Chapter 1: An Unexpected Expedition
San Diego, California, May 1997
Twenty-one corporate executives sat in their chairs surrounding the wide conference table in the middle of a boardroom. They weren't the only ones there. Several backbenchers - lawyers and support staff - waited in the room as well, sitting in small chairs propped up against the walls, for there was no room at the table for them to sit. In one corner was a small table covered in an assortment of cups, containers, and coffee machines. But no one stood by this table. The food was gone. The machines were empty. They had been waiting a long time.
One wall, on the left side of the room, wasn't a wall at all, but a wide window offering a dazzling view of the city skyline and the sparkling blue waters beyond. On the wall adjacent to it, opposite of the doorway into the boardroom, hung an interior corporate sign that displayed…
- inGen -
Corporation
At the head of the table, which was in front of the door, facing the wall with the InGen sign, sat the Senior Board Member, a man that seemed to be in his early seventies. He, as well as all of the other executives there, were looking down at the other end of the table. Here there was a small, closed-circuit television that had been wheeled up by a pair of support staff. And on the television screen was the live image of an old, balding man with thin white hair on the sides of his head and a white beard that covered his chin, bottom jaw, and upper lip. The man wore expensive pajamas and was tucked into a large bed. On his nose was a pair of thin, oval-shaped glasses.
The man was John Hammond, the founder, and CEO of the International Genetics Corporation, or InGen for short. However, he was far from being in great shape. He wasn't bedridden because of laziness. He was a very old man. One at the age of eighty-four. And he was sick and getting sicker. His face was pale and drawn, and medical equipment could be seen at the edges of the screen, beeping in the background.
However, despite this condition, Hammond kept his face bright and positive, and though his voice was a little shaky, he still kept it as firm as he could. "The hurricane seemed like a disaster at the time," Hammond said, "but now I think of it as a blessing. Nature's way of freeing those animals from their artificial confines. Of giving them another chance to survive, but this time as they were meant to. A life without man's interference."
Hammond sighed as he sucked in another breath of air. "There are some corporate issues that are not about the bottom line," he continued. "We still have so much to learn about those creatures. A whole world of intricate, interlocking behaviors, vanished everywhere - except for Site B."
Hammond sighed again. "Please. Let's not do what is good for some men at the expense of what is best for all mankind."
After Hammond's speech, the Senior Board Member nodded at the television and said, "Thank you, John." He then looked over at the back right corner of the room. "Mr. Ludlow?" the man said.
At the man's words, two support staff wheeled the television away. At the same time, from the corner the Senior Board Member was looking to, a man got up from his seat and stepped towards the table. The man was in his late thirties, with a wide forehead, short brown hair, and thin circular glass settled on a pointed nose. He wore standard business attire, and in his hand was a large briefcase.
The man's name was Peter Ludlow.
Ludlow took the place of the television, standing beneath the InGen sign. The television was wheeled to the side, but Hammond could still see the boardroom. A camera was set on the table next to the Senior Board Member, which sent a live feed to the television in Hammond's bedroom.
Ludlow stood at the end of the table, a little anxious but holding a calm and collected expression. He set his briefcase down upon the table and opened it, withdrawing a large folder. He set the briefcase down on the floor and placed the folder in its place. Then, from the folder, Ludlow withdrew a stack of papers. He tossed them onto the table, allowing the executives to grab some and pass them around. The papers were actually photographs, and as each of the executives glanced down at them, their faces couldn't help but twist into disgusted winces.
In a calm, cold, and slightly British voice, Ludlow began to speak. "These pictures were taken in a hospital in Costa Rica forty-eight hours ago after a British family on a yacht cruise had stumbled on Site B," he explained. "The little girl will be fine," Ludlow then assured. "Her parents, however, are wealthy, angry, and very fond of lawsuits." Ludlow then paused, withdrawing another stack of items, this time a collection of laminated packets, out of the folder. With a sigh, he said, "But that's hardly new to us."
Ludlow then began to read each paper out aloud, tossing each one onto the table as he finished one and moved on to the next. "Wrongful death settlements, partial list: family of Donald Gennaro, 36.5 million dollars; family of John Arnold, 23 million; family of Robert Muldoon, 12.6 million. Damaged or destroyed equipment, 17.3 million. Demolition, deconstruction, and disposal of Isla Nublar facilities and assets, organic and inorganic, one hundred and twenty-six million dollars. The list goes on. Research funding…"
Ludlow suddenly paused for a moment, quietly reading the last document he held in his hand.
"And, of course, media payoffs."
He then looked up, looking around at the executives. His gaze settled on the Senior Board Member, giving him a serious look when he added, "Silence isn't cheap."
Ludlow once more glanced around the boardroom, far more confident than when he had stepped up to the table. He had finished warming up. Now was time for the main performance.
"This madness must stop," Ludlow declared. "This corporation has been bleeding from the throat for four years now. You have sat patiently and listened to ecology lectures while Mr. Hammond signed your checks and spent your money. You have watched your stock drop from seventy-eight and a quarter to nineteen flat with no good end in sight. And all along, we have held a significant product asset that we have attempted to hide, at great expense, when we could have safely harvested those assets and displayed them for profit. Enormous profit."
Ludlow paused, gazing around the boardroom, before then saying, "Let me show you."
Ludlow suddenly looked over his shoulder at the back-right corner of the room. He made a waving gesture, and from the corner several backbenchers came forward, carrying a model between their hands. They set the model down and pushed it forward to the center of the table for all to see. The model was of a modern amphitheater, with rows of cages built into the raked area beneath the seats. Miniature tourists filled the stands, their faces molded into expressions of awe and wonder, and in the display area were a variety of tiny models.
Models of various kinds of dinosaurs.
Ludlow observed the model for a moment before looking back up at the executives. "You don't send people halfway around the world to a zoo," he said, "you bring the zoo to them. And this city is the perfect setting. People already associate San Diego with animal attractions - Sea World, the San Diego Zoo. Mr. Hammond knew that when he started construction on the amphitheater -" Ludlow gestured to the model, "- right here, in the InGen waterfront complex, but he abandoned it in favor of something far grander and, ultimately, impossible. And so the facility sits unused, unfinished when it could be completed and ready to receive visitors in under a month."
Ludlow glanced around again, giving each executive member a serious look. "Ladies and gentlemen, this could be enough income to wipe out four years of debts, lawsuits, damage control, and unpleasant infighting." Ludlow only sighed briefly before continuing with greater fervor, "And the one thing, the only thing, standing between us and this windfall is a born-again naturalist who happens to be our very own CEO."
Ludlow suddenly stopped, briefly looking down at his papers as he seemed to comprehend what he had just said, especially in the presence of the man he was speaking about and, most importantly, a man with who he had a particular relationship. But Ludlow merely gave a quiet scoff before looking back up at the executives.
"Believe me," Ludlow said, guiltily adjusting his glasses, "I do not enjoy having to say these things about my own uncle." Ludlow morphed his expression from one of guilt to one of promise. "But I don't work for Mother Nature. I work for you."
Ludlow paused, looking back down at the folder before him, retrieving from it one last piece of paper. Ludlow looked down at it and carefully read, "'But as the Chief Executive Officer has engaged in wasteful and negligent business practices to further his own personal environment beliefs - Whereas these practices have affected the financial performance of the company by incurring significant losses - Whereas the shareholders have been materially harmed by theses losses - Thereby, be it resolved that John Parker Hammond should be removed from the office of Chief Executive Officer, effective immediately.'"
Ludlow looked back up at the council. "I move the resolution be put to a vote," he said. "Do I have a second?"
There was only a short pause before a large man with short, grey hair announced, "I second the motion." The executive looked over at the Senior Board Member. "Mr. Maguire, please poll the members by a show of hands."
The Senior Board Member - Mr. Maguire - hesitated before looking down at his hands, releasing a long, almost regretful sigh. Mr. Maguire then looked back up at the board room, making sure he kept his eyes firmly away from the television and Hammond's gaze.
"All those in favor of InGen Corporation Resolution 213C, please signify your approval by raising your right hand."
It started slowly, hesitantly, even guiltily. But sure enough, every right hand at the table is raised, their owners trying to avoid Hammond's gaze. Ludlow, seeing the results, slouches slightly, a small, victoriously smug smile creeping onto his face.
Hammond, meanwhile, stared out from the television screen, his face red with anger. He brings up his right hand - not to show his approval, but to aim a remote control at the camera. Hammond furiously slams a button on the remote, and the television screen goes blank.
A few weeks later…
The train skidded to a screeching halt, filling the dense air of the subway with a shrill scream. Though the noise was loud and terrible, the crowded mob didn't seem to notice, each person keeping to themselves as they boarded the train bringing them to their jobs. One of these people, though he wasn't on the way to work, happened to be none other than Dr. Ian Malcolm.
Malcolm yawned as he stepped onto the crowded train, quickly making his way to the back of the subway train car. He sat down carefully, mindful of his sore leg. A newspaper was in his hands, but he decided to simply look at the opposite wall of the train, deep in thought.
It had been four years since Malcolm had that "accident", a leg injury that kept him in a Costa Rican hospital for months. Those who knew Malcolm, but weren't present for the injury, were told that he had been hit by a car while in Costa Rica. Of course, Malcolm knew full well that this wasn't the case. He still remembered the pain as dozens of dagger-like, stained teeth, sank deep into his leg. He remembered the hot, and remarkably rank, breath smashing against him like powerful tidal waves. He remembered the dark, yellow eyes gleaming in the night, staring down at him with primal hunger.
One, if they knew of the event, would expect Malcolm to have post-traumatic stress, perhaps for the rest of his life. They would subsequently be wrong. Sure, at first, Malcolm did have a few dark dreams. But those dreams quickly passed. Eventually, though it was over a year, Malcolm's leg healed, and he could finally return to the states. Many had considered him dead. Obviously, that was not true.
Though, nowadays, no one really cared.
Suddenly, a few rapid snaps echoed throughout the train car. Though he hadn't been busy with anything, Malcolm found the noise slightly agitating, and he looked up to search for the source. He quickly found it, echoing from a man leaning against one of the metal poles standing in the middle of the aisle. The man had black hair, curled by what was probably some sort of hair gel. He wore a grey trench coat over a red shirt. He also seemed to be chewing gum, his jaws pulsating as he loudly pulverized the sugary paste in his mouth. But what's more, the man wore a smirk on his face and was looking directly at Malcolm.
Malcolm sighed, quickly coming to a logical conclusion on where this situation was going to lead. He tried diverting his attention away from the man, trying to ignore him, but Malcolm knew better than to have any notions that such would work. Sure enough, the man quickly found an open seat against the back wall of the train car, adjacent to Malcolm.
Malcolm continued trying to ignore the man but to no avail. After a few moments of silence, except for the loud chewing, the man asked, "You're him, right?"
Malcolm looked at the stranger. "Excuse me?" Malcolm asked, trying to act confused and innocent. Another attempt at avoiding attention. Another attempt that would ultimately fail.
"The scientist? The guy?" the man asked. Malcolm tried to give his best confused face but the man seemed clever enough to know what Malcolm was trying to pull. "I saw you on tv," he revealed with a shrug at Malcolm's fruitless efforts at avoiding the following conversation.
He then leaned forward, a wide-eyed, serious look on his face. "I believed you," he said, his eyes unblinking. For a moment, one that lasted almost half a second, Malcolm almost believed the guy himself. But this moment was extremely short, and Malcolm knew the man was faking his seriousness even before he finally burst into laughter.
The man leaned back, giving Malcolm a smirk. After a moment of silence, again, except for the chewing sounds, the man's face suddenly twisted into a harsh growl. He made what must have been a roaring sound as he clasped one curled hand with another as if imitating one creature violently tearing apart another. Malcolm quickly understood the mockery, again before the man's face returned its normal, chewing self, releasing a few more chuckles.
At long last, Malcolm's attempt to ignore the stranger seemed to have paid off, for, with a dismissive flick of his hand, the man turned away, minding his own business. Of course, with all the commotion, Malcolm didn't even need to look to know that several other strangers were giving them strange looks.
In 1994, shortly after Malcolm had finally returned to America, he had quickly done what he had promised not to do. Spill the beans.
When Malcolm had agreed to visit Jurassic Park back in '93, he had been forced to sign a short contract declaring that he would not speak a word, not a single word, of the park and its dinosaurs until it was opened in September of that year. Of course, it was almost October of 1994, and such an event would never pass. The last Ian Malcolm had heard of Isla Nublar, it was being destroyed by the Costa Rican government.
But as Malcolm had laid in his hospital bed, he had begun to recollect on the incident. Though the island was destroyed and the dinosaurs extinct once more, there was no reason to think that they would stay that way. If you can clone dinosaurs once, you can clone them again, especially as technology continues to advance. It was foolish and naive to assume that humanity would learn from the mistakes of Jurassic Park, especially since it was a mistake almost all of humanity didn't even know occurred. A lesson forgotten isn't a lesson learned, and a lesson that is never available to be learned isn't a lesson at all. Nothing was stopping some other rising company from digging up amber and cloning some more dinosaurs. In fact, even John Hammond was at least smart enough to keep his dinosaurs on an island, as far away from civilization as one could get.
Next time, though, humanity might not be so lucky.
In Malcolm's mind, people needed to be warned of the danger cloning dinosaurs, and biotechnology in general, possessed. Malcolm had shuddered at the idea of deadly Velociraptors running about the country unchecked. And who knew what other monsters biotechnology could create in the name of discovery. After getting out of the hospital, Malcolm had been determined to warn the public of biotechnology and preach the lessons Jurassic Park taught. He had written a book, God Creates Dinosaurs, in which Malcolm had detailed the rise and fall of Jurassic Park while preaching the lessons that society should learn from the disaster. He had been in several news articles and quite a few interviews.
But, in the end, it was all for naught. Despite Jurassic Park having been burned to the ground, that contract was still viable. InGen and Costa Rican lawyers came in and mercilessly beat down not just Malcolm's claims, but Malcolm himself. They made sure, absolutely sure, that Ian Malcolm's prior reputation was tainted and torn. When Malcolm had once been one of the leading figures in Chaos Theory, now he was just a humiliated, forgotten lunatic who dreamt of theme parks and dinosaurs.
At last, after what seemed like an eternity of awkward silence, the subway screeched to a halt, and the doors slid open. No one spoke to him as Malcolm got up and made his way towards the exit. Probably didn't want to be caught talking to a lunatic. Malcolm mentally shrugged at the thought. He had never been the type to worry about his 'image'. He purposely chose to wear only black and grey to avoid wasting precious time choosing between two articles of some shiny color. Besides, Malcolm thought, mentally chuckling at the irony of his current destination, he had other things to consider.
Malcolm was currently scheduled to meet with none other than John Alfred Hammond: the founder of InGen and the creator of Jurassic Park.
Malcolm strolled casually down the street, making his way towards his destination. That destination happened to be John Hammond's home: a large mansion in the suburbs. It was a far walk from the subway station, and there was still a long walk ahead of him before Malcolm finally arrived. But Malcolm was a little short on cash, and he decided not to use what he had on an expensive taxi when he could just use his legs.
At the moment, the streets seemed to be quite empty. A few cars passed this way and that every so often, but the sidewalks were vacant. It seemed that Malcolm was all alone.
At least until he felt something aggressively barge into his back.
Stumbling forward, Malcolm looked over to find that, despite his prior assessment, he was not quite as alone on that sidewalk as he thought.
"Sorry," said the stranger in a low, gruff voice. The stranger was a few inches shorter than himself, dressed in a large, brown trench coat. This was somewhat odd, considering the warm spring weather, though Malcolm wasn't exactly one to criticize. He consistently wore all black, even in the most scorching of weather. What was odd, though, was the man's behavior.
How was the man able to run into him? The sidewalk was quite wide, and even if it wasn't, Malcolm was the only other person in sight. Surely the man would have been able to avoid him. What's more, the man didn't seem bothered to make sure Malcolm was okay. He simply walked past; head down, shoulders hunched, and moving at an oddly brisk pace. It almost seemed like the man had somewhere he needed to be, and he needed to get there was fast and as inconspicuously as possible.
Considering the run-in, the man wasn't doing a great job with the latter, but Malcolm merely shrugged. The man's business was his own just as Malcolm's business was his. The collision was just an accident. Nothing more.
Malcolm continued on his walk, quickly forgetting about the incident entirely.
The Hammond Residence
Malcolm arrived at the Hammond Residence about ten minutes later. As he expected, the house was more of a mansion. A freshly paved path led up to the mansion's porch with a beautiful garden growing at either side. Marble pillars held up the small section of the roof that sheltered the porch beneath. The walls were tiled and polished stone. The door was made of mahogany wood with a clear window set into its center, the panes designed to make twelve squares divided into eight triangles. It was clear that the owner of the mansion was quite wealthy, though Malcolm was far from surprised. Malcolm knew him well. His wealth was well known to him, especially considering the marvel Hammond had created on an island a hundred and twenty miles west of Costa Rica.
Malcolm approached the door, hesitating momentarily to decide whether he should knock. He changed his mind though when he spotted a small doorbell on the right side of the door. He pressed it, and Malcolm could hear a series of chimes echo through the house. After a moment, Malcolm spotted a man approaching through the door windows, an older man with thin white hair clinging to the back of his practically bald head. The man was dressed up in a suit and bowtie, fitting in with the typical description of a rich man's butler.
When the man reached the door, he peered out at Malcolm through the door window with wrinkled blue eyes. A second later, the man cautiously pulled the door open. The man didn't seem to be expecting him, which surprised Malcolm. Surely Hammond would have warned the butler of his arrival? But, yet again, the butler had probably never seen Malcolm before, nor anyone not dressed in a well-groomed suit or a fancy dress.
"And who should I tell Mr. Hammond is calling?" the butler asked.
"Uh, Ian Malcolm," he responded simply. "I've been summoned."
The butler seemed confused for a brief moment but seemed to have become enlightened when his eyes lightened and he gave a nod of understanding. "Come in, sir," the butler greeted politely, holding the door open for Malcolm.
Malcolm carefully entered the mansion, stepping into a wide lobby with more marble pillars and a shining marble floor. On the wall to Malcolm's right was a large painting of some unknown wilderness with two tall stands of lit candles set at either side. Directly ahead was a large, rectangular window, though the outside was covered by a large curtain. To the left of that window was a staircase that spiraled up to the second floor. It was this staircase, Malcolm assumed, he would have to ascend to greet his host.
The butler quickly closed the door behind Malcolm. Afterward, Malcolm expected the butler to lead him to Hammond, only to be surprised when the butler merely walked off and disappeared into an adjoining room. Malcolm slowly approached the stairwell, calculating his next move. The butler had rounded the corner to the right and disappeared down a hallway that ran from left of the stairwell to right of the lobby, seemingly going through a pair of double doors at the hallway's end. Perhaps the butler had gone off to get Hammond, or maybe Malcolm should just head up those stairs and see if he could find his host in his room. Hammond was quite an old man, after all. There wasn't much chance of finding him out and about.
"Doctor Malcolm!"
The shout came from the stairwell. Looking up, Malcolm found himself pleasantly surprised by the sight of two familiar faces.
"Hey!" he said, a smile slipping onto his face. With a flurry of footsteps, two people came flying down the stairs, eager to see him. They had grown a lot since Malcolm had last seen them. A lot more than he would have expected. But he recognized them nonetheless.
Malcolm grunted as Tim Murphy charged into him, wrapping his arms around Malcolm and pulling him into a tight hug.
"Hi, Doctor Malcolm," Lex Murphy said, approaching him at a far calmer pace than her brother but with a wide smile on her face.
"Hey, kids!" Malcolm welcomed, extending one arm to allow Lex to join in the hug.
Malcolm was far from related to Lex and Tim Murphy, despite such a warm welcome. In actuality, Lex and Tim were the grandchildren of John Hammond himself. However, what they didn't share in blood they did share in experiences. Lex and Tim weren't just the grandchildren of a millionaire, they were two of the very few people in the world to see a living, breathing dinosaur.
Back in 1993, during the "InGen Incident," Hammond had brought Lex and Tim to Jurassic Park, both to bring joy to his beloved grandkids and to show how wonderful his park would be for other kids like them. Of course, this only ended up endangering the kids, for they ended up stranded in the middle of an island full of free and dangerous dinosaurs. They came close to death on multiple occasions but, with the help of a certain paleontologist, the kids had survived and returned home safe and sound to the mainland.
"It's so great to see you," Lex said as the hug broke apart.
"It's so great to see you," Malcolm responded, stepping back to further analyze just how much the kids had grown since that fateful event four years ago. They sure seemed to be getting along well. Tim looked like he was close to becoming a high schooler and Lex was practically an adult.
"It's so great… - just look at you," Malcolm said, looking between the two. Malcolm had always been fond of children, and after everything that had happened, it was nice to see these two in particular again.
"You've come to see grandpa?" Tim inquired.
"Ya, ya. Uh, he called me," Malcolm said. "You know what this is about?" he then asked. It had been a question weighing on his mind since the call. Malcolm hadn't seen Hammond since he left Costa Rica, not even when he was trying to expose the man's company. The call had come suddenly and with little at what it was about. Perhaps Hammond's grandkids would give a clue or two.
However, the kids merely shrugged and shook their heads. Malcolm chuckled. "I don't either," he said, glancing around at the lobby. When he returned his gaze to his kids, he was surprised to find that the joy had faded from their faces.
Malcolm looked at them in confusion. "Is everything alright?" he asked.
Lex sighed. "Well… not exactly." Lex then nodded at something behind him. Malcolm turned around and sighed as well, quickly understanding what Lex meant.
Coming down the stairs was a group of men and women, some carrying boxes, some carrying files, but all wearing a business suit. Malcolm didn't recognize any of these men and women. However, following close behind at the back of the pack was a man that Malcolm would not soon forget. A man with a wide forehead, short brown hair, and thin circular glass settled on a pointed nose.
The man spotted and recognized Malcolm about as quickly as Malcolm recognized him. As the people before him rounded the stairs and headed for the door, the man stopped, observing Malcolm with calculating and disdainful eyes.
"Well," the man said in a cold voice with a slight British accent, "Dr. Malcolm."
Malcolm met the man's gaze, trying to prevent glare from piercing through. Whether he was successful or not, Malcolm said in about as cold of a voice, "Ludlow."
Malcolm was quite familiar with Peter Ludlow, but it was not from any past friendship. Rather it was from a grudge that Ludlow and Malcolm had shared for quite some time. As it so happened, Peter Ludlow was the nephew of John Hammond. However, this is not the origin of Malcolm's grudge for him. Peter Ludlow was also a lawyer, but more specifically one of the lawyers responsible for the downfall of Malcolm's reputation.
In fact, of all the lawyers trying to persecute him, Ludlow had been the most brutal. A bunch of lawyers had been called to defend InGen and prove it innocent of Malcolm's charges, but it was Ludlow who was responsible for going further. He was the one who had torn down Malcolm's charges by tearing down Malcolm himself. In short, it wasn't very hard for Malcolm to hold a grudge against him.
"Here to tell a few campfire stories with my uncle?" Ludlow asked. He turned away from Malcolm as he spoke, walking up to a small desk to the right (when facing the front door) of the stairs. Behind the desk was a man and a woman, each dressed in business attire, withdrawing a collection of files from their briefcases.
As Ludlow pulled a pen from his jacket pocket, preparing to write on the papers the man and woman set down on the table before him, Malcolm approached. It was hard to withhold his anger for the man, considering what he had done.
"You can convince the media of whatever you want," Malcolm said, stopping a few feet away from Ludlow, "but I was there. I know what happened." Malcolm gave Ludlow a reproachful look. "And so do you."
"Do you really believe everyone who chose discretion did so for… a nefarious motive?" Ludlow asked. He quickly glanced over at Malcolm, giving him a contemptuous look. "Even Lex and Tim?"
"Leave them out of it," Malcolm demanded, sharpening his tone.
"You're lucky we didn't sue you," Ludlow continued, looking back down at the desk as he wrote in certain areas on the paper as directed by the man before him. "You signed a non-disclosure agreement before you went to the island. You were expressly forbidden to discuss anything you saw. Yet, you violated that agreement." Ludlow scoffed, still scribbling away on the parchment with his eyes well away from Malcolm. "Even Lex and Tim were smarter than that."
"I did," Malcolm admitted, only to add, "but you lied. You twisted the facts surrounding the deaths of at least three people and you stuffed misinformation down the public's throat. Not to mention that you made me out to be a nutjob. I'm sure you know how quick to condemn the academic world is. I'm sure you know how you destroyed my livelihood. How you destroyed my reputation."
"We made a generous, compensatory offer for your injuries," Ludlow pointed out.
This had been true. Malcolm had been offered money in compensation for the loss of his job at the university. However, Malcolm had refused it. They could call that handout whatever they wanted. Malcolm saw it for what it really was.
"That was a payoff and an insult," Malcolm accused, "and when you spin reality, cover up evidence, it ruins more than my reputation."
"As I recall," Ludlow said, briefly pausing to flip the page, "your university revoked your tenure for selling wild stories to the press."
"I didn't sell anything," Malcolm said angrily. "I never took a cent and I told the truth."
"Your version of it," Ludlow retorted.
"There are no 'versions' of the truth," Malcolm countered. Angrily, he added, "InGen can't keep spewing -"
It seemed that mentioning InGen finally earned Malcolm the right to be looked upon by Peter Ludlow. Shooting a threatening look over at Malcolm, Ludlow suddenly said, "InGen is my responsibility now, Doctor Malcolm, and I will jealousy defend its interests." It seemed that Ludlow had finished writing for he stuffed the pen back into his jacket pocket as the man and woman collected their things and made for the door.
Malcolm, however, was left confused. "Your responsibility?" he asked. "What about Hammond?"
"It is the Board of Directors I must face, not my uncle," Ludlow replied simply. Then, confusing Malcolm even more, he added, "Besides, you'll have nothing to worry about. Trust me when I say that all your problems will be rendered moot. In a few weeks, they'll be long forgotten."
Ludlow then began to walk towards Malcolm, intending to head for the front door. However, as he passed by, Malcolm reached out and violently grabbed him by the arm. He pulled Ludlow in close, glaring daggers at that infuriatingly smug face of his. "Not be me," Malcolm threatened.
Ludlow, despite the sudden act of aggression, remained calm. "Careful," he said, quietly but warningly. He glanced down at his arm, and then back up at Malcolm. "This suit costs more than your education."
Ludlow then pulled his arm free from Malcolm's grasp and made for the door without another word or glance.
Malcolm watched Ludlow leave, staring daggers into his back as he silently stewed over their exchange. After a moment, though, he suddenly remembered the presence of the kids. Whirling around, Malcolm found the kids standing still, giving him worried expressions.
"Um," Malcolm said awkwardly, "I'm sorry you had to see that."
"It's alright," Tim said, though a bit quietly.
Lex, however, said, "If you need anything; money or a place to stay -"
"No, no, no," Malcolm quickly interjected. "Don't worry about me. I'll be just fine."
The kids didn't seem to be convinced by this claim.
Malcolm sighed and said, "How about this, could you tell me where your grandfather is?"
The kids briefly glanced at each other, but Tim only said, "He's in his bedroom. We can show you if you want."
Malcolm smiled. "I'd love to."
Hammond's Bedroom
Lex and Tim led Malcolm up the stairs and to the end of a long hallway. On the right was a pair of double doors, each with a paned window in its center. Through these windows, Malcolm could see a large, king-sized bed. And tucked beneath its large blanket, was none other than John Hammond. The old man was lying in his bed, wearing fancy pajamas, head turned to stare out one of two tall windows that was to his right.
It didn't take long for Malcolm to notice that Hammond was not in very good shape. As he stared out the window, Hammond seemed like he was on the verge of falling asleep. His face had seemed to have gained a few more wrinkles since Malcolm had last seen him, and a bit of the brightness that had once been a part of his expression seemed to have faded. What's more, medical equipment was practically surrounding Hammond. IV stands towered over Hammond on either side of his bed, and a computer was set on a small desk by the foot of his bed. An assortment of furniture and potted plants were set close to this equipment as if it were meant to hide them. But, if this was the case, it wasn't doing a very good job.
Malcolm looked over at Lex and Tim. "What's wrong with him?" he asked.
Lex and Tim looked solemnly over at their grandfather. "He's been like this for some time," Lex said softly. "He's sick, and as he gets older, he only gets sicker."
Malcolm looked back over at Hammond. He had never held much of a fondness for the man, but seeing him lying in bed like that, tired and worn, Malcolm couldn't help but feel a pang of pity for him.
Malcolm looked back down at the kids. "I'll go see him now," he said. "It's been good seeing you."
"It's been good seeing you too," Lex and Tim said.
Malcolm and the kids shared their goodbyes before Lex and Tim finally turned and retreated down the hallway, disappearing down the flight of stairs they had come from. Malcolm watched them walk off for a moment before turning back towards the door. Then, with a weighted sigh, Malcolm pushed the door open and entered the room.
Malcolm only took a single step into the room. He carefully closed the door behind him, trying not to disturb the man. However, despite his old age, Hammond's hearing still seemed to be in good condition.
His head snapped towards Malcolm, and upon seeing him, his face brightened close to where it had once been. "Ian!" he greeted excitedly.
Malcolm hesitated, surprised by such a warm welcome. Hammond had once disliked Malcolm as much as he disliked him. After all, Malcolm had been the biggest advocate against Hammond's dream. But it seemed that attitude had changed since last they met. Now Hammond looked upon Malcolm more like an old friend than a nemesis.
"Don't linger in the doorway like an ingenue," Hammond said, flapping his hands in a gesture for Malcolm to enter. "Come in! Come in!"
Malcolm took a few steps forward, standing a few feet from the foot of Hammond's bed.
"It's so good to see you!" Hammond said, "it really is!" Hammond glanced down at Malcolm's left leg. "How's the leg?" he asked.
"Resentful," Malcolm replied bluntly. The doctors in Costa Rica had done a good job at healing his leg, but it wasn't a perfect fix. Malcolm would still sometimes get pains in his leg, and it would get sore after walking long distances. It was sore right now since Malcolm had just recently walked a fair distance. In a way, Malcolm guessed he still sort of blamed Hammond for the whole thing, considering the thing that had broken his leg in the first place.
"It's funny who you remember when you've had a lot of time to think," Hammond continued, dismissing Malcolm's response. "It's the people who challenged you. It's the quality of the opponents that give our accomplishments meaning." Malcolm had to withhold a scoff at 'accomplishments.' However, Hammond suddenly looked upon Malcolm with a sad and guilty expression on his face. It actually caught Malcolm off guard.
"I never told you how sorry I was about what happened after we returned," Hammond said apologetically.
With Hammond's apology, as well as his current condition, Malcolm felt a little of his anger towards the man lighten. "I didn't know you weren't - uh - weren't well," he said.
Hammond merely snorted at the comment. "It's nothing to worry about," he claimed. "If anything, it's the lawyers." Hammond chuckled. "The lawyers are finally killing me."
"They do have a motive," Malcolm muttered under his breath. He quickly followed the comment up with, in a louder voice, "Why did you want to see me? Your message said it was urgent."
Hammond gave Malcolm a sly smile. "You were right… and I was wrong," Hammond suddenly forced out. Once he had, he suddenly began to laugh. "There! I said it!" He added with a few chuckles. "Did you ever think you'd hear me say that?" Hammond sighed before he continued. "Spectacularly wrong. Instead of observing those animals, I tried to control them. I squandered an opportunity and we still know next to nothing about their lives. Not their lives as man would have them, behind electric fences," Hammond added, "but in the wild. Behavior in their natural habitat. The impossible dream of any paleontologist. I could have had it, but I let it…" Hammond waved his fingers, "slip away."
Hammond suddenly sighed, catching his breath. However, a glint suddenly appeared in his eye, and a sly smile crept onto his face. Then, Hammond said something that made Malcolm's blood turn ice cold.
Then, he said, "Thank God for Site B."
"Site… B?" Malcolm said slowly, trying to comprehend what Hammond had just said.
"Well?" Hammond continued. "Didn't it all seem a bit… compact to you? The hatchery, in particular?"
"What are you talking about?" Malcolm asked though a cold and extremely uncomfortable feeling began to creep up his spine. He did indeed remember the hatchery. The place in Jurassic Park where the dinosaurs had been born.
"You know my initial yields had to be low," Hammond said, "far less than one percent. That's a thousand embryos for every single live birth. A thousand defective eggs for every living, breathing dinosaur." Hammond's smile grew wider. "Genetic engineering on that scale implies a gigantic operation, not that spotless little laboratory I showed you."
Malcolm shook his head. That feeling was growing bigger now, and he did not like it. Not one bit. "I don't believe you," Malcolm claimed, knowing full well that it was a lie. The thought had crossed his mind. When Malcolm had explored that hatchery four years ago, he had wondered how so many dinosaurs could be produced from such a small laboratory. But it had been a passing thought. A thought he had not considered once since then.
Much to his mistake.
"Isla Nublar was just a showroom," Hammond explained, "something for the tourists. Site B was the factory floor. That was on Isla Sorna, eighty-some miles from Nublar. We bred the animals there, nursed them until they were a few months old, then moved them to the park."
Malcolm suddenly felt light-headed. Images, terrifying images that Malcolm had been suppressing for years, began to flood back into his mind. Images of teeth, claws, blood, and those damned yellow eyes.
"No, no, no, no, no, no…" he said, shaking his head, trying to disperse the nightmarish thoughts.
"About two years ago," Hammond continued unawares, "Hurricane Clarisse wiped out Site B. Call it an act of God. We had to evacuate and the animals were released to mature on their own in the wild." Hammond's smile grew even wider. "'Life will find a way', as you once so eloquently put it. And now we have a complete ecological system on the island with dozens of species living in their own social groups. No fences, no boundaries, no constraining technologies."
Hammond gave Malcolm a toothy grin, but Malcolm only sighed, each word hurting more and more.
Seemingly noticing Malcolm's distress, Hammond said, "For four years now I've fought to keep them safe from human interference."
"Then that's the first thing you've done right!" Malcolm declared. "I'm sure you've had this island quarantined and contained as soon as you evacuated it! I'm sure you've had the airspace restricted and the Department of Biological Preserves to seal off the island!" Malcolm sighed, trying to control his emotions. "Dinosaurs and man were never meant to share the Earth. I'm living proof of that! We could never compete in their world, just as they could never make it in ours. Civilization would kill them…"
A sudden thought pierced Malcolm's mind, grinding his tirade to a momentary pause. "... if they're not dead already," he then said. Malcolm gave Hammond a confused look. "Didn't you breed them lysine-deficient?" he asked. "They should have died within a week without human interference."
"Yes," Hammond admitted, but then quickly added, "but by God, they're flourishing! I don't know how, but that's just one of a thousand questions I want the team to answer."
"Wait…" Malcolm said, wondering if he had misheard Hammond. He prayed that he did, but a part of him knew that he hadn't.
Sure enough, without skipping a beat, Hammond continued, "I've been putting this together for over a year, but now something's come up that's made it imperative the expedition happen now. If we hesitate, all will be lost."
"Hold on," Malcolm said, finally cutting into Hammond's monologue, "'expedition?' Oh please, please, don't tell me you were foolhardy enough to -"
"I've organized a group to go in and document them," Hammond said, cutting back in. "To make the most spectacular living fossil record the world has ever seen. It wasn't easy convincing any of them about what they're going to see. I've had to use my checkbook to get them there. I'm covering the expenses myself."
"I can't believe my ears," Malcolm remarked. He gave Hammond a serious look. "Did you breed - uh - carnivores on this island?"
"You don't have to worry about them," Hammond said dismissively. Before Malcolm could object, Hammond suddenly began to push himself upwards. Malcolm thought he was just adjusting himself, until he suddenly began to turn his body, shifting his legs so they were dangling over the left side of the bed.
Malcolm, realizing what Hammond was trying to do, took a step forward. "I don't think you should -"
"I'm fine, I'm fine," Hammond dismissed, waving him off. He grabbed a cane, which was leaned against his nightstand, and placed it firmly on the ground. He then, with a grunt, pushed himself off the bed. Upon landing on the floor, Hammond stumbled, but Malcolm was able to leap forward and catch him before he could fall.
"Thank you," Hammond said. He then began to waddle off towards the other side of the room. "Our satellite infrareds show that the animals are fiercely territorial," Hammond said and he made his way. He was heading towards a desk that was facing the wall that Hammond's bed was pressed up against. However, this part of the wall was covered by a few paintings and a bookshelf filled with an assortment of novels, a globe, and even a model of an eighteenth-century ship. There were several things on the desk, but the one Hammond seemed to be most interested in was an opened laptop.
"They demarcate and defend specific areas and stay in them," he continued, grabbing the laptop and tapping away on it. "Look," he then said, spinning the laptop so Malcolm could see it.
The screen displayed a map of an island, which Malcolm quickly assumed was Isla Sorna. The island seemed to take on a pentagonal shape with multiple rivers digging into the island, some cutting through it completely. There were a bunch of orange dots spread across the map, a vast majority of them being within the interior of the island. Malcolm quickly realized what the dots represented.
They were dinosaurs.
"The carnivores are isolated in the interior of the island," Hammond said, pointing at the orange dots. He then moved his finger, tracing the island's edges. "The team will stay on the outer rim," he said.
Malcolm sighed, unconvinced. "How many lunatics are on this team?"
"Uh…" Hammond said. He reached for the table again, grabbing a thick folder that was laying near the computer. He opened it up and flipped through the pages before saying, "Five."
It took Malcolm a moment to process the information. "Five!" he eventually said. "You should have the entire Marine Corps!"
"Exactly wrong!" Hammond countered. "Ask any animal behaviorist, the best results come from the lowest impact. The animals shouldn't even know you're there. This is strictly observational and for documentation. No interactions. Attempting to control the environment is where I went wrong the first time. You told me so yourself!"
Hammond sighed and gave Malcolm a grin. "Oh don't worry, I'm not making the same mistakes again."
"No, you're making all new ones!" Malcolm said. "My God, if you want to protect those animals, do the groundwork. Get legislation passed! If you want to observe them, do it safely. You already have satellites trained on the island, or you could do it by helicopter, but you don't just barge into a dinosaur-infested island - no fences this time - with nothing but a camcorder!"
Malcolm sighed and shook his head. "Who are these people? What are their names?"
Hammond flipped through the folder again. "There is Nick van Owen, a video documentarian; Doctor Jack Thorne, retired professor of Applied Engineering and the owner of Thorne Mobile Field Systems; Eddie Carr, a field equipment specialist and Doctor Thorne's assistant; we have our paleontologist…" Hammond grabbed a large stack of papers from the folder and handed them over to Malcolm as he finished, "... and I was hoping that you might be the fifth." Hammond quickly gave Malcolm as wide and toothy of a smile he could muster.
But, Malcolm would have none of it. "You're out of your mind," Malcolm said, giving Hammond a disbelieving look. "Do you even listen when I speak? I mean -"
Hammond suddenly reached out and grabbed Malcolm's arm, cutting him off. His face suddenly went dark. "Look," he said, leading Malcolm away from the desk, back towards his bed, "We've been on the verge of Chapter 11 since that accident in the park. There are those in the company who wanted to exploit Site B to bail us out. They've been planning it for years, and I've been able to stop them, up until now…"
Hammond suddenly stopped, turning and looking up into Malcolm's face with a serious look. "But," he said, "a few weeks ago, a British family on a yacht cruise… stumbled across the island, and their wee girl was… injured."
Malcolm's eyes widened, and a chill went up his spine. Hammond, seeing the horror on Malcolm's face, quickly assured, "She's fine, she's fine." Even so, Malcolm still couldn't get that sick feeling out of his stomach. A young girl had been injured on that island. Attacked by what had to be some sort of dinosaur. She may have been able to escape alive, but what if…
"But," Hammond continued, walking away from Malcolm towards his bed, "the board has used the incident to take control of InGen from me. Now it's only a matter of time before this…" Hammond stopped at his bedside, setting the folder down before turning back around to say, "this lost world is found and pillaged."
Hammond sighed. "Public opinion is the one thing I can still use to preserve it. You have always been my harshest critic. If you were to come out now and support me… it'll mean everything."
Malcolm gave Hammond a doubtful look, the memory of the last time he had tried exposing the existence of dinosaurs still fresh in his mind. Hammond seemed to notice the look, and said, "I know how obsessive you can be once you truly embrace an idea. We can come forward, together, with ironclad proof of their existence."
"But you must already have proof," Malcolm pointed out. "DNA splicing, cloning, births -"
"Only in captivity!" Hammond objected. "I need to show a complete photo record of those animals in their natural habitat to stir up emotional support for keeping that island pristine."
Malcolm sighed, rubbing his forehead as he tried to digest everything Hammond was telling him. Eventually, he concluded, "So you went from capitalist to naturalist in just four years. That's… that's really something."
Hammond gave Malcolm a hard, imploring look. "Ian," he said, "this is my last chance to contribute something of real value. I can't have walked so far to have left no footprints! I will not be known only for my failures, and you are too smart and too proud to let yourself go down in history as a hoaxster and a fraud."
Hammond then gestured to Malcolm, waving for him to approach. Malcolm set the papers down on the table before he did so, and when he was close enough, Hammond reached forward to clasp Malcolm's hand in his. "Please," he said pleadingly, beggingly. "This is our last chance at redemption."
Malcolm sighed. He took his free hand and gently patted Hammond's own. He stared directly into Hammond's eyes, giving him a serious look. Then, he said, "John… no." Hammond's face quickly fell into sadness, but Malcolm did not hesitate. "Absolutely not," he continued. "It's selfish and grandiose. I won't go, and I'm contacting every member of your team to keep them from going too."
Malcolm pulled his hand from Hammond's grasp, turning around to collect the papers he had dropped on the table. As he did so, Malcolm remembered that Hammond left out the name of the paleontologist. Picking up the papers and flipping through them, Malcolm turned back to Hammond and asked, "Whose the paleontologist, by the way? You didn't mention their -"
At the question, Hammond suddenly froze, his body tensing up and a guilty expression forming onto his face. "She came to me! I want you to know that," he said.
Malcolm gave him a confused look. "Who did?" he asked.
"I want to be very clear about who approached whom," Hammond said, dodging the question.
"Who are you talking about?" Malcolm asked again. However, at the back of his mind, a small idea was forming. A small idea, but a dreadful idea. A female paleontologist that Hammond was getting ver worked up about? Malcolm prayed that he was wrong. But, he had a terrible feeling that he wasn't.
"Leave it to you, Ian," Hammond responded, dodging the question once again, "to have associations, liaisons, and even love interests with the best people in so many fields -"
At the mention of love interests, Malcolm's suspicions were confirmed. He knew instantly who Hammond was referring to, and the fact that he had got her for such an insane expedition broke all restraints on Malcolm's anger.
"You didn't bring Sarah into this?!" Malcolm demanded, knowing full well what the truth was. Before Hammond could reply, Malcolm yelled, "No! Forget it! Get someone else!"
"There is no one else!" Hammond said. "Paleontological behavior study is a brand new field and Sarah Harding is at the head of that frontier. Her theories on parenting and nurturing among carnivores have framed the debate for the last five years. Who else could have - what are you doing?"
Malcolm decided to ignore Hammond's excuses. He began tearing through Hammond's desk, searching beneath piles of papers and dossiers. "Where's your phone?" Malcolm demanded, desperately scanning the desk. Before Hammond could respond, Malcolm found it. It was a little black phone set on a receiver hidden behind a stack of papers. Malcolm carelessly knocked the papers aside and lunged for the phone. He snagged it, bringing it up to his ear -
"It's too late," Hammond said quietly, the words forcing Malcolm to a sudden halt. "She's already there," Hammond said, freezing Malcolm's blood and sending a cold chill up his spine. Once more images of gnashing teeth flowing blood began to fill Malcolm's mind, but it wasn't his blood. It was hers.
Malcolm turned around slowly, a look of pure terror imprinted onto his features.
"The others will meet her in three days," Hammond said.
This did nothing to alleviate the panic in Malcolm's heart. In fact, it only elevated it. In a pained whisper, Malcolm said, "You sent her to this island… alone?" Malcolm fell back, landing in a nearby seat. He sat there numbly, begging to be awakened from this nightmare.
However, all he got was Hammond saying, "'Sent' is hardly the word. She couldn't be restrained! She was adamant about making the initial foray by herself. 'Observation without interference,' she said. Went on and on about it."
Malcolm looked up, sending a deathly glare Hammond's way. "What is it, you couldn't kill me the first time, so you recruited Sarah to manipulate me into going down there again?! Is that it?!"
"It wasn't intentional, I swear!" Hammond squeaked, waving his hands innocently. "You know how she is, better than anyone! After you were injured in the park, she sought you out, didn't she? Traveled all the way down to the hospital in Costa Rica to ask someone she didn't even know if the rumors were true! She's a firebrand once she's engaged on a subject, how could I refuse her the chance to complete her life's work?!"
"This is criminal," Malcolm growled. "I won't forgive you for this. Never! You want to leave your name on something? Fine. But stop putting it on other peoples' tombstones!"
"She's going to be fine," Hammond assured. "She's spent years studying African predators. She's as much an animal behaviorist as she is a paleontologist. She knows what she's doing. And believe me, the research team will-"
Malcolm suddenly and forcefully stood up from his chair, making Hammond go quiet. "No," he said resolutely. Malcolm's mind was made up. He didn't care if he had to face the jaws of another Tyrannosaurus, he was not going to leave Sarah on that island. Especially not alone.
Malcolm looked down at Hammond, giving him a fiery gaze. "It's not a research expedition anymore," he said. "It's a rescue mission, and it's leaving right now." Malcolm then marched past Hammond without another word, determination filling his heart. He stepped out of the room and quickly made for the steps, leaving Hammond behind by himself.
Hammond slowly walked up to the door, briefly peering out. He only got to see a glimpse of Malcolm's black jacket before the mathematician disappeared for good. With a sigh, Hammond turned back and began to head for his bed.
However, right when he reached his bedside, he suddenly stopped. Extending a clenched fist, Hammond began to, one at a time, extend each of his fingers. One, two, three, four… He briefly hesitated before, with a sly, toothy smile, finally extending his thumb.
Five. Five people going to Isla Sorna. Research expedition or rescue mission. It didn't matter. Doctor Ian Malcolm was going to Site B either way.
San Diego
At the side of the road in a suburban area of San Diego, a man wearing a large, brown trench coat quietly slipped into the back of a white moving truck. However, rather than an assortment of furniture, there were two desks pushed up against both walls of the truck. In the chairs stationed at each desk sat multiple people, each dressed in jet black suits. On the right table sat a radio, with a person wearing earphones twisting the machine's knobs. Everyone else was looking over at this man, giving him and the radio their undivided attention.
From this machine, a voice echoed, "It's a rescue mission, and it's leaving right now." The voice was then replaced by a series of rapid footsteps.
"Did I miss it?" the man entering the truck asked, throwing off his trench coat.
One of the men looked up and gave him wide smile. "Oh you missed it, alright," he said cheerfully. "You just missed Hammond spilling everything."
"Everything?" the first man asked.
"Everything," the other confirmed, his grin widening. "There's a second island. Site B. It's where InGen bred the dinosaurs before bringing them to the park. And it's been abandoned for two years."
"So?" the first man asked. "The dinosaurs are probably dead by now."
"That's the thing," the other man said, "they're not. The dinosaurs were released and have been surviving on the island. But, best of all, there's nothing else there. No fences, no people, no guards. It's ripe for the taking." The man then looked down at the man on the radio. "Inform Dodgson. Tell him everything we've learned."
The radioman looked up. "But what about Malcolm?" he asked. "He's preparing to go to the island as we speak."
"He's just going to rescue his girlfriend or whatever," the man replied. "He won't be a problem." However, after considering it for a moment, he then added, "Though, I guess it wouldn't hurt to keep an eye on him." He then looked over at the man who had just entered the truck.
He sighed and threw his trench coat back over his shoulders. "Alright," he said with a sigh. "I know what to do."
A/N - Hey guys! I am so sorry for the incredibly long wait. I've been focussing pretty much all of my attention on my Godzilla stories, and this one kind of got left behind. However, with the Jurassic World: Dominion prologue having recently dropped, and my recent viewing of Jurassic World: Camp Cretaceous, I decided to return to this story. I hope that this chapter made up for the wait a little bit. I'm gonna try to keep posting chapters to this story along with my Godzilla stories, but I can't promise anything. Also, since I decided to go back and change a few things in the prologue, so I advise you to go back and read that. Anyway, this chapter was mostly a novelization of the initial scenes in the actual movie, with a few changes to the dialogue. But, of course, there was also that scene with Ludlow and the InGen executives, which was based on a deleted scene from the movie. You may have also noticed that I included Doctor Jack Thorne as one of those Hammond hired to go to the island. For those of you who don't know, Thorne was a character from Michael Crichton's novel The Lost World. I decided that I would be including a few characters from the novel the movie was based on. A few of the things I will be implementing into this story will be from that novel since the movie ended up being a lot different from Crichton's novel. What those things are, well, you'll just have to wait to find out. Well, that's all for now. I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter and forgive me for that long wait. I am very sorry for that. Have a good day and Happy belated Thanksgiving!
