Mission InGen

Ellie Sattler kept a careful watch over her son, Charlie, as he played in the yard. He, like his mother before him, seemed to have a love for dinosaurs. She watched him stage a fight between his stuffed triceratops and brachiosaurus, reveling in his carefree happiness that seemed to radiate from his cheerful person. Looking at the stuffed dinosaurs in his hands, she couldn't help but think about why she had stopped loving dinosaurs. It had been one thing to study them as fossils, mere remnants of the past. But after the Jurassic Park incident, where she had seen many people get claimed by death in the form of dinosaurs, she lost her love for the ancient saurians. Hammond's dinosaurs weren't even real dinosaurs. Sure, they had been real enough, down to the point of Hammond's carnivorous 'dinosaurs' killing people by the droves; fossils could tell them about the dietary habits of those species. But what Hammond had attempted, as Ian Malcolm once so aptly stated, was to do the impossible. To contain life, which was ever volatile and changing, was impossible. And yet, despite knowing that fact, Hammond had persisted in achieving his dream. His dream of resurrecting dinosaurs, the ancient masters of the Earth. He had succeeded, but his dream had been achieved at the cost of many lives, in the end inclusive of his own, as he died among his beloved dinosaurs when the park failed.

'One man's greed cost so many their lives and dreams,' she thought sadly, looking at Charlie, who was now trying to wrap his toy brachiosaur's rubber neck around his toy triceratops' legs. Sadly, she thought, 'Children are so innocent. When did we lose our carefree innocence?'

Thinking about the park's failure, she reminded herself that some industrial spies from BioSyn, InGen's main rival company, had been responsible for the whole disaster. Sure, Hammond had been partly in the wrong by ignoring the advice of Robert Muldoon, Henry Wu, Ray Arnold, and many others by bringing extremely hazardous dinosaurs to Isla Nublar. But the spies from BioSyn had been the ones who actually set the gears in motion for the destruction of Jurassic Park. They had disabled the fences, sabotaged the computers, and had failed to steal the embryos of the dinosaurs which they had held in such high esteem. It had been some consolation, when it was discovered that all three of the industrial spies, Lewis Dodgson, Howard King, and George Baselton, had died at the teeth and claws of the dinosaurs that they had released. It was rumored that Hammond had actually locked one of them into the skybax aviary when he wandered inside, trapping him within easy reach of the bloodthirsty skybax. Lewis Dodgson never got off the island, due to crippling injuries incurred on him by a herd of stampeding gallimimus. George Baselton had been paralyzed by several pachycephalosaurs. Many thought that justice had been served with the deaths of the three men who had caused the 'extinction' of Jurassic Park.

It was later learned that the deaths of the three industrial spies had a major setback. When Peter Ludlow, InGen's new CEO, tried to bring down a lawsuit upon BioSyn for 'trespassing upon and destruction of private property', there had been no proof to support InGen's claims. The bodies of the supposedly deceased would have been destroyed during the Costa Rican Military's saturation bombing run on Isla Nublar, under the excuse of 'neutralizing a threat to national security'. The computers in the Park's control center had been destroyed, too. No evidence of BioSyn's industrial espionage had been left behind after the bombing. InGen could only swallow up its losses, incapable of taking any legal action whatsoever towards BioSyn.

Ellie grimaced at that thought. Lack of evidence had prevented real justice from being served. Jeffrey Rossieter was still running BioSyn, which shouldn't even be operating! That company had unleashed a hybrid strain of rabies upon innocent Chilean farmers, spread diarrhea among children, and now caused enough deaths to warrant a closure of the company. And yet, as had happened so many times before, the defendant had escaped through a loophole in the law.

She was jerked out of her reverie by light raindrops falling on her head. Calling out to Charlie, she quickly dashed to bring in the laundry. The drizzle would soon turn into a downpour, she knew. The rainy season had been coming to town of late. Grabbing all of the clothes from the hanging lines, she rushed inside, making sure Charlie was safely inside before closing the glass sliding door that opened to their garden. Deciding that she could only kill time by ironing her mostly-dried laundry, she turned on the television and plugged in the electric iron.

As the iron heated up, she watched the five-o-clock news that had just come on. The newscaster, Kristin Jacobs, a skinny woman dressed in her eye-torturing red office clothes and splattered with cheap costume jewelry, smiled toothily at the camera before she started to read the news.

"Today, Peter Ludlow, the Chief Executive Officer of International Genetics Technologies Incorporated, otherwise known as InGen, made a statement regarding the company's plans to evade bankruptcy. He claims that InGen has sufficient financial resources to re-build their assets. He also said that InGen WILL be continuing their efforts to market their revivified dinosaurs. Mr. Ludlow said in an interview earlier today that the company would be setting up another Jurassic Park, this time re-named as Prehistoric World, on an island off the coast of Costa Rica. Here is exclusive footage of our interview with Mr. Ludlow."

Ellie's mouth dropped open. Ludlow must be mad! The previous park was dangerous enough, and now he was going to try and open another one! She turned back to the television, which showed an image of Peter Ludlow, a balding, bespectacled man in an Armani suit.

"… failure of the first Jurassic Park. As far as my marketing people advised me, people are still willing to come to Prehistoric World, when it opens. A few people may have died, but in general, my marketing advisors say that people are willing to risk a visit to a dinosaur-centric theme park," Ludlow said on TV.

"A few people? You call over two hundred deaths a few, Ludlow!" shrieked Ellie at the television.

"…expected to open in three years, in June, when we would by then have successfully transferred the remaining dinosaurs to their respective enclosures. This park also has several species which were not featured in the original park. That is all I'm saying. Good day to you," finished Ludlow, stepping into his chauffeured car, slamming the door and driving off, leaving the cameraman in a cloud of dust.

Ellie tried to swallow, but instead felt as though she was swallowing air. Grabbing her phone, she quickly dialed Grant's number, praying to God that he would pick up.

Five feet away, the iron, which was sitting on the floor, began to slowly burn the carpeting as it heated up to its maximum level.

xxx

Alan Grant finished the last mouthful of beer in the bottle he was occupied with. He was in a crowded rat's nest of a bar, waiting for a potential dig-site sponsor to come. He had agreed to meet this 'Mr. Morrison' at three thirty p.m. The last time he'd checked the clock, it had been three thirty. Glancing around, he saw little to interest him. Several brawny guys bashing each other up in a corner while the bartender screamed blue murder at them, threatening to call the bouncers, a woman dressed in a slinky aquamarine dress talking seductively to a man in a darkened section of the bar, and a man dressed in an business suit that was totally out of place in the bar, talking in hushed tones to a man who was blowing out smoke rings non-stop. Grant decided to lean back and relax. This 'Mr. Morrison' probably wasn't going to arrive, anyway. He tried to listen to the 'music' that was playing from two corroded, derelict speakers above the bar. It sounded like foil sweet wrappers being crumpled, with occasional intelligible words. He decided to watch the television above the bar instead.

The television was showing the five-o-clock news bulletin on Channel Nine. Grant shoved his beer bottle aside, resting both his elbows on the table, and his chin on his palms. The gaudily dressed, geeky-looking anchorwoman smiled in a zombie-like manner before reading the news in her monotonous, droning voice.

"Today, Peter Ludlow, the Chief Executive Officer of International Genetics Technologies Incorporated, otherwise known as InGen, made a statement regarding the company's plans to evade bankruptcy. He claims that InGen has sufficient financial resources to re-build their assets. He also said that InGen will be proceeding with their plans to exploit their genetically modified dinosaurs. Mr. Ludlow said in an interview earlier today that the company would be setting up another Jurassic Park, this time re-named as Prehistoric World, on an island off the coast of Costa Rica. Here is exclusive footage of our interview with Mr. Ludlow, from earlier today."

"Turn that up, will ya!" Grant hollered at the bartender, who was busy pouring someone a shot. The bartender stared at him for a few seconds, muttered something and finally turned the volume knob on the television. The anchorwoman's voice became louder, clearer.

The television screen now showed Ludlow, Hammond's nephew and current CEO of InGen. Grant had met him before and disliked him. As faras Grant knew Ludlow, he never listened to anyone's advice, except when the person arm-twisted him enough. Grant often, when asked, referred to Ludlow as, 'That conniving idiot.'

"…we will be building a new park, with higher quality facilities and better systems than the initial park. We are proceeding even though most people might think that InGen's dinosaur revivification efforts would have been stopped by the failure of the first Jurassic Park. As far as my marketing people advised me, people are still willing to come to Prehistoric World, when it opens. A few people may have died, but in general, my marketing advisors say that people are willing to risk a visit to a dinosaur-centric theme park," Ludlow said, from the TV.

Grant cursed loudly, drawing the attention of the bartender who was now busy cleaning beer tankards with a rag that looked as though it had been used to clean the bar's toilets. The interview on the television ended, and Grant got up. Stretching and feeling his bones crack, he put on his hat and headed to the bar's door. He was suddenly aware of the bartender's loud, obscenely nasal voice rising to ear-hurting levels.

"Ya son-of-shit! Drink my beer and not pay for it, huh? Cough up, ya pussy!" the bartender snarled, showing his full set of rotten, uneven teeth.

"Here's your bloody cash. And you get a 50 cent tip, too. Sod off," said Grant, walking over to the bar and slamming down two dollars. The bartender glared at him.

"Two dollars ain't gonna pay for ya beer, pussy," sniggered the bartender, picking up his baseball bat from under the bar. His two bouncers appeared suddenly, flanking him. He smiled his decaying smile, brandishing his bat menacingly at Grant, "Pay up."

"No way in Hell. Your beer sucks, anyway. Who brewed it?" asked Grant, walking off.

He was suddenly tapped on the shoulder by someone. Knowing what was coming next, he ducked down and swung his right fist into one of the bouncer's groin. The bouncer merely took a step back, and stepped aside to let the bartender through. The bartender grinned at Grant.

"I like you, pussy. First time anyone's hit Bruno here in his nut sack. Bugger off before I change my mind," said the bartender, sending his two bouncers to evict the group of bar-brawlers in the corner. As Grant exited the bar, he heard the bartender say, "Long time since I've had entertainment that good. Oi, Claire, ya hooker, get outta here!"

Grant quickly left the alley where the bar was. This bar was a real nuthouse, and the beer had been lousy. Grant hadn't seen the label, but it was obviously some shitty, small-time brewery's produce. He got into his pickup truck and revved up the engine. He headed back to his apartment.

Back at his messy, cramped apartment, he saw that he had several messages on the phone. Walking over to the phone and tossing his hat onto the table, he saw Ellie's number recorded there. Strange. She never called him nowadays. He turned on the voice mail, and sat down.

"Alan, meet me at Clark's Café at six. OH, SHIT! THE IRON!" Ellie's message stopped suddenly, and Grant heard some curses in the background. The message continued, "Ian's coming, too. We need to discuss Ludlow's newest actions," Ellie's recorded voice said, her tone urgent.

Grant grimaced, thinking. Ludlow was planning to open another park, but what did Ellie plan to do about that? Probably stage a protest. He didn't mind. He put on his hat and left the apartment, heading to his truck.

xxx

Ian Malcolm leaned back in the plastic chair he was sitting on in the crowded café. Ellie had called him here regarding some business involving InGen. She had told him about Ludlow's plans and he wasn't surprised to hear the news. Money men were all the same. They made more than their fair share of often costly mistakes, and never learned from them. They never listened to anyone, except if that particular person or people were sufficiently intimidating. The worst part: when they went down with their mistakes, other people often got dragged along.

He saw Grant's battered Ford pickup truck pull over outside the café, ramming a small Honda car out of its parking space. Even as the Honda was on a crash-trajectory towards a bicycle, Grant seemed calm, walking into the café. He looked around, spotted the two of them, and sat down, taking off his hat.

"Long time no see," he said, grabbing a menu.

"Yeah. How's the bone brushing?" asked Malcolm, grinning.

"Never mind that. Did you two watch the news?" asked Ellie, glaring daggers at both of them.

Grant nodded, while Malcolm groaned.

"Why is it that I'm always some information behind current events?" Malcolm said irritably, "Could I please be updated?"

Grant answered him, "Ludlow's building a new park."

Malcolm arched an eyebrow, "Who's building a new park?"

Ellie spoke up, "Hammond's nephew, Peter Ludlow, current head of InGen, plans to build a park called Prehistoric World. The park is to be dinosaur-centric."

"What's wrong with a dinosaur theme park?" asked Malcolm, curiously. He suddenly looked aghast, his mouth dropping open, "Not another Jurassic Park!"

"That's why we're meeting here. We have to stop him!" said Ellie, knocking over her coffee. Dark coffee spilled over the edge of the table and nearly soiled Grant's trousers.

"I'll be damned, Ellie. You never were this aggressive back at Snakewater," said Grant, looking at her amusedly.

"Will you STOP TALKING COCK AND LISTEN TO ME!" she shouted, turning almost every head in the café towards them. She glared at the other people in the café, and yelled, "AND WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU STARING AT!"

The people went back to their respective businesses, and Ellie calmed down enough to say, "I'm thinking of going over to the island where they're building the new park."

Malcolm and Grant both stared at her. Malcolm said, "We don't even know where on Earth they're building the park."

"It's of the coast of Costa Rica. And I know two people who could tell us everything we know. Of course, one of them might still be tending lions in Kenya," said Ellie triumphantly.

"You don't mean…" said Grant, his voice trailing off.

"We're going to meet Ray Arnold and Robert Muldoon," Ellie said, putting on her jacket, "get your asses moving; we're gonna have to tear apart that new park. All the way down to the ground."