CHAPTER 7 – DUCK-BILL DEBACLE

The time I spent there was the greatest of my life. But I never really understood some of the problems I was faced with. Some of the animals acted so strangely; exhibiting behaviour which didn't make any logical sense. The worst thing is that some of it was self-harming, the dinosaurs being bred were sometimes suicidal, and a little retarded, especially the earlier version numbers. Not that I bothered myself with the semantics and little numbers that Wu and his team assigned to the animals, I didn't like it personally. They assigned them designation numbers instead of names, as if they were just products instead of living, breathing animals. They weren't given the respect that they deserved.

Over time it became generally accepted that there were two possibilities for driving this strange behaviour, which only showed up in a few of the species, most notably the Tyrannosaurs, the Hadrosaurs and the Stegosaurs.

First possibility was that the dinosaurs, which hadn't been seen on the earth in sixty-five million years, required lessons in how to behave and how to survive, just like humans did. As the animals in the park had no adult members of their own species to relate to, and to learn from, they developed their own random behaviour, and often wound of up getting themselves hurt or worse.

But that one never struck me as right. Lizards were born with every instinct they needed to survive in the world; there were no lessons, no schooling. They just hatched and got on with it. Birds did acquire some tutoring from their parents, as birds did indeed care for their young for some time. But nothing significant. Birds were encouraged by their parents to fly, but they weren't instructed on how to do so. For all intensive purposes, the baby birds knew how to fly, they always have done. They just need a little push.

The second option was that several species weren't being engineered properly. From what I could tell, the dinosaurs were reverse engineered using amphibian DNA to fill in the gaps of the dinosaur DNA which had degraded over time in the amber. The dinosaurs were experiencing distortions of their instincts, caused by junk in their genetic code.

It made more sense to me; it explained why only some species were affected and why there was such degradation of behaviour.

After time we accepted that it was caused by defects in their DNA, and this prompted GAP and the version numbers. After years the problems improved, but of course there was always something.

Jerry Harding, 2001

Jerry Harding

February 1st, 1992

Maintenance Road J-7, Herbivore Paddock #2, Isla Nublar

"What the fuck is she doing?" murmured Harding, peering through the large pair of binoculars.

The heat was intense. He sat in his Jeep Wrangler, with the window rolled halfway down, but it made no difference; it was hotter outside than it was inside. He was parked up on a small rise inside one of the larger paddocks in the park. Tall trees which marked the periphery of the jungle were surrounded him on all sides in the distance. But the field of tall grass which he sat in was sizeable, the size of almost two football fields. And it was full of dinosaurs.

To the south was the north-west shore of the lagoon, which was the centre of activity, and was where Harding was aiming his binoculars.

Insects clicked and sang incessantly in the grass all around him, and he wiped a bead of sweat from the tip of his chin, blinking. He glanced at the man beside him, Kyle Sanders, who was one of the Geneticists in the park. He was helping Harding document the behaviour by any of the animals.

"She doesn't look too comfortable," Sanders said, jotting notes down on his notepad.

"Fleas, do you think?" Harding said, frowning.

"Their hide is over an inch thick, I don't think fleas would bother them. And they don't have any hair follicles anyway."

"Okay, but that doesn't mean it's a behavioural defect. Maybe she has a rash."

"Yeah, maybe."

They were observing an adult Hadrosaur who was milling around in circles half a mile away, down by the shore of the lagoon.

In the distance Harding could just about make out the long, graceful necks of the Brachiosaurus herd, standing in the jungle, slowly arcing their necks over to the trees. Every now and then, they would lift their heads and give a deep, resonating call.

The Hadrosaurs' herd was nearby, but she remained slightly off to one side by herself, walking around in circle timidly, seemingly confused.

Occasionally she stopped to nip at the foliage which lay at her feet, but then apparently became distracted, and began turning her head from side to side. It looked to Harding like she was trying to get at her own body; like a dog chasing its tail.

"What version number is she? Have the Hadrosaurs been corrected before?" he said, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.

"Hmm, let's see," said Sanders, ruffling around in his stack of papers for a moment. He pulled out a blue envelope and opened it up, consulting a chart for a moment, muttering to himself.

"Looks like all the adults in active population are at version two, but some of the infants in the nursery just shipped over from Sorna are version three."

"What caused the upgrade of the version number?"

Kyle flicked over a few pages, and frowned for a moment. "Says here they kept brushing up against the fences, and didn't really seem to learn from it. Even cows learn to stay away from electrified fencing, so we figured there was something wrong with them."

Harding nodded. It was a fair argument.

"Well, we'll get nowhere looking at her from this far away," Sanders said, and reached behind into the back seat. A moment later he reappeared, a long barrel made of silver stainless steel metal following him. Sanders broke open the barrel of the tranquiliser gun, nodded, and with a quick glance around, pressed a button on the dashboard. With an electronic whir the retractable cloth top of the Jeep Wrangler rattled backwards over their head, and disappeared behind the back seat. Sunlight streamed in onto their unprotected heads, and Harding grimaced in discomfort as the leather seats began to heat up.

Sanders stood up in the Jeep, and pulled the back of the rifle up to his shoulder, and aimed down towards the lagoon, leaning his head towards the telescopic sight attached to the top of the barrel.

"I didn't think Geneticists were trained to sedate dinosaurs," Harding said, watching with a concerned look on his face.

"I've been practising," said Kyle, his finger moving slowly towards the trigger. "There she is," he whispered to himself.

Harding raised the binoculars to his face once again to watch. The Hadrosaur was still milling around in the circle; the other members of her herd ignored her, feeding on the plants growing in the shallows of the lagoon.

There was a hiss of escaping gas, and a high-pitched whistle leading away from them, streaming out across the grassy plain. For a moment nothing happened. And then the Hadrosaurs' head popped snapped up, and turned to look right at them.

"Did you get her?" said Harding, leaning forward in his seat.

The Hadrosaur raised her head, and gave a wailing, mournful cry. Immediately the other members of her herd raised their heads, and cried back. The Hadrosaur wheeled around in circles, agitated. And then, suddenly, it ran for it. The herd gave panicked yelps, dropping the food from their mouths, and snorting.

Harding threw the binoculars down, and glared at Sanders, who stood stock still with the rifle, which had fallen to his waist.

"You missed her!" Harding said.

"No, no," Sanders babbled, "I didn't." He looked down at the rifle for a second, and then scratched his head, looking up out of the Jeep, at the herd which was now starting to move after the first animal. "I think I got the dosage right."

"I've put these animals down a dozen times," said Jerry, snatching the rifle and flinging it into the back seat, "If you'd have hit her, she'd be on the floor already. But instead, look at her," he pointed out at the escaped Hadrosaur, who was by now sprinting across the plain, hollering loudly, followed swiftly by the rest of the herd.

"Oh well done," said Harding, and gunned the engine. "Sit down; we have to go after her."

He revved the engine, and stamped on the accelerator. The Jeep raced forwards, grass and mud spattering up behind them. The suspension squeaked as they bounded across the uneven ground towards the wheeling herd. The animals were large; almost thirty feet long and twelve feet tall, but from here they still looked quite small.

The radio crackled, and Arnold's agitated voice came spluttering over the channel, barely audible over the road of the engine. "—the fuck is going on?! The tracker system says the Hadrosaurs are stampeding in B paddock!"

Sanders grabbed for the mouthpiece, and shouted into it, holding onto the passenger door as they soared over a deep rut in the ground. "Mishap, John! We're in pursuit!"

"This isn't the world's fucking scariest police chases!" Arnold's voice shouted, "Those are priceless animals!"

Harding swung the wheel in his hand, and the Jeep swerved parallel to the stampeding herd, which was sprinting across the field in no particular direction, and heading for no particular location, surrounded by a cloud of thick dust.

"Take the wheel," he shouted to Kyle, who looked at him, wild eyed.

"What?"

"You're taking my place," Harding said, and before Sanders could disagree with him he stood up cautiously, and jumped over into the back seat, landing next to the tranquiliser gun in a heap. He coughed in the dust cloud which descended over the Jeep, blown over from the herd by the light breeze blowing through the paddock.

Sanders gunned the engine in front of him, and he could feel them speeding up, moving towards their target animal at the front, still hollering.

He untangled his limbs, and pulled himself up using the head of the back seat, grabbing the rifle. He cracked the barrel open and looked inside carefully, trying on to dislodge the darts as they rattled over the ground. Good, there were three more darts. Snapping it shut, he grabbed the seat in front of him, and raised himself into a half stand, half crouch, and raised the rifle to his eye, carefully letting go of the seat so that he could use both hands.

The Hadrosaur came into his sights for a moment, and then he toppled over as Sanders span the wheel, and the Jeep moved away from the herd, moving around a large rock formation which jutted up out of the ground.

Swearing, Harding got up again, and this time wedged one of his feet under the driver's seat, and braced his weight with the other by leaning against the back seat. Raising the rifle again, he had a much steadier balance, and found the Hadrosaur instantly as they burst around the other side of the rocks, and fired.

There was a hiss of gas, and the Hadrosaur roared in fright and rage. The rest of the herd scattered as the lead Hadrosaur slowed, roaring and wheeling, trying to get at the red tipped dart which stuck out from its right thigh.

The other animals were by now running for their lives in different directions, but were still sprinting randomly, and still dangerous. Sanders span the wheel, and slowly settled into a wide arc, running in circles around the sedated animal, which was now wobbling on its feet, groaning.

Sanders continued circling the animal, driving off the others to a safe distance, revving the engine, making them look as threatening as possible.

With a crash, the Hadrosaur fell to the ground, snuffling loudly, its high legs kicking weakly. Sandler slowed, and eventually, at a signal from Harding, they took a final turn and approached the fallen animal, and the engine died.

The sudden silence was almost deafening. A bird twittered in the distance. The engine clicked and crackled as it cooled, but other than that there was no sound. Harding dropped the rifle, and stood for a moment, observing the animal.

It had settled into a rhythm of deep, laborious breathing, the large ribcage slowly inflating and deflating. He watched the skin glint in the sun; deep green with dark brown striation patters adorning the animal's back.

"She's down," he said quietly, and jumped out onto the ground.

Sanders popped open the driver's door, and they both trudged through the tall grass, cautiously approaching her. But she didn't seem to even register their presence, and simply kept on breathing. Harding stood over her head and bent down slowly, frowning at her flanks.

"So this is what she's been so bothered about," he said quietly.

"What?" muttered Sandler, stumbling through the grass towards him from the tail.

"These wounds."

She had three long, very thin lines running all the way along her left side. They weren't deep, but the skin had been removed, and bright, angry red tissue was showing through. The wounds looked infected.

"We wouldn't have been able to see these cuts, they're too thin to be seen on a dark body like this unless up close," Sanders muttered, and pulled out a tiny notebook and began scribbling with a biro from his shirt breast pocket.

"What do you think?" Sanders asked. "Caused by another member of the herd? Branches in the jungle?"

Harding shook his head slowly, and then sighed. "They're not cutting or slicing wounds. They're dead straight, see? And the flesh around them is blackened and cauterized. These are burns."

Sanders sagged, and swore.

"That means she's been at the fences," he said glumly.

"'Fraid so," Harding said, leaning over the animal and crouching down, stroking her skull lightly. "Looks like you didn't fix her problem after all. Get over to the radio and tell Arnold to get a crew out here to monitor her until she wakes up."

Sanders nodded, and trudged slowly back towards the Jeep.

"Oh well," Harding heard him say, "Back to the drawing board, I guess."