Jurassic Park (53 page)

    With his injured ankle, he couldn't climb the hill. He would have to wait at the bottom of the ravine. After the tyrannosaur had gone, he would call for help. Meanwhile, he was in no danger here.

    Then he heard an amplified voice say, "Come on, Timmy, I get to try it too. Come on. Let me make the noise."

    The kids!

    The tyrannosaur roared again, but this time it had distinct musical overtones, and a kind of echo, persisting afterward.

    "Neat one," said the little girl. "Do it again."

    Those damned kids!

    He should never have brought those kids. They had been nothing but trouble from the beginning. Nobody wanted them around-Hammond had only brought them because he thought it would stop Gennaro from destroying the resort, but Gennaro was going to do it anyway. And the kids had obviously gotten into the control room and started fooling around-now, who had allowed that?

    He felt his heart begin to race, and felt an uneasy shortness of breath. He forced himself to relax. There was nothing wrong. Although he could not climb the hill, he could not be more than a hundred yards from his own bungalow, and the visitor center. Hammond sat down in the damp earth, listening to the sounds in the jungle around him. And then, after a while, he began to shout for help.

Malcolm's voice was no louder than a whisper. "Everything looks different . . . on the other side," he said.

    Harding leaned close to him. "On the other side?" He thought that Malcolm was talking about dying.

    "When . . . shifts," Malcolm said.

    "Shifts?"

    Malcolm didn't answer. His dry lips moved. "Paradigm," he said finally.

    "Paradigm shifts?" Harding said. He knew about paradigm shifts. For the last two decades, they had been the fashionable way to talk about scientific change. "Paradigm" was just another word for a model, but as scientists used it the term meant something more, a world view. A larger way of seeing the world. Paradigm shifts were said to occur whenever science made a major change in its view of the world. Such changes were relatively rare, occurring about once a century, Darwinian evolution had forced a paradigm shift. Quantum mechanics had forced a smaller shift.

    "No," Malcolm said. "Not . . . paradigm . . . beyond "Beyond paradigm?" Harding said.

    "Don't care about . . . what . . . anymore .

    Harding sighed. Despite all efforts, Malcolm was rapidly slipping into a terminal delirium. His fever was higher, and they were almost out of his antibiotics.

    "What don't you care about?"

    "Anything," Malcolm said. "Because . . . everything looks different . . . on the other side."

    And he smiled.

Descent

"You're crazy," Gennaro said to Ellie Sattler, watching as she squeezed backward into the rabbit hole, stretching her arms forward. "You're crazy to do that!"

    She smiled. "Probably," she said. She reached forward with her outstretched hands, and pushed backward against the sides of the hole. And suddenly she was gone.

    The hole gaped black.

    Gennaro began to sweat. He turned to Muldoon, who was standing by the Jeep. "I'm not doing this," he said.

    "Yes, you are."

    "I can't do this. I can't."

    "They're waiting for you," Muldoon said. "You have to."

    "Christ only knows what's down there," Gennaro said. "I'm telling you, I can't do it."

    "You have to."

    Gennaro turned away, looked at the hole, looked back. "I can't. You can't make me."

    "I suppose not," Muldoon said. He held up the stainless-steel prod. "Ever felt a shock stick?"

    "Doesn't do much," Muldoon said. "Almost never fatal. Generally knocks you flat. Perhaps loosens your bowels. But it doesn't usually have any permanent effect. At least, not on dinos. But, then, people are much smaller."

    Gennaro looked at the stick. "You wouldn't."

    "I think you'd better go down and count those animals," Muldoon said. "And you better hurry."

    Gennaro looked back at the hole, at the black opening, a mouth in the earth. Then he looked at Muldoon, standing there, large and impassive.

    Gennaro was sweating and lighthearted. He started walking toward the hole. From a distance it appeared small, but as be came closer it seemed to grow larger.

    "That's it," Muldoon said.

    Gennaro climbed backward into the hole, but he began to feel too frightened to continue that way-the idea of backing into the unknown filled him with dread-so at the last minute he turned around and climbed head first into the hole, extending his arms forward and kicking his feet, because at least he would see where he was going. He pulled the gas mask over his face.

    And suddenly he was rushing forward, sliding into blackness, seeing the dirt walls disappear into darkness before him, and then the walls became narrower-much narrower-terrifyingly narrow-and he was lost in the pain of a squeezing compression that became steadily worse and worse, that crushed the air out of his lungs, and he was only dimly aware that the tunnel tilted slightly upward, along the path, shifting his body, leaving him gasping and seeing spots before his eyes, and the pain was extreme.

    And then suddenly the tunnel tilted downward again, and it became wider, and Gennaro felt rough surfaces, concrete, and cold air. His body was suddenly free, and bouncing, turning on concrete.

    And then he fell.

Voices in the darkness. Fingers touching him, reaching forward from the whispered voices. The air was cold, like a cave.

    "-okay?"

    "He looks okay, yes."

    "He's breathing. . . ."

    "Fine."

    A female hand caressing his face. It was Ellie. "Can you hear?" she whispered.

    "Why is everybody whispering?" he said.

    "Because." She pointed.

    Gennaro turned, rolled, got slowly to his feet. He stared as his vision grew accustomed to the darkness. But the first thing that he saw, gleaming in the darkness, was eyes. Glowing green eyes.

    Dozens of eyes. All around him.

He was on a concrete ledge, a kind of embankment, about seven feet above the floor. Large steel junction boxes provided a makeshift hiding place, protecting them from the view of the two full-size velociraptors that stood directly before them, not five feet away. The animals were dark green with brownish tiger stripes. They stood upright, balancing on their stiff extended tails. They were totally silent, looking around watchfully with large dark eyes. At the feet of the adults, baby velociraptors skittered and chirped. Farther back, in the darkness, juveniles tumbled and played, giving short snarls and growls.

    Gennaro did not dare to breathe.

    Two raptors!

    Crouched on the ledge, he was only a foot or two above the animals head height. The raptors were edgy, their heads jerking nervously up and down. From time to time they snorted impatiently. Then they moved off, turning back toward the main group.

    As his eyes adjusted, Gennaro could now see that they were in some kind of an enormous underground structure, but it was man-made-there were seams of poured concrete, and the nubs of protruding steel rods. And within this vast echoing space were many animals: Gennaro guessed at least thirty raptors. Perhaps more.

    "It's a colony, Grant said, whispering. "Four or six adults. The rest juveniles and infants. At least two hatchings. One last year and one this year. These babies look about four months old. Probably hatched in April."

    One of the babies, curious, scampered up on the ledge, and came toward them, squeaking. It was now only ten feet away.

    "Oh Jesus," Gennaro said. But immediately one of the adults came forward, raised its head, and gently nudged the baby to turn back. The baby chittered a protest, then hopped up to stand on the snout of the adult. The adult moved slowly, allowing the baby to climb over its head, down its neck, onto its back. From that protected spot, the infant turned, and chirped noisily at the three intruders.

    The adults still did not seem to notice them at all.

    "I don't get it," Gennaro whispered. "Why aren't they attacking?"

    Grant shook his head. "They must not see us. And there aren't any eggs at the moment. . . . Makes them more relaxed."

    "Relaxed?" Gennaro said. "How long do we have to stay here?"

    "Long enough to do the count," Grant said.

As Grant saw it, there were three nests, attended by three sets of parents. The division of territory was centered roughly around the nests, although the offspring seemed to overlap, and run into different territories. The adults were benign with the young ones, and tougher with the juveniles, occasionally snapping at the older animals when their play got too rough.

    At that moment, a juvenile raptor came up to Ellie and rubbed his head against her leg. She looked down and saw the leather collar with the black box. It was damp in one place. And it had chafed the skin of the young animal's neck.

    The juvenile whimpered.

    In the big room below, one of the adults turned curiously toward the sound.

    "You think I can take it off?" she asked.

    "Just do it quickly."

    "Oo-kay," she said, squatting beside the small animal. It whimpered again.

    The adults snorted, bobbed their heads.

    Ellie petted the little juvenile, trying to soothe it, to silence its whimpering. She moved her hands toward the leather collar, lifted back the Velcro tab with a tearing sound. The adults jerked their heads.

    Then one began to walk toward her.

    "Oh shit," Gennaro said, under his breath.

    "Don't move," Grant said. "Stay calm."

    The adult walked past them, its long curved toes clicking on the concrete. The animal paused in front of Ellie, who stayed crouched by the juvenile, behind a steel box. The juvenile was exposed, and Ellie's hand was still on the collar. The adult raised its head, and sniffed the air. The adult's big head was very close to her hand, but it could not see her because of the function box. A tongue flicked out, tentatively.

    Grant reached for a gas grenade, plucked it from his belt, held his thumb on the pin. Gennaro put out a restraining hand, shock his head, nodded to Ellie.

    She wasn't wearing her mask.

    Grant set the grenade down, reached for the shock prod. The adult was still very close to Ellie.

    Ellie eased the leather strap off. The metal of the buckle clinked on concrete. The adult's head jerked fractionally, and then cocked to one side, curious. It was moving forward again to investigate, when the little juvenile squeaked happily and scampered away. The adult remained by Ellie. Then finally it turned, and walked back to the center of the nest.

    Gennaro gave a long exhalation. "Jesus. Can we leave?"

    "No," Grant said. "But I think we can get some work done now."

In the phosphorescent green glow of the night-vision goggles, Grant peered down into the room from the ledge, looking at the first nest. It was made of mud and straw, formed into a broad, shallow basket shape. He counted the remains of fourteen eggs. Of course he couldn't count the actual shells from this distance, and in any case they were long since broken and scattered over the floor, but he was able to count the indentations in the mud. Apparently the raptors made their nests shortly before the eggs were laid, and the eggs left a permanent impression in the mud. He also saw evidence that at least one had broken. He credited thirteen animals.

    The second nest had broken in half. But Grant estimated it had contained nine eggshells. The third nest had fifteen eggs, but it appeared that three eggs had been broken early.

    "What's that total?" Gennaro said.

    "Thirty-four born," Grant said.

    "And how many do you see?"

    Grant shook his head. The animals were running all over the cavernous interior space, darting in and out of the light.

    "I've been watching," Ellie said, shining her light down at her notepad. "You'd have to take photos to be sure, but the snout markings of the infants are all different. My count is thirty-three."

    "And juveniles?"

    "Twentyitwo. But, Alan-do you notice anything funny about them?"

    "Like what?" Grant whispered.

    "How they arrange themselves spatially. They're falling into some kind of a pattern or arrangement in the room."

    Grant frowned. He said,"It's pretty dark."

    "No, look. Look for yourself. Watch the little ones. When they are playing, they tumble and run every which way. But in between, when the babies are standing around, notice how they orient their bodies. They face either that wall, or the opposite wall. It's like they line up."

    "I don't know, Ellie. You think there's a colony metastructure? Like bees?"

    "No, not exactly," she said. "It's more subtle than that. It's just a tendency."

    "And the babies do it?"

    "No. They all do it. The adults do it, too. Watch them. I'm telling you, they line up."

    Grant frowned. It seemed as if she was right. The animals engaged in all sorts of behavior, but during pauses, moments when they were watching or relaxing, they seemed to orient themselves in particular ways, almost as if there were invisible lines on the floor.

    "Beats me," Grant said. "Maybe there's a breeze. . . ."

    "I don't feel one, Alan."

    "What are they doing? Some kind of social organization expressed as spatial structure?"

    "That doesn't make sense," she said. "Because they all do it."

    Gennaro flipped up his watch. "I knew this thing would come in handy one day." Beneath the watch face was a compass,

    Grant said, "You have much use for that in court?"

    "No." Gennaro shook his head. "My wife gave it to me," he explained, "for my birthday." He peered at the compass. "Well," he said, "they're not lined up according to anything. . . . I guess they're sort of northeast-southwest, something like that."