcass nearby, the flesh should still be warm— he had killed it not long ago. He had carried the still bleeding carcass to where it lay just a few moments past. He wore part of the creature's scaly skin around his feet.

He was aware of everything. The slightest rustle of the foliage caught his eye. Every distant bird was heard note for note. Some people, he supposed would be quivering in fear. He felt calm; the havoc of the last three days began to evaporate. He felt more comfortable that he had been in the cave last night. He had chosen his own fate and left most of his belongings behind, which mainly consisted of a rifle and some cartridges he had taken off a dead Latino. Along with a pair of boots that were too small for him to wear comfortably. He could only wonder what had happened to his waited…she should come soon. Somehow he could sense she was female. He had seen her on the first morning he could remember, about five feet tall with black markings over white scales, and she stood an impressive sixteen feet long from the tip of her snout to the end of her tail. He felt she was the most elegant creature he had ever seen with eyes like gold. He had seen her with others of her kind. Some were like her but others had a bluish cast and seemed to have feathers on their skulls.

These he guessed were the males of the pack. They had red eyes set deep beneath brow ridges. He had hidden behind some brush while he watched them. Those shiny eyes had mesmerized him.A figure appeared before his eyes suddenly giving him a start. The figure was one he had seen before a skinny African American man. "You're supposed to be dead". That felt right. He had seen the man dead hadn't he? His memory was hazy on the subject.
The man was looking at him "I am only a fig of your imagination". Chayton had to smile at that "I wish my imagination had come up with somebody more interesting than you. You look like you ain't had nothing to eat in two months or so." then he let out a deep laugh that he had to quiet down. The man ignored the comment about his physique and continued to stare Chayton in the eye. "Think about what you're doing" Chayton was not about to let anyone real or otherwise run his life "I've had nearly three days to think about this. I think that's enough".

He considered for a moment. He had his wallet with him containing his driver's license. It was the only indicator of who he was. The side of his head was bruised, there had been dried blood on the side of his face when he woke up, and perhaps that could explain his loss of memory. He looked down at his feet then jumped, startled for a moment at the sight of them before he remembered that he had covered them with scaly hide that was still quite bloody. They felt disgusting on his bare skin; he spoke to the figure as he looked up. "Do you know who I am"? The figure was gone. He supposed it didn't matter, whoever he had been he had finished himself pretty good.

He absentmindedly gouged the dirt with his toe. His face had a blank stare while he spent time once more muddling over the problem of who he was. This was, he supposed, the last chance he would have to do it. He could remember nothing but finding two bodies yesterday, he had taken the rifle off one of them. It had done the man no good. Chayton decided that it had been knocked out of his hand by whatever had attacked and killed them. Another was the fellow he talked to earlier. He saw that his name was Chayton A. Glendale; the date on the card and the peppered specks of grey in his hair made him shudder at what his age might be. He decided he'd rather refuse to acknowledge air was growing hotter by the minute and it seemed the carcass had grown more pungent. The smell filled the little clearing, surrounding him until he couldn't remember not smelling it. He glanced around without turning his head; he wanted to see her before she killed him. The sun was still slowly making its journey westward and even the flies seemed to feel the heat as there seemed to be fewer of them until it wasn't long before they were gone.

Several more minutes passed. His hand had sunk a few inches into the ground. He remembered the storm from last night, remembered the bright lightning and the roll of thunder. Water had entered and flooded the floor. Fortunately the cave was on high ground. It was then exhilarated by the storm he had made his heat seemed to weigh heavily on his body, much more than before. He continued to watch the blood trail he had created. At least he looked in that direction. There was a sound that reminded him of a horse breathing he idly worried it in his mind as the heat waves shimmered and danced. It would be went on. Slowly. Only, he knew it was only a few short seconds.

The breathing was louder. This time he was sure it was breathing. He thought suddenly that she was somewhere near, ready to pounce. He mentally swore at the idea, he wanted to see along the way he had come was a new shadow. Something was in the underbrush he had not seen before. Then there was a flash of white he would not have hoped to see had he not been looking in the right place. She was there... but the breathing had been a lot closer. Too close to be her. He could see the outline of her head and what was probably her back now. She crept closer. A predator on the breathing bothered him. Not because he was afraid of whatever it was, he had engineered his own death, so that was no reason to panic, but he wished to die by her claws not something else. She was closer yet. She pounced... and all hell broke loose.