The sun beat down on Jayson Cooke's massive forehead. He squinted, covering his eyes with his hands. Still didn't work.

He sighed and looked at his watch. Then at Lauren.

Lauren was to his right, currently walking over to throw away a plastic bottle.

She dropped it, exclaimed, and bent down to pick it up.

Jayson could see up her skirt - beige panties against her dark skin - but he quickly averted his gaze. This was a strictly professional relationship, and he already had a wife at home.

And it wouldn't be smart to eye a woman like that in public.

Lauren came back. "You know when the limo is getting here? I'm starting to sweat."

"Tell me about it," Jayson said. He tugged at his collar.

"Jesus. Can't imagine how hot it must be in there."

"I know. Fat fuck like me in this fuckin' suit. Always ends up no good."

He looked at the sun. "Fuckin' San Diego weather. Gives you skin cancer."

Behind him, he heard the distinct stopping of a large car.

Jayson and Lauren turned to see a black limo in the middle of the street. Two people exited the car; a blonde woman and a blonde man. Both of them were wearing formal attire and sunglasses.

The first one to greet Jayson was the blonde woman.

"You all look like a Navy Seal crack team," he said, grinning.

"Mr. Cooke," Ross said.

"Please, call me Jayson."

Ross went to greet Lauren.

"Ms. Bennett. I'm excited to be on board."

"We're happy to have you," Lauren said."

Tom Logan approached Jayson.

"Hey, Mr. Cooke. How are you?"

"Good. I'm glad to have everyone here," Jayson said.

Jayson walked to Lauren and tapped her on the shoulder. "It's time for us to board."

Ross and Logan followed Jayson to the end of the pier.

Jayson's room was elegantly furnished. Paintings, flower vases, a large bathroom and closet space. Beautiful, he thought.

He walked over to the porter as he began his mandatory farewell speech.

"My name is Jesus. If you need anything, please use the phone on your desk and dial 1."

Jayson walked over to him and handed him a 10 dollar bill. "Thanks."

"You're welcome," the porter said, and left.

Now it was just Jayson and Lauren in the room.

Jayson looked out the window; workers were hastily loading boxes and cargo onto the boat. They looked like ants from the room's height.

"You ever think these poor bastards get rooms like ours?"

"Jayson, that's really not important right now. We need to assess the situation here," Lauren exclaimed.

"What's there to assess? Nothing. Let's just enjoy the boat ride there. We're not even gonna be on the ground like the rest of them."

"It's not that simple. Rossiter didn't organize this operation efficiently."

"Rossiter is a prick and a douchebag," Jayson said. "What did you expect?"

He sat down on the bed; she looked at him impatiently. "Aren't you gonna tell me something?"

"Yeah. A lot of things, actually. You should shower and get dressed. We have dinner with them at 7."

Jayson groaned loudly and fell onto the bed. "Oh, goddammit. A week at sea with the most boring people imaginable. Making stupid small talk and then they ask you where's your accent from, like they give a shit. I don't even wanna be on this metal can. It's boring. I'd rather just be at the island."

Lauren smirked and crossed her arms. "To be fair, the New York accent is pretty distinctive."

"It's a lost art. Speaking like this." Jayson looked up. "You ever wonder how they got the T. rex back overnight? Why can't our boat be like this?"

"I'm going to change." Lauren left the room. Jayson groaned again and stood up, walking over to the desk where she had left the portfolio.

Jayson picked it up.

ISLA MATANCEROS EXPEDITION

2004

AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY

Jayson opened it, flipping through the pages until he reached a page labelled "EXPEDITION WORKFORCE."

He sat down on his bed, and turned the page. There was a note on the backside:

To Jayson and Lauren,

I know you both are not exactly content with the expedition. It hasn't always been easy, and I confess that we have made many organizational mistakes in the planning and execution of this mission. That is why we worked hard to ensure only the best people would be joining us, and I've given you a version of the Biosyn Field Guide edited specifically for you. We have placed the utmost importance on this and I trust you not to fail: the company depends on it.

Jeff Rossiter

Charming, Jayson thought. He continued on to see a smaller part of the table of contents.

8. EXPEDITION WORKFORCE 57

8.1 DR. ANGELA ROSS 58

8.2 DR. THOMAS LOGAN 59

8.3 ERICA ROYEZ 60

8.4 JOSEPH WHEELER 61

8.5 RAYMOND DAGAN [SECURITY] 62

8.6 SCOTT TEMPLETON [SECURITY] 63

8.7 COLIN MURPHY 64

8.8 JAIME OROZCO [GUIDE] 65

8.9 UMBERTO SECADA [GUIDE] 66

They're just names on a page, he thought, and I'll be entrusting them with this gig.

He sighed, laid back on the bed, and thought of his wife.

Joseph Wheeler squinted at the sun. He had purchased clip-on shades for his round tortoise-shell eyeglasses, but he had left them at home.

Goddamnit, he thought.

The boat released a great sound; the blaring of its horn. A door on its side opened and a steel walkway descended onto the pier.

He could finally board.

A man with brown hair and pale complexion got onto the walkway along with Wheeler, who promptly reached the top and shook the hands of a young, busty crewmember.

"Welcome aboard," she said.

Behind her was a swarthy man in a navy blue suit, and was sporting a thick grey beard. Wheeler surmised it was the captain of the ship.

"Welcome. Waqas Hutton," he said.

"Thanks," Wheeler said.

There was a porter behind the captain.

"Mr. Wheelerm right?"

"That's correct."

"Follow me, please."

Wheeler's room eyed his room as the porter left. It was shabilly decorated, with large and unattractive panes of aluminum serving as its walls. There was only one bed.

The brown haired man entered the room, setting down his luggage.

"Hiya, name's Colin Murphy."

"Joe Wheeler."

Murphy looked around. "Unbelievable. You would have thought that for such an operation they wouldn't have cheaped out when it came to our rooms."

"Yeah. Damn shame," Wheeler said.

"You excited for the trip?"

"Not really. I would be fired if I didn't come," Wheeler said, sitting down on the bed.

"But still, it's exciting. Live dinosaurs. Something you guys are having a hard time replicating." Murphy sat down in a steel armchair by the door.

Wheeler stared at Murphy. "I'm not a geneticist."

"You don't have to be one. You contribute to their work."

"I didn't want to help them. Not Tom Logan." Wheeler sighed. "You know, it feels like every time InGen or their islands come up on the news, our priorities get shifted and then we have to play catch-up. 'Wheeler, recreate this.' 'Wheeler, help us with this wooly mammoth specimen.' 'No, on second thought, we're going to focus on making reptilians. Help us create biologically correct animals, for the park.' It's bullshit."

"Can't argue with that there. Hopefully, we get something productive out of this," Murphy said.

"We won't. Just you watch." Wheeler crossed his arms and pushed up his glasses.