At the eve of the scientists' literal tour of the century, through this seemingly fantastical dreamworld/product of unquenchable greed, they were taken to the secondary pride of the Asteran people, and what was clearly the Handler's favorite spot in the entire universe: The Canteen. it was a gargantuan stone oven carved into the mountain, with a wooden platform suspended a hundred feet above the tradeyard, giving quite the breathtaking view of the evening coastal horizon, with circular tables occupied by natives that interacted with each other in their own bombastic fashion, laughing uncomfortably loud, chugging down gut-bursting quantities of drinks both sweet and strong, challenging each other to arm wrestling, and tugging like rabid wolves over whose slab of meat was whose (ah, just like Thanksgiving at Mother's house...). Grant had to admit, this scenic locale alone would have earned Hammond a pretty penny as a tourist attraction (a budding part of him wish it had stayed that way...).

But Grant wasn't really here for pleasure: this was clearly Hammond's cherry on top of this elaborate sales pitch, to which Genarro had long been won over by. It left the doctor to wonder why he and Ellie were even needed in the equation if this were enough incentive for whoever is investing into this fantasy world. It was obvious by now that Hammond didn't give a damn about Grant's, Sattler's, Malcolm's, or even Gennaro's educated assessment of this place; all the old man needed was any given credible person to say "I like it", which alone will alleviate his investor's worries building a reserve full of literal giant monsters, as well as taking anything positive an actual scientist had to say, and slap it onto a brochure to make this whole operation appear not as maniacally insane as any child could see. Well, affirmed Allen, he wasn't going to merely serve his role in Hammond's economic chessboard without one last-ditch effort at making this senile tycoon see the truth.

Gennaro, on the other hand, was beaming with greed. His eyes twitched as he calculated every financial element of Hammond's mad projects. Revenues, marketing, a public conference where he stood behind a pulpit making grant statements before hordes of journalists asking endless questions. He saw sparkles as the camera flash, armies of film crews, his face advertised in magazines, sitting before a prime-time talk show host. He vision driving in the Las Vegas or Monte Carlo like a prince with a beautiful entourage of models and hookers, dining in 5-star restaurants, reveling in nightclubs, and having numerous voluptuous, scantly clad maidens brought to his bed stand like a Dark Age Egyptian sheik. As Dr. Grant eyed him, he was reminded of Malcolm's now-familiar walking meditations.

"...We've got this whole automated tour in the works, sort of like that one at Universal Studios, with this funny little cartoon that offers a sort of abridged explanation about how we found the DNA, through the amber mines, etc.", Hammond went on about the future plans of Wyvern Park once it actually opens for business. He, Allen, and the rest of the group, with the addition of the Gluttonous Handler, the Ace Cadet, and the Ace Commander, all conversing in their own language, sat at the bar, which was basically a stone slab that was an extension of the great oven." None of these attractions are ready yet, of course, but the park will open with the basic tour that you're about to take, and then other rides will come online six to twelve months after that. Absolutely spectacular designs. Spared no expense."

The dining area, normally a common hub for Astera's hunters, had been hastily refurbished for Hammond's high-profile guests. The tent ceiling was apparently made of the hide of some great wyvern's hide. Upon the floor was a beautiful Turkish-style rug, black and gold colors with various golden images of dragons and other dinosaurian-like animals, similar to the etchings on Greek pottery. The fabric of the ceiling had a similar design, testifying to the artistic talent of the Asterians. A great image of a hydra spread across the rug beneath them, its golden heads swirling around their feet as if threatening to devour them all. It was, as Malcolm noted, similar to the temple chamber he'd visited, yet far more opulent. they were even using light bulbs to illuminate the platform.

Before arriving at the canteen, Hammond insisted they visit the "museum" which actually led to the canteen, and the party begrudgingly agreed. They had arrived a half-hour ago, having traversed the same twisting network of dirt roads, heavily guarded checkpoints, entrances, exits, eat before arriving at a massive dome-shaped building Hammond said was meant to serve as the main hub for tourists. Here, he noted, was where tourists would get to shop around for souvenirs, snacks, visit the food court filled with internationally renowned franchises and smaller restaurants based on local Asterian cuisine. The hub was basically a museum dedicated to introducing tourists to Astera. The building consisted of various exhibits, monitors with generic CGI modules briefly explaining what wyverns were or the Asterian's origins.

However, it meant nothing to the party. What they had witnessed that day defied reality and they were beyond shock at Hammond's ability to manipulate genetics like play power emanating from this new world, as well as the Asterians, was unprecedented, and should it ever fall into the wrongs hands, the results would be as significant as the splitting of the first atom. That idea, amidst a storm of others, rushed through Malcolm's mind like a hurricane. Dr. Grant and Ellie were primarily concerned with moral repercussions of breeding such lethal animals and the welfare of the Asterians as the culture was being exploited.

The entire crew eventually descended into partial silence, even at the dinner table. Malcolm watched Grant and Elly across the table speaking to each other in hushed voices, though he didn't understand they were whispering. On Malcolm's left was Gennaro, sitting an extra seat away from him to closer to Hammond who sat at the head of the table like a wizened Arthurian baron. The figure sitting on Hammond's right sent ripples in Malcolm's. He was a giant of man, known simply as the Fleet Commander, apparently one of the leading figures of the Asterians. Every part of him exhibited a brutal strangeness and a warrior's courage as if some living manifestation of an ancient hero, such as Beowulf or Gilgamesh. His jawline was square, protruding slightly, yet not enough to make him seem crude or base. He had ice white closely cropped to his skull with a sharp bear jutting from his chin, yet no mustache, appearing like some Turkic tribal warlord from the middle ages. His skin was leathery, face scared and pockmarked, his disposition grim and hardened. His torso was large, framed by muscular shoulders and thick, brutal-looking triceps. Even seated, the Chieftain was still notably taller than Hammond. But the feature that cut through Malcolm was his eyes: clear, silver, cold, wolfish, without pity. Occasionally, he predatorily observed the others, almost like a lion whose meal was suddenly interrupted by an intruder unlucky enough to stumble upon him. His movements were slow, yet purposeful and his voice was inaudible. Malcolm remembers when Hammond introduced him before the area games, towering above the petty scientist, his grip threatening to crush the chaotician's hand accustomed only to page-turning and typing lectures or journal entries. Malcolm could not ascertain the Commander's opinion regarding the Hammond Monster project or intentions. The only time the commander ever showed emotion was during the games when sinisterly grinned like a bear during the onslaught of the arena. Gennaro, Hammond, and the Commander were discussing who knew what and everyone waited eagerly for dinner. Hammond promised his guests the best Asterian cuisine imaginable and that they would be the few people to have ever eating Asterian food. Hammond reminded them to consider his meal a true privilege, yet Malcolm, after witnessing Hammond's madness and Asteria's warlike culture, was not enthusiastic. He didn't want to think about what the typical Asteran diet consisted and he guessed it wasn't Kosher. After an attractive waitress, dress far more conservatively than the servers at the games, brought simple salads (or at least they looked like salads). Ellie stared at her's for a moment, but then started eating piecemeal, still conversing with Grant. As they began to satiate their appetites, Hammond started broadening the conversation.

"Hammond," Gennaro said. "I thought you were crazy. . .hell, I still think your crazy. But what you've done hear is off the charts. For once, I don't even know what to say."

Hammond smiled. "Than don't say anything good old boy. Just let it all soak in. And," Hammond raised a finger "don't get too excited yet sir. We still have plenty of work to do. These attractions have not been finished just yet. Everything should up to par within a year as long as we maintain diplomacy with the Asterians of course." Hammond winked at the commander, who responded with a barely visible side smile. The designs we have in mind are specular, presenting a modern look while maintaining the Asterans heritage. "Asterans are the quit artists. Spared no expense."

Malcolm coughed. "Oh yes, they, heh, vividly capture the Asteran legacy. The pictures almost seem to come to life." Malcolm was envisioning the image of the diabolic flaming hydra in the temple menacingly staring into his eyes. For a moment, in back of his head, Malcolm could hear breathing. . . .

"Well," Hammond continued. "You have a keen eye, my boy." There was an impatient sharpness in Hammond's voice. Likewise, the Commander looked at Malcolm, though the scientist didn't return the gaze. The commander could obviously detect Malcolm's sarcasm, and Malcolm could almost feel the heat emanating from the Commander. Oh, this should be fun. I feel like I'm back in the arena. . . .Malcolm thought to himself.

"Astera stands with you, John Hammond," The commander finally spoke in a low, almost leonine voice. "The heart of Asteria beats again and you've sparked the light of hope within us. All of us. . . .I will see to it that the Great Work is finished smoothly and quietly." The room grew silent and the Commander's voices carried not threats, but promises of retribution. The Commander spoke to Hammond with strong piety and Malcolm's earlier question about the Commander was answered.

"There's no denying that," Gennaro added. "You're a financial revolutionary, John. You'll make Adelson or Musk look like paupers. They forged industries that changed the face of the world, but this? Who's know where we can go this. Hell, we can charge anything we want. You know people will pay for it. "

"Oh, I'm sure they will pay. . . ." Malcolm whispered, just loud enough for Gennaro to hear. He blinked in irritation and continued his monologue.

"I don't know where to start for the entertainment aspect. Hollywood or the NFL can't stand up to this; it's Disney's turn to be commercially extinct." Gennaro cackled at his own one-liner. "Think about the branding, the merchandising - -"

" Donald, Donald," Hammond, as usual, cut the other person off.

"What?" Gennaro said teasingly.

"Slow down Gennaro," Hammond said, stern, yet fatherly "Remember, we're not building this park just to pander to rich kids and playboys: I want everyone to reserve the right to enjoy these animals and appreciate Asteria's heritage also."

"Of course," Gennaro responded. "My clients know that. We're reasonable. We can do "coupon days" or something like that." He sipped a glass of Cognac, the amber liquid in the crystal glass shimmering in the light, and began to hiccup.

Malcolm clapped."Yes, because we all know John Hammond, the champion of the working man and the disenfranchised."

"Ian, this uncalled for -" before Gennaro finished his sentence, the commander violently slammed a closed, gnarled fist on the table, the sound of thunder booming throughout the Canteen. Everyone was stunned by the Commander's sudden violence, like a beast of prey exploding, yet moments before showing no signs of anger.

"If you have something to say, say it!" The Commander raised his voice, though not to the point of yelling. The Asterans, upon hearing their Commander, immediately halted their conversations with each other and stood to attention like soldiers.

Gennaro looked nervously like a scared puppy. "I think you need to ask your people to leave. This is a private. . ."

"We are all Asterans here." the Fleet Commander said. "What he has to say about us, let the people hear it now."

Ellie froze, clasping a delicate hand on her mouth. Dr. Grant stared, unsure of what to say. Gennaro reared back, both intimidated and reasonably impressed. Malcolm, instead of backing down from the Commander's wrath, glared back malevolently. Ian Malcolm found himself suffocated by the raw human avarice taking place before him: the Wyverns, the Hunters, the apocalyptic events that transpired around this new world, which perhaps triggered a sequence of destruction that caused this world to be forgotten by his world, and these greedy bastards willingly turned a blind eye to it all. In his youth, Ian Malcolm had taken part in various political protests, which normally exploded into violent riots. He had joined mobs smashing windows, looting stores, spraying graffiti on storefront walls, screaming for statues of offensive historic figures to be ripped down, and hurling every curse known in the English language against peace officers. He had been attacked and beaten down by both opposing protesters and police. He'd been jailed, sentenced, though not enough to seriously damage his academic career. If anything, Malcolm's radical past only boosted his notoriety in many political and academic circles, and he was well favored by young political activists. In short, Malcolm was completely undaunted by the Commander's brewing fury.

John Hammond, however, said nothing and simply stared head down in embarrassment. In truth, Hammond anticipated a joyful luncheon, with his guests marveling as his creation; yet, he should have known that there would be critics. He'd studied Malcolm's research and looked extensively into his background, expecting some resistance from the radical theorist. However, Hammond also respected everyone's option and, not wanting to be biased, sought people from different academic and professional backgrounds to get a balanced assessment. In short, Hammond who Ian was and what he was asking for he sent one of his representatives to meet up with him in Berkley. That mischievous aspect of Hammond's psyche looked forward to a little confrontation. Yet, Hammond had hoped Malcolm would have enough dignity to simply wait after dinner.

Malcolm licked his teeth. "You're disgusting." He breathed. "All of you." The Commander stood still, his jaw hardening at Malcolm's impudence. He could hear Julian's breath quicken at the insult. The Handler and Ace Cadet were both shocked and confused, the pain evident in her eyes like pets ignorant of their master's rage. Everyone could tell the head of the First Fleet was not used to being confronted or insulted, especially by those he deemed beneath him. Get used to it Malcolm thought.

Hammond shrugged it off and remained unfazed by his emotion. "I take it you're not enjoying yourself."

"The lack of humility before nature that's been displayed here, it nauseates me. Who do you do people think you are?" Malcolm directed his gaze towards Hammond.

"Who the hell do you think you are?" Gennaro hissed. He'd let these cavemen smash Ian to the floor later. For now, needed to say his piece. "You weren't brought here to do a psyche evaluation or to fling your bullshit theories around. Our main concern was inspecting the safety of the Island, which the commander has done an exceptional job of doing!"

"You mean like Roland's deceased coworker's?" Ian Sneered.

"True, things are a little bit different than both you and I have 'feared'," Gennaro shot but. "But still. . ."

"But still, they're, uh, a lot worse," Malcolm came back. "There's nothing safe about the Island of Dr. John Lovecraft Morrow, or this abnormal research, or these people."

"Now, he's a bigot!" Gennaro waived an accusing hand at Malcolm, while the commander now snorted at Malcolm, regarding him as mindless vagrant ranting to himself. Some of the Asterians began to laugh at the dispute that they barely understand, yet Julian, in particular, was not amused.

"What's goin' on with the mainlanders?" Aiden had to quietly ask his superior, but The Ace Commander responded with silence.

"You people know nothing about us," the Fleet Commander announced," just fear and ignorance." The old man kept his eyes on the nay-sayer. "Despite your famed wisdom, your a typical fool cursing things beyond himself," he said bitterly. "You see something you can't understand, you destroy it. . .like a barbarian. Your people wonder why your world is the abhorrent state it's in, and that, mainlander, is why we live to fight them, " he pointed to the wilds in the dark distance."Yes, the Wyverns are stronger than you, but that is what forces us to become stronger. I recall an account of Europeans traveling to the south-western continent, and the natives of the land died of diseases that the colonist didn't even know they had. Why? Because the people of Europe had already groan immune to the diseases, simply by living with them. The present and constant threat of monsters just beyond our village is what makes us strong enough to resist them, slay them, capture them, and understand them, and in doing so better ourselves, becoming stronger and wiser with each monster slain. The lack of them was what made us vulnerable in our complacency, much like your stagnated civilization. In fact, if they were allowed to roam the earth again..."

"You're whipping out a whole bunch of if's there, Tarzan," Malcolm came back."What if they roam the earth and we all die, how's that for an if?"

"They won't" the Fleet Commander responded confidently," they did not before, because in the end, we were the stronger and we were the ones who destroyed them, and by your own logic, we will destroy them again. We don't want that to happen; without them, we have nothing to be strong for, nothing to fight for."

"Ah, yes." Malcolm said lowly. "But, from what I understand, it wasn't just the dragons that got wiped out," he smirked, "my world is still here and yours. . . what happened to your magnificent civilization again? Oh right, they pissed off Fatalis..."

Julian swung his and his friend's dishes off the bar as he whipped out his dual blades, ignoring the screams of the company, and planted one into the stone in front of Malcolm. "One more word and I will GUT YOU LIKE A PLESIOTH!"

The wind was stolen from the group from this display of rage. The canteen was enveloped by a firmament of unease, as now only had the Ace arisen from his seat, but so had the other hunters from behind, feeling the grips of their own carving knives and weapons. Maybe they didn't hear whatever Malcolm said, but one thing was clear: they all had the Ace's back, and if the Ace Commander saw fit to butcher all of these foreigners here and now, they would swarm them without a second thought...

Hammond's seat creaked as he tentatively leaned into Malcolm's ear."...er, they don't like to say that name in the open, Ian..."

"Yeah, I know..." muttered Ian, as the choatician clearly anticipated this adverse reaction.

Even so, the Fleet Commander calmly but strongly pulled Julian's guild saber out of the stone, and shoved the handle against Julian's chest, his baleful eyes locked with the younger man, coercing the Ace Commander to take his saber back and stand down without a word; the other hunters returned to their seats as well."You are dismissed..."

Julian, frustrated, breathed like an enraged bull, reluctantly bowed and walked off along with his retinue. The other nearby huntsmen remained and watched eagerly.

Fire burned in the Commander's eyes like amber charcoals, trembling with anger as he turned at the mainland blasphemer with all the same rage as his subordinate, but well contained. "Philosopher" he hissed, returning to his own seat. "That name is a curse among us. Don't you ever speak of it again as long as you stand upon this island, and long after you have left. Our blades move quicker than your forked tongue, and I may not be there to protect you during your pleasant tour."

The canteen area was now hot. Dr. Grant looked past the commander, noticing that the guards who'd stood idle in the room still, encircled them like wolves, closing in on a cornered deer. Only Grant himself knew what Malcolm was referring to. Clearly, Malcolm learned of the black dragon legend during his personal tour of the library, and he actually believed it; and so he felt the need to purposefully strike a deep nerve within the Commander as well as the Asterans in the general by essentially performing the equivalent of openly praising Satan in a church. Grant spoke up "Ian, this isn't a campus or a political debate during an election. There's no need to insult the Asterans on such a deep cultural level. This is their island. And Hammond himself, from what I can tell, is just sprucing things. Why don't we all calm down, take a step back, and have a normal discussion."

"Thank you Dr. Grant." Hammond said, tapping the floor with his cane. "Let Malcolm talk. I want to hear all viewpoints, I truly do. Oh, commander, please forgive this man's ignorance."

"right, right, all viewpoints, John, can't you see the inherent danger in what you're doing here? "Malcolm switched gears. He reminded himself that he wanted them to understand. "Genetic power is the most awesome force ever seen on this planet. But you wield it like a kid who's found his dad's gun. Do you the know the main difference between you and him?" Malcolm point at the Commander. "I don't know how old you are, Commander sir, but you have some martial experience. You're trained. You and the Asterans understand these creatures. You know how dangerous they are, the full extent of what things are capable of. But you" Malcolm pointed back at Hammond, " You didn't utilize any discipline to attain it." Malcolm looked back at the Commander. "I don't understand why you're going along with this in the first place. I'm not speaking against you, not in that sense. I just need you to get this," he said as he banged on what was left of his plate Hammond's not glorifying your heritage. He's just marketing it, he's selling it, you're selling it."

Ellie didn't think anything could cause this man to raise his volume, even after he remained quiet throughout this entire tour, through the first live Wyvern sighting, through the colosseum battle. Ian Malcolm was clearly a man of strong mental endurance; but now he's shown himself, his emotional side before this heated moral dilemma, she could tell this pessimist was a good man after all.

The Commander thought before he spoke, understand he'd perhaps misjudged this Malcolm's intent. "Philosopher," The Commander spoke. "You're not giving Hammond his due credit. His scientists and technological advancements in genetics have allowed us to do things no one could ever do before. The park, the war games, is just a stepping stone on a longer path."

"That's what's terrifying me," Malcolm said. He paused, hoping that revelation would soak in. "Hammond's scientists were so preoccupied over whether or not they could, they didn't stop to think if they should. You know, you read what others had done, and you, and you took the next step. You didn't earn the knowledge for yourselves, so you don't take any responsibility for it. You stood on the shoulders of geniuses," he gestured to Grant and Sattler, flushing them both with a measure of pride and embarrassment," uh, to accomplish something as fast as you could, and before you even knew it, you had, you've...patented it, and packaged it, and slapped it on a goddamn plastic lunch box."

Hammond didn't seem to be moved by Malcolm's genuinely deep inquiry, but more by his endeavor to come up with something to justify his property:" Dinosaurs! What if I had cloned dinosaurs instead?"

Ian Malcolm shook his head" No, -"

" No, no!" Hammond went on with his train of moral logic." If I was to create a bunch of flightless, non-firebreathing dinosaurs on this island, you wouldn't have anything to say."

Ian Malcolm shook his head." No, no, listen, this isn't some species that was, er, randomly selected for extinction by sheer inconvenience, or, obliterated by deforestation or, uh, the building of a dam by humanity. Wyverns, uh, have proven themselves to be a legitimate threat to our species; and in my opinion, humanity hunting them to extinction was the right call."

That created an awkward pause across the whole bar. And now, for Grant and Ellie, it was now clear that it was not the ones who cloned the Wyverns that roused his ire, but the Wyverns themselves; they terrified him. The paleontologists were vying for the animals' protection, but Ian saw no animals here, just monsters, and he wanted them dead.

Hammond couldn't believe his ears." A threat? Have you lost your bloody mind? A single sweeping carpet-bombing of this island would blast these poor creatures back into extinction. First, you try to convict me of violating nature, now you're using paranoia as an excuse! I simply don't understand this kind of Luddite attitude, especially from a scientist! I mean, how can we stand in the light of discovery and not act?"

Ian rolled his eyes." Oh, what's so great about discovery? It's a violent, penetrative act that scars what it explores. What you call discovery," Malcolm dared,"... I call not only the rape of the natural world but the gateway to human extinction."

"To prevent our extinction is the point of this great work," the Fleet Commander argued," for Astera, and the rest humanity to learn from each other. The science behind the resurrection of Astera and the Wyverns goes beyond the scope of this silly theme park."

"I represent a lot of people from different sectors across the market. . ." Gennaro. "Believe me, we got big plans. If we can avoid paranoid speculations and work together peacefully, we can make the world a better place one step at a time."

"And now the blood-sucking lawyer gives a shit about the environment," Malcolm came back, yet cautiously and slowly, voice dropping almost to whisper. He was deathly serious now, repulsed by Gennaro's greed and the Commander's belligerence."Let's go back to those what-ifs: What if the Wyverns roam the earth and breed uncontrollably? What if there are various mutations, beyond Hammond's security measures? Remember, they're not real Wyverns, they're artificial copies; their genetic data can be stored in any hard drive; your samples could be stolen and sold. What if the wrong people learn Hammond's science or Astera's hidden secrets, and utilize it for darker purposes?"

"You are again proposing things that could, but will not happen; because this time, we know what could happen and don't want that to happen; If the Wyverns adapt, we adapt. They become more lethal, our forge masters and Ingen's technicians can always produce greater weapons from their very carcasses as we have always done and, trust me, the corrupt will learn to fear us, because we will hunt them down as well." The commander was now relaxed, leaning back in his seat. He was satisfied as if he'd finished a steak, easily deflecting Malcolm's tirade like a Kut-Ku's beak against his shield."These are different times, Ian Malcolm " The Commander said, uttering Ian's name as if he'd something bad. "The Wyverns are here now because Hammond put them here. That means we have total control."

"And that's the illusion I have dedicated my entire life to undo..." Malcolm lightly chuckled, wolfishly grinning that same arrogant, spine-tingly sneer that would provoke a nun to profanity. The otherwise civil Hammond turned red. He felt the urge to lose composition himself and slap him out of his seat. and began chuckling lightly. "Chaos theory" he cooed. "You never have control. That's the illusion."

The following silence proved how deep Malcolm's words sunk in once they finally did; Sattler made the loudest of ahem's to add her own input. "What I think Dr. Malcolm's trying to say is that...how can you know anything about an extinct ecosystem? And therefore, how could you ever assume that you can control it? You have plants in this building that are poisonous. You picked them because they look good. But the Wyverns perhaps are the most aggressive living things on earth, that have no idea what century they're in and they will defend themselves. Violently, if necessary."

John Hammond felt his forehead at what was clearly going further up Shit Creek without a paddle; only one man can save him now:" Dr. Grant, if there's one person here, who can appreciate what I'm trying to do..."

Alan Grant breathed, taking in the former exchange, and folded his hands in. "... The world has just changed so radically, and we're all running to catch up. Honestly Hammond, this place amazes me beyond reason. I've studied these creatures all my life, calculated their breeding patterns, their behavior; but to see them in the flesh, moving, breathing. . ." Grant faded as he began reminiscing his first encounter with a living breathing Wyvern, a dream in the desert. He shut his eyes, forcing himself back to present. "People, we need be realistic. I don't want to jump to any conclusions but look; Wyverns and humanity may have existed at the same time, but not the kind of humanity we came from: these people were bred for millennia to slay monsters, while we just up and forgot about them; and you're talking about bringing us back into this world by the thousands? Compared to Astera, the rest of the human race is like an entirely different species, naïve and ignorant, separated by a thousand years of evolution, and have just been suddenly thrown back into the mix together with these warriors and giants. How can we possibly have the slightest idea, what to expect?

And with that, the pitch was over - and it had failed. Gennaro's jaw dropped. The Asterian's were petrified with disbelief. The old rich man couldn't believe it, and so that was all he could say:" I don't believe it! I don't believe it! You're meant to come down here and defend me against these characters, and the only one I've got on my side is this nut-fondling lawyer, and the bloody Warriors of Greyskull to my left!" he complained as he kept inching his finger at said lawyer.

Donald Gennaro glared back at Hammond"...Thank you..."


Later that night. . . . .

A great warship, perched upon Asteria's highest peak. . . .

The double doors within the Great Hall of the fleet Master's expedition ship exploded opened, violently slamming against the wooden walls on either side. "How dare they...HOW DARE THEY!?" Julian screamed like an Anjanath. His rage had consumed him. The Hunter stormed inside, his heavy boots stomping on the wooden floor echoing throughout the hall. "Telling us what to do with our lives! Our WORLD!" He rammed a fist against a nearby wooden, sending dust flying and leaving knock dents in the old wood. "Those Conga-licking, Kezhu-kissing, Nerscylla with two legs!" Julian shouted in his native tongue, violently smashing aside a pile of books, candlesticks, and other objects, sending papers and other materials flying. A diminutive elder rushed eagerly to gather and replace the materials. "I should have thrown that heathen bastard over the cliff." Julian hissed.

"Nah, too friendly." The A-lister chimed in, arms folded, leaning against a wall. " we should've spiked his drink with sleep potion, dropped him off the in The Rotting Vail, and let him wake up in a Girros's stomach.

"Watch yourself Commander!" came the Third Fleet commander's deep, crooning voice, barely audible yet still full of authority. She stood over a high balcony, at the top of a large atrium that divided the unspeakably massive ship's stories. Behind lay her great study, with piles of books, scrolls, charts, compasses, and other articles gleaming under the lights of several burning pillar candles and shrouded in incense smoke which permeated throughout the ship's great hull.

Julian stared at the woman, having no regard for her rank or authority. His hatred for the outsiders made him forget himself, treading on this ground. "You were not there to see you didn't see it. None of you!" Julian a step forward in the center of the room, addressing all personal, who started listening more closely. "The outsiders mock our dead, revile the ways of our people as if the land-dwelling barbarians are any different the way they fight and squabble amongst themselves!" Julian shouted in indignation. "But that one, Ian Malcolm, he's the trigger. He's the one prodding them along. Weak fops hiding behind his desks and glass windows, conjuring groundless philosophies and delusions like madmen, throwing them on others. He's never even breathed our air, yet he asserts his false wisdom over us! who do they. . .!?"

"They," Interrupted a new voice said cooley "are Hammond's guests."

Julian slowed down. He hadn't heard The Admiral, nor did he have any idea he was here. Standing between two burning torches at one of the ship's entrances, following by two guards in black armor, The Admiral of all five fleets stood as their symbol of ultimate authority. He was an imposing figure, with gigantic fore arms gleaming in the torchlight, wild blonde hair running down the back of his head like a lion's mane. His outfit was merely the basic Hunter's attire, the hyde of which had been skinned off a great thunderous horned primate he killed in his days on the field, but everyone knew his face, and that was the only decoration he needed. The bodyguards on either side of him, the long-trusted warriors he'd know since his training days, were necessarily armored, each wielding great lances and a shield. The Admiral held everyone's absolute attention.

"More than that," The Admiral loudly continued, with a smile on his giant face. "They're the ambassadors of the outside world! Third Fleet Commander?"

"The Admiral is right." The Third Fleet Commander said, as she slowly descended from her perch with purposeful eery grace, like a specter in a dream. Her imposing presence did no come from brutal strength typical of hardened Asteran leader, but an ominous, foreboding subtly, like a silent storm cloud off in the instance.

The Admiral continued."You forget your place, Kid. It was the wealthy outsiders who funded Hammond's project, resurrecting the Wyverns, and thus revitalizing the heart of Astera. Our way of life has been given back to us at a price!" he admitted with a frown." The world runs on commerce still as it always has. And who sits at the world's commerce now? Need I remind you these nonbelievers serve as our gateway to the rest of the world. Their influence is relentlessly spread across the earth and we intend for the United Nations to represent Astera's glory. The power of Hammond's monumental contribution to our people had redefined the future of all of us. Professional conduct is not expected, Boy, it's demanded.

The Ace Commander grew a frown akin to a scorned child. Aiden had never seen his superior in such a vulnerable way. The Ace Cadet looked back and forth between the two strong hunters with long blonde hair...and it caused him to wonder...

Julian insisted."Sir, that philosopher-"

"Was just trying to get under your skin; c'mon, boy, I've seen you root out Jaggi more devious than that, so act like it!," the Admiral retorted. "He's not a shareholder, just a critic. You think the spineless lawyer and the investors he answers to care what that fool thinks? A sorcerer without magic? He's simply influencing the others. Later on, when the whole world understands the Wyvern's beauty and Astera's strength, he'll be proven to be such a fool, he'll never have the gall to show his face in public again! The outsiders will promote us, and we'll be a real nation once more. . ."

"But I'm afraid that's not what they're gonna do!" A random voice spoke up.

Everyone in the room turned to a small, hunched figure at a nearby desk. "He's right," said the Analytics Director. The scribe closed, book fitting it nearly back into its space upon an old, marred wooden shelf, stacked with volumes of books and scrolls, cataloging the rich history of Astera. The Director walked into the midst of the group and lit his pipe thoughtfully. "I am afraid I am going to have to take the young field Master's side on this." The Third Fleet Master shot an irritated look at the Director. Julian smugly demeanor as nodded in approval. "Our complications are further complicated by the fact that these are Americans. The United States is a Bizarre kingdom with no known parallel. It is an artificial nation, manufactured rather than developed. It is built on commerce and trade, rather than heritage or dynastic bloodlines."

"What difference does that make?" the Handler interjected. "The old Asteria was an empire, but times have changed. We're a tiny community now, a democracy like the Americans."

"Yet the Americans have always been unable to maintain that 'democracy' and their priorities usually involve capital, not traditions. That's the difference. Their system is completely opposed to ours. They also have a peculiar habit of pitting rivals against each other, monopolizing discord for profit and domination. Gossipers, liars, slanders. Their kind have built whole state hoods and financial empires upon lies and miss truths and half-truths to satiate the greed in their loins that runs deeper than a Deviljho's gluttony. If it profits them to make us their enemies, rather than their elder brothers, the outside philosopher's conclusion is highly foreseeable."

"That's what I'm trying to tell you! You can't see it can you. . ." Julian said, defiantly against the giant admiral. "They will portray us as subhuman, bloodthirsty savages! That fear mongering idiot will tell their leaders want they want to hear, an amber in a dry forest."

". . .And," the Director interrupted. "If I may, I've extensively researched Malcolm's background and I can tell you that he is a notorious fire starter with a following in the outside world not unlike Hammond's reputation in Astera. . . ."

"After their done brainwashing the nations of the world against us, they will attack us, rob us of everything we've strived to preserve, everything Hammond and Ingen have given us back!"

"Am I gonna have to smack that big mouth of yours shut?" the unmoved Admiral said, low but theatening.

"They've done this before! It's their history. To exploit the weak! I know this. You all know this! They are a worse threat than the Wyverns, than the Elder Dragons! But we are not weak!" He unsheathed a blade from his belt. We must end this now!. . ." As the ranting hunter turned mid sentence, his face collided with a colossal backhand, as if he had been nailed by the Gycepros's tail. Julian's vision went black. He didn't even feel himself hit the floor. He was done for the moment. Before his vision cleared, he thought he saw little Kut-Kus circling his head. "The Admiral smacked me, didn't he...?" He mumbles. Then he looked up.

"But" the Admiral barked, swing up the index finger of his smacking hand." that is NOT...what we're gonna do!" the now stern as steel Admiral looked up at the others. "we will not prove them right! Will not turn that smug outsider Ian Malcolm into a martyr! They can and WILL die on this island without our help!" he told the people in the room as they heeded his words."But they are not going to die...because you shall grant Hammond's guests safe passage through Astera, proving the effectiveness of our ways, the way of Asteras huntsmen. You are going to complete the game, to prove them beyond. . .and your going to do it with a big-Blangongan smile on your face." he smirked

The Director lowered his head."Sir, with all due respect, wouldn't Roland be better. . .

"Roland is an outsider; and throughout his time, his still sees with outsiders eyes." The Admiral eyed his people with the proudest of grins; so proud that The Handler and Ace Cadet smiled with him, as the Admiral wrapped his left arm around them, and his right arm around the melancholy Ace Commander like a family photo." This must be done by a true Monster Hunter. You made a mockery of our resolve; you shall make makes amends, and press on. Now rest well tonight, and get your asses up before the sun rises! pack your pouches, sharpen your swords, and whatever you do...!"

" 'Don't keep me waiting," the youths within his embrace quoted him verbatim, with mixed emotions among them, causing the Admiral and rest of the Asterans to light up the airship with their laughter.