JURASSICPARK

CHAOS ENGINE

ONE

Nick Van Owen held his backpack close to his chest as he was led through a cool, marble floored corridor. The huge house was almost silent save for his hiking boots falling heavily on the expensive floor. The butler who led him through the mansion looked behind him with a sigh. Nick had tracked mud through the lobby, over priceless rugs, and now over newly polished marble.

Nick followed the man's gaze and looked up sheepishly. "I should have wiped my feet."

The butler nodded and tried for a ghost of a smile, but failed dismally. They reached a set of highly polished oak doors and the butler rapped on the heavy wood politely.

"Enter." Came the command within. The butler placed a gloved hand on the brass doorknob and paused, turning a harsh look on Nick.

"Mister Hammond should not be excited," He said in a clipped British accent. "He is very ill."

"I'll keep that in mind," replied Nick, who couldn't have cared less about the state of Hammond's health one way or the other.

The doors swung open and Nick was led into a huge study with shelves and shelves of books lining every wall. Nick would have assumed that this was the Library if he hadn't been to Hammond's library before. The carpet underneath Nick's soiled feet was a deep crimson colour, as were the heavy drapes either side of a huge bay window directly in front of him. Hammond's desk was underneath the window, but the old man wasn't sitting in his executive's chair. Hammond beamed at Nick from his position on the lover's seat set into the base of the window. He wore his now customary silk robe and his legs were covered with a lamb's wool blanket. In the ten years since his company created Jurassic Park and subsequently went bankrupt, John Hammond looked as if he had aged considerably.

The butler nodded politely at Nick and withdrew from the room as Hammond struggled from his semi-reclined position. "Nick Van Owen. It's good of you to come." Hammond's eyes fell upon the backpack at Nick's breast and smiled. "I almost didn't."

Hammond nodded; he understood why Nick would be reticent to answer a call from him after what he had gone through at Isla Nublar. The very thought of that disaster made the businesses man's heart in his chest beat faster. "I can understand that, really I can." Hammond was now in a sitting position and patted the seat next to him. "We need to talk about what's in that bag."

Nick stayed where he was. After a moment of indecision, Nick sat down and placed the back pack on the desk, out of reach and directly out of both men's line of sight. "There's nothing to talk about, John," Nick said, running a hand through his short cropped hair. "We've both been through enough in the past few years to know that what's in that bag is bad news."

Hammond nodded absently, watching geese play in a pond outside. The old man took off his glasses and began polishing them, a nervous habit Nick recognised with a smile. "I know, Nick," Hammond sighed. "If the company had known I sent you back to the park…If they knew what was in that bag…It would have been enough to save InGen."

"Nothing could have saved InGen," Nick responded a little too forcefully. He believed Hammond deserved to serve penance for his greed, and with the deaths of so many people on his conscience, it seemed at though John Hammond had abandoned his childhood dream of Dinosaurs roaming the earth once again. Nick wasn't a religious man, but he knew that what Hammond had done was a slap in the face to evolution. Rumour had it that Hammond had been more active with his local church than he had in the twenty years he had lived in his huge gated estate.

"Perhaps," Hammond replied with a sad smile. "InGen may be dead. But people everywhere now are writing my living obituary." Hammond held up a recent issue of TIME magazine, his face in sharp focus in front of the blurred but still recognisable image of the InGen logo. Hammond flicked to a page and replaced his glasses, reading. "John Hammond's dreams became a reality through sheer force of will, using his business acumen to create a modern day miracle. Those dreams sadly led to his fall from grace." Hammond tossed away the magazine and sighed.

"Why have you called me here?" Nick asked suddenly. Subtlety was not one of his finer points.

"The UN has decided that they will review the restrictions to access the animals at site B," Hammond said. "If they lift the restrictions, scientific studies would be allowed on the ground, and sanctions would eventually be removed so the animals could be taken from the island."

Nick shook his head. "They won't do it, John. The T-Rex in San Diego…"

"..Is already fading from popular memory, I fear. People are more interested in dinosaurs than ever before, and I think this decision will lead another company to resume research and create more."

"Aren't InGen's dinosaurs copyrighted or something?" Nick asked with a frown. "Didn't I read that somewhere?"

Hammond nodded. "The software we used to re-sequence the dinosaur genetic codes is a proprietary product, and I hold the copyright for that, and the dinosaurs themselves are InGen's property, but since the company collapsed, we have quite a dilemma on our hands."

Nick knew what Hammond meant. Since InGen filed for chapter 11 and tried to recapitalise in the years after Jurassic Park, several interested companies snapped up most of InGen's assets. Rumours on Wall Street were rife that a syndicate of major companies had cornered most of the dying company, and the primary buyers had vested interests in the theme park industry. With the lobbying of the UN, the renewed media interest and amplified public love of everything prehistoric, the world looked set to go into another dino-fever. Television pundits raged about the ethics of doing such a thing; CNN relayed debates between hitherto unknown dinosaur experts (Mostly ageing academics who had long ago accepted their fate) and the religious right, about the ethics of resurrecting the myth of the mighty dinosaur. Nick, one of the few people who had seen the creatures up close, was of the opinion that they should have stayed dead. But then anyone who had been chased by a raptor would say that.

The simple fact of the matter is, almost a dozen companies had legal claim to the products of InGen's research, but the legality of exploiting said product was flimsy at best. If they banded together, their combined legal might would topple Hammond's already soft defence.

Nick knew his journey to the site of the original park was ill-advised before he accepted Hammond's offer. No one came back from that place with pleasant memories; in fact it was the source of most of the litigation InGen and Hammond had endured through much of the mid nineties. Somehow both Hammond and his former company had ducked criminal negligence claims until the incident in San Diego, when a maternally enraged T-Rex set about finding its young by tearing apart anything that got in its way. Hammond by then was not in control of InGen, which saved him from going completely bankrupt.

Nick felt no remorse cashing the hefty check Hammond drew for him as incentive to take him seriously, and embarked on a mission that he had promised himself he would not take.

When the chartered helicopter reached the small island that would have once been home to a wondrous amusement park, but in the years since its demise had snared the attention of the world, Nick looked down and tried not to think about what he and a handful of seriously misguided humans had endured on an island not dissimilar to this, and separated by a necklace-thin chain of islands. He had packed his camera despite the assurances of Hammond that the island would now be bereft of predators (Time Magazine was willing to pay big bucks for pictures of the dinosaurs; as it was his images from his sojourn to site B had been very profitable) and promised himself that he was only going to the park because it served a greater purpose. He shuddered to think how cynical he had become, a fact that more than one of his ex-girlfriends had remarked as they slammed doors in his face.

And the apprehension, fear and everything else fell away as he glimpsed the island rising up out of the mist and sea. He'd read Ian Malcolm's book about his experiences in the park, and he remembered the passage that described Malcolm's first glimpse of the island:

With mounting excitement, Drs Sattler and Grant leaned forward and could barely contain their gasps as the island reared into view. It was like a great alive thing, a lush green oasis in the middle of the hostile Costa Rican sea. Hammond was like a delighted child showing off a new toy, and it seemed as if his joy alone was keeping us aloft as we swooped in for a closer look.

The island was breathtaking. Hammond, as he often liked to say, had spared no expense. This time, I believed him.

"You need to gain some perspective, Nick," Hammond said slowly, his eyes sliding over to the backpack on the desk. "The contents of that bag may be enough to stave off the wolves at the door. If we went public with them, we could buy some time to mount some kind of legal defence…"

Nick was already shaking his head. "I didn't go back to the park to get these things for you to kick start your dreams," He said. "That's not why you approached me."

Hammond frowned, as if he had just remembered his promises to Nick. "I know what I said," Hammond responded coolly. The old man turned away and looked out the window again. "The temptation is still there, isn't it? To build up something again, make one last stab at being remembered. People die for that, people kill for it." He let out a long sigh and leaned heavily on his cane. "It's a hard thing to give up."

Nick understood what Hammond meant. The gleam in the old man's eyes was no just a twinkle, that spark that had ushered through the most significant event in modern history was dearly clinging onto Hammond's sagging frame. Nick suddenly wanted to be anywhere but in this room, with this man.

Hammond seemed to sense Nick's discomfort, and looked up with a half smile. "Would you like to take a walk in the grounds?" He asked gamely. "I haven't been able to for a while, and they are beautiful."

Nick thought about saying no, but could not rightfully leave Hammond so alone. He stood up and helped Hammond from his seat, his hand on the old man's elbow as they went out into the hall. Hammond began walking, and Nick looked back at the open office door, raced back inside and snatched up the backpack.

They walked on lush green grass that was manicured and fresh smelling, Hammond taking Nick on the tour he once gave foreign dignitaries. The grounds were expansive and dotted with trees. Peacocks roamed the grass freely, as did geese and ducks. The area was landscaped to look impressive, a testament to the owner's propensity to think big. A landscape gardener would have lost sleep trying to work out how to realise Hammond's vision. He imagined the many scientists scrambling to realize his vision for the future: In ten short years, they had undone what millions of years of evolution had ensured would be absolute. Nothing seemed impossible when you were in the presence of John Hammond.

"I managed to hold onto the house and some other assets when InGen went under," Hammond said as they strolled. "When the lawsuits started it seemed like they would never end." He smiled and tried to laugh, but it died quickly.

"What do you hope to achieve here, John?" Nick asked softly as they settled onto a bench under a huge oak tree. "I went to that island, and I found the embryos that Nedry stole. I did what you asked. But I can't hand them over to them knowing you'll just try to keep going with this shit, with trying to make a larger impression on the world than you deserve." The words were heartfelt, cruel and not strictly untrue. The old man recoiled at Nick's words a little, then leaned forward, brow knit, heavily on his cane.

"You're not the first person to say such a thing to me," Hammond said lightly. "In fact if I had a dollar for every time someone told me I was a useless old git, I'd be the richest man in the world."

The both laughed softly at that, the truth of their words as refreshing as the bright blue sky on their skin and the breeze on their cheeks. For a moment it was as if the events of the past twenty years had not occurred; that Jurassic Park was a fiction, and a T-Rex had not been bought to the mainland, killing people with the ferocity of a movie monster. Both men had endured much since those days, both bearing similar scars.

Nick wished he could start over, wipe the last few years clean with a big eraser. His pictures from his time on Site B were much celebrated and re-printed, garnering him the respect of his peers and the accolades that went with it. Now approaching forty, Nick's reputation as a photo journalist had been elevated to legend. He had not taken a single frame since his ordeal, and no intention to do so in the foreseeable future. His current position as editor of a youth oriented magazine allowed him a comfortable living, and his video footage from site B had been sold to many news services the world over. Royalties were still coming in; his were the only known photographs of dinosaurs on the planet. Now he'd reached these heady heights, his social conscience had kicked in. He'd once believed in saving the environment, as lofty a goal as that might have been, and somewhere along the line he's resigned himself to the simple fact that it couldn't be saved. John Hammond's phone call had jolted him out of that.

"We cannot allow these people-whoever they are-to make the same mistakes," Hammond said, his voice small away from the confines of his office.

Nick nodded lamely. Hammond would not be persuaded from any other view, and the dismay on Nick's face was evident. Hammond laid a hand on the younger man's shoulder. The enormity of Nick's decision had weighed heavily on him since his arrival at Hammond's mansion, and it was made all the more so by the fact that he would have to shatter his hopes. "You're right about one thing, John," Nick said quietly. "We can't allow them to take the animals off the island."

Hammond's face creased into a smile. "I'm glad we're on the same page, lad."

Nick shifted uncomfortably and looked around him. If he had capitalised on the dinosaurs-and in all honesty the amount of money he made from his images was pissing money for the likes of Hammond-he could have all this. If he had caved in when a major network wanted to make a documentary with his images and offered him a six figure sum-he could have continually done so and had what John Hammond, former head of InGen, now had. The thought sent a shiver down his spine. "John, These embryos are going into a safe facility until I work out what to do with them." He held the bag up for emphasis, as if either of them had forgotten its presence. "And I think we need to get some manpower together, go back to the islands, and make sure those mistakes you keep mentioning don't happen again."

Hammond's smile faded and the look in his eyes darkened. "No, absolutely not…"

Nick shook his head vigorously. "It's the only way." He stood up and slung the backpack over his shoulder. "We have to kill the dinosaurs that are left. And if you won't help me, I know someone who will."

Hammond made a feeble grab for the backpack, but Nick sidestepped him and kept on walking. "Think about it John," Nick called over his shoulder. "You'd have the chance to do something right for a change."

John Hammond tried to focus on the paperwork in front of him in the hours after Nick's visit. His hand shook each time he lifted his pen from paper, and he frowned down at it as if it were the source of his new headache and not a boy he had once trusted to preserve the animals on site B. He put down his pen resolutely and pushed the paperwork to one side. He knew who Nick would go to, now. There were few people left on this earth who knew the intimate details of Jurassic Park, and it was to one of them that Nick would turn. Hammond's shaking became more intense as he ran through the short list of names, a list of people who now refused to see him, take his calls. They all had reason to be like that, but good god, is that how he was going to be remembered, by the length of his enemies list?

He rose from his imposing leather chair and walked over to the elegant antique bar on the other side of his office and poured himself a few inches of whiskey into a tumbler. He retreated to a plush velvet couch directly behind the bar and swirled the liquid in front of his eyes. Fears he would not give a name to rose in his chest with his first sip of whiskey. He desperately needed the embryos; the lawyers had told him that much, and Nick had dutifully went back to the park and uncovered Nedry's trail of lies, and eventually he found the embryos buried next to an abandoned jeep not far from the dock.

Hammond had already assumed that Nedry had used his expertise to disable the park long enough to make off with the priceless items out of cold storage, and he also assumed that Nedry did not survive his trek from the control room to the docks. The events of that fateful 48 hours had unfolded at breakneck speed at the end, and had ended with the deaths of too many people. Hammond fought down the inevitable revulsion when the thought of Dennis Nedry floated in his mind; the man had done what he did for money, and even though what he did was deplorable, Hammond could almost understand the man's desperation.

Hammond sighed and sipped more whiskey. His doctor had told him to lay off the booze, but since he knew he didn't have much time left anyway, he ignored the advice. He was weary of the world anyway, had done and seen everything that was on offer to men like him, and now he waited for the inevitable. If it wasn't for the animals he created, the ones the world now wanted to claim, he would have let go long before now. They were his legacy, his gift to the world, and it was little pricks with no vision like Dennis Nedry and the misguided do-gooders like Nick Van Owen who would see to it that his legacy is destroyed. His well publicised advocacy of containing the dinosaurs was received with a kind of shocked incredulity from the general public. InGen was no longer his company then, but he was responsible for the creation of the animals, and not for the maternally enraged T-Rex that tore its way through San Diego. People were more inclined to listen to the man, and he had harnessed that trust into something usable. He needed to cash in on that goodwill now to head off yet another attempt to corrupt his vision.

With renewed energy Hammond stood up and crossed the floor. He found his address book under a week old newspaper and flicked through it, his finger running down a list of impressive and influential names, until he found the name he was looking for. He dialled the number and listened to the ringing tone, a slow smile finding its way back onto his face.