The Lost World

Levine

They came running across the clearing, shouting, "Dr. Levine! Dr. Levine! You're safe!" They hugged Levine, who smiled despite himself. He turned to Thorne.

"Doc," Levine said. "This was very unwise."

"Why don't you explain that to them?" Thorne said. "They're your students."

Kelly said, "Don't be mad, Dr. Levine."

"It was our decision," Arby explained to Levine. "We came on our own."

"On your own?" Levine said.

"We thought you'd need help," Arby said. "And you did. He turned to Thorne.

Thorne nodded. "Yes. They've helped us."

"And we promise, we won't get in the way," Kelly said. "You go ahead and do whatever you have to do, and we will just - "

"The kids were worried about you," Malcolm said, coming up to Levine. "Because they thought you were in trouble."

"Anyway, what's the big rush?" Eddie said. "I mean, you build all these vehicles, and then you leave without them - "

"I had no choice," Levine said. "The government has an outbreak of some new encephalitis on its hands. They've decided it's related to the occasional dinosaur carcass that washes up there. Of course, the whole idea is idiotic, but that won't stop them from destroying every animal on this island the minute they find out about it. I had to get here first. Time is short."

"So you came here alone," Malcolm said.

"Nonsense, Ian. Stop pouting. I was going to call you, as soon as I verified this was the island. And I didn't come here alone. I had a guide named Diego, a local man who swore he had been on this island as a kid, years before. And he seemed entirely knowledgeable. He led me up the cliff without any problem. And everything was going just fine, until we were attacked at the stream, and Diego - "

"Attacked?" Malcolm said. "By what?"

"I didn't really see what it was," Levine said. "It happened extremely fast. The animal knocked me down, and tore the backpack, and I don't really know what happened after that. Possibly the shape of my pack confused it, because I got up and started running again, and it didn't chase me."

Malcolm was staring at him. "You were damn lucky, Richard."

"Yes, well, I ran for a long time. When I looked back, I was alone in the jungle. And lost. I didn't know what to do, so I climbed a tree. That seemed like a good idea - and then, around nightfall, the velociraptors showed up."

"Velociraptors?" Arby said.

"Small carnivores," Levine said. "Basic theropod body shape, long snout, binocular vision. Roughly two meters tall, weighing perhaps ninety kilos. Very fast, intelligent, nasty little dinosaurs, and they travel in packs. And last night there were eight of them, jumping all around my tree, trying to get to me. All night long, jumping and snarling, jumping and snarling…I didn't get any sleep at all."

"Aw, that's a shame," Eddie said.

"Look," Levine said crossly. "It's not my problem if - "

Thorne said "You spent the night in the tree?"

Yes, and in the morning the raptors had gone. So I came down and started looking around. I found the lab, or whatever it is. Clearly, they abandoned it in a hurry, leaving some animals behind. I went through the building, and discovered that there is still power - some systems are still going, all these years later. And, most important, there is a network of security cameras. That's a very lucky break. So I decided to check on those cameras, and I was hard at work when you people barged in - "

"Wait a minute," Eddie said, "We came here to rescue you."

"I don't know why," Levine said. "I certainly never asked you to."

Thorne said, "it sounded like you did, over the phone."

"That is a misunderstanding," Levine said. "I was momentarily upset, because I couldn't work the phone. You've made that phone too complicated, Doc. That's the problem. So: shall we get started?"

Levine paused. He looked at the angry faces all around him. Malcolm turned to Thorne. "A great scientist," he said, "and a great human being."

"Look," Levine said, "I don't know what your problem is. The expedition was going to come to this island sooner or later. In this instance, sooner is better. Everything has turned out quite well, and, frankly, I don't see any reason to discuss it further. This is not the time for petty bickering. We have important things to do - and I think we should get started. Because this island is an extraordinary opportunity, and it isn't going to last forever.

Dodgson

Lewis Dodgson sat hunched in a dark corner of the Chesperito Cantina in Puerto Cortes, nursing a beer. Beside him, George Baselton, the Regis Professor of Biology at Stanford, was enthusiastically devouring a plate of huevos rancheros. The egg yolks ran yellow across green salsa. It made Dodgson sick just to look at it. He turned away, but he could still hear Baselton licking his lips, noisily.

There was no one else in the bar, except for some chickens clucking around the floor. Every so often, a young boy would come to the door, throw a handful of rocks at the chickens, and run away again, giggling. A scratchy stereo played an old Elvis Presley tape through corroded speakers above the bar. Dodgson hummed "Falling in Love With You," and tried to control his temper. He had been sitting in this dump for damn near an hour.

Baselton finished his eggs, and pushed the plate away. He brought out the small notebook he carried everywhere with him. "Now Lew," he said. "I've been thinking about how to handle this."

"Handle what?" Dodgson said irritably. "There's nothing to handle, unless we can get to that island." While he spoke, he tapped a small photograph of Richard Levine on the edge of the bar table. Turned it over. Looked at the image upside down. Then right side up.

He sighed. He looked at his watch.

"Lew," Baselton said patiently, "getting to the island is not the important part. The important part is how we present our discovery to the world."

Dodgson paused. "Our discovery," he repeated. "I like that, George. That's very good. Our discovery."

"Well, that's the truth, isn't it?" Baselton said, with a bland smile. "InGen is bankrupt, its technology lost to mankind. A tragic, tragic loss, as I have said many times on television. But under the circumstances, anyone who finds it again has made a discovery. I don't know what else you would call it. As Henri Poincare put it - "

"Okay," Dodgson said. "So we make a discovery. And then what? Hold a press conference?"

"Absolutely not," Baselton said, looking horrified. "A press conference would appear extremely crass. It would open us up to all sorts of criticism. No, no. A discovery of this magnitude must be treated with decorum. It must be reported, Lew."

"Reported?"

"In the literature: Nature, I imagine. Yes."

Dodgson squinted. "You want to announce this in an academic publication?"

"What better way to make it legitimate?" Baselton said. "It's entirely proper to present our findings to our scholarly peers. Of course it will start a debate - but what will that debate consist of? An academic squabble, professors sniping at professors, which will fill the science pages of the newspapers for three days, until it is pushed aside by the latest news on breast implants. And in those three days, we will have staked our claim."

"You'll write it?"

"Yes," Baselton said. "And later, I think, an article in American Scholar, or perhaps Natural History. A human-interest piece, what this discovery means for the future, what it tells us about the past, all that…"

Dodgson nodded. He could see that Baselton was correct, and he was reminded once again how much he needed him, and how wise he had been to add him to the team. Dodgson never thought about public reaction. And Baselton thought about nothing else.

"Well, that's fine," Dodgson said. "But none of it matters, unless we get to that island." He glanced at his watch again.

He heard a door open behind him, and Dodgson's assistant Howard King came in, pulling a heavyset Costa Rican man, with a mustache. The man had a weathered face and a sullen expression.

Dodgson turned on his stool. "Is this the guy?"

"Yes, Lew."

"What's his name?"

"Gandoca."

"Senor Gandoca." Dodgson held up the photo of Levine. "You know this man?"

Gandoca hardly glanced at the photo. He nodded. "Si. Senor Levine."

"That's right. Senor flicking Levine. When was he here?"

"A few days ago. He left with Dieguito, my cousin. They are not back yet."

"And where did they go?" Dodgson asked.

"Isla Sorna."

"Good." Dodgson drained his beer, pushed the bottle away. "You have a boat?" He turned to King. "Does he have a boat?"

King said, "He's a fisherman. He has a boat."

Gandoca nodded. "A fishing boat. Si."

"Good. I want to go to Isla Sorna, too."

"Si, senor, but today the weather - "

"I don't care about the weather," Dodgson said. "The weather will get better. I want to go now."

"Perhaps later - "

"Now."

Gandoca spread his hands. "I am very sorry, senor - "

Dodgson said, "Show him the money, Howard."

King opened a briefcase. It was filled with five thousand colon notes. Gatidoca looked, picked up one of the bills, inspected it. He put it back carefully, shifted on his feet a little.

Dodgson said, "I want to go now."

"Si, senor," Gandoca said. "We leave when you are ready."

"That's more like it," Dodgson said. "How long to get to the island?"

"Perhaps two hours, senor."

"Fine," Dodgson said. "That'll be fine."

The High Hide

"Here we go!"

There was a click as Levine connected the flexible cable to the Explorer's power winch, and flicked it on. The cable turned slowly in the sunlight.

They had all moved down onto the broad grassy plain at the base of the cliff. The midday sun was high overhead, glaring off the rocky rim of the island. Below, the valley shimmered in midday heat.

There was a herd of hypsilophodons a short distance away; the green gazelle-like animals raised their heads occasionally above the grass to look toward them, every time they heard the clink of metal, as Eddie and the kids laid out the aluminum strut assembly which had been the subject of so much speculation back in California. That assembly now looked like a jumble of thin struts - an oversized version of pickup sticks - lying in the grass of the plain.

"Now we will see," Levine said, rubbing his hands together.

As the motor turned, the aluminum struts began to move, and slowly lifted into the air. The emerging structure appeared spidery and delicate, but Thorne knew that the cross-bracing would give it surprising strength. Struts unfolding, the structure rose ten feet, then fifteen feet, and finally it stopped. The little house at the top was now just beneath the lowest branches of the nearby trees, which almost concealed it from view. But the scaffolding itself gleamed bright and shiny in the sun.

"Is that it?" Arby said.

"That's it, yes." Thorne walked around the four sides, slipping in the locking pins, to hold it upright.

"But it's much too shiny," Levine said. "We should have made it matte black."

Thorne said, "Eddie, we need to hide this."

"Want to spray it, Doc? I think I brought some black paint."

Levine shook his head. "No, then it'll smell. How about those palms?

"Sure, we can do that." Eddie walked to a stand of nearby palms, and began to hack away big fronds with his machete.

Kelly stared up at the aluminum strut assembly. "It's great," she said. "But what is it?"

"It's a high hide," Levine said. "Come on." And he began to climb the scaffolding.

The structure at the top was a little house, its roof supported by aluminum bars spaced four feet apart. The floor of the house was also made of aluminum bars, but these were closer together, about six inches apart. Their feet threatened to slip through, so Levine took the first of the bundles of fronds that Eddie Carr was raising on a rope, and used them to make a more complete floor. The remaining fronds he tied to the outside of the house, concealing its structure.

Arby and Kelly stared out at the animals. From their vantage point, they could look across the whole valley. There was a distant herd of apatosaurs, on the other side of the river. A cluster of triceratops browsed to the north. Nearer the water, some duck-billed dinosaurs with long crests rising above their heads moved forward to drink. A low, trumpeting cry from the duckbills floated across the valley toward them: a deep, unearthly sound. A moment later, there was an answering cry, from the forest at the opposite side of the valley.

"What was that?" Kelly said.

"Parasaurolophus," Levine said. "It's trumpeting through its nuchal crest. Low-frequency sound carries a long distance."

To, the south, there was a herd of dark-green animals, with large curved protruding foreheads, and a rim of small knobby horns. They looked a little like buffalo. "What do you call those?" Kelly said.

"Good question," Levine said. "They are either Gravitholus albertae, or more likely Pachycephalosaurus wyomingensis. But it's difficult to say for sure, because a full skeleton for these animals has never been recovered. Their foreheads are very thick bone, so we've found many domed cranial fragments. But this is the first time I've ever seen the whole animal."

"And those heads? What are they for?" Arby said.

"Nobody knows," Levine said. "Everyone has assumed they're used for butting, for intraspecies fighting among males. Competition for females, that sort of thing."

Malcolm climbed up into the hide. "Yes, butting heads, he said sourly. "Just as you see them now."

"All right," Levine said, "so they're not butting heads at the moment. Perhaps their breeding season is concluded."

"Or perhaps they don't do it at all," Malcolm said, staring at the green animals. "They look pretty peaceful to me."

"Yes," Levine said," but of course that doesn't mean a thing. African buffalo appear peaceful most of the time too - in fact, they usually just stand motonless. Yet they're unpredictable and dangerous animals. We have to presume those domes exist for a reason - even if we're not seeing it now."

Levine turned to the kids. "That's why we made this structure. We want to make round-the-clock observations on the animals," he said. "To the extent possible, we want a full record of their activities."

"Why?" Arby said.

"Because," Malcolm said, "this island presents a unique opportunity to study the greatest mystery in the history of our planet: extinction."

"You see," Malcolm said, "when InGen shut down their facility, they did it hastily, and they left some live animals behind. That was five or six years ago. Dinosaurs mature rapidly; most species attain adulthood in four or five years. By now, the first generation of InGen dinosaurs - bred in a laboratory - has attained maturity, and has begun to breed a new generation, entirely in the wild. There is now a complete ecological system on this island, with a dozen or so dinosaur species living in social groups, for the first time in sixty-five million years."

Arby said, "So why is that an opportunity?"

Malcolm pointed across the plain. "Well, think about it. Extinction is a very difficult research topic. There are dozens of competing theories. The fossil record is incomplete. And you can't perform experiments. Galileo could climb the tower of Pisa and drop balls to test his theory of gravity. He never actually did it, but he could have. Newton used prisms to test his theory of light. Astronomers observed eclipses to test Einstein's theory of relativity. Testing occurs throughout science. But how can you test a theory of extinction? You can't."

Arby said, "But here…"

"Yes," Malcolm said. "What we have here is a population of extinct animals artificially introduced into a closed environment, and allowed to evolve all over again. There's never been anything like it in all history. We already know these animals became extinct once. But nobody knows why."

"And you expect to find out? In a few days?"

"Yes," Malcolm said. "We do."

"How? You don't expect them to become extinct again, do you?"

"You mean, right before our eyes?" Malcolm laughed. "No, no. Nothing like that. But the point is, for the first time we aren't just studying bones. We're seeing live animals, and observing their behavior. I have a theory, and I think that even in a short time, we will see evidence for that theory."

"What evidence?" Kelly said.

"What theory?" Arby said.

Malcolm smiled at them. "Wait," he said.

The Red Queen

The apatosaurs had come down to the river in the heat of the day; their graceful curving necks were reflected in the water as they bent to drink. Their long, whip-like tails swung back and forth lazily. Several younger apatosaurs, much smaller than the adults, scampered about in the center of the herd.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" Levine said. "The way it all fits together. Just beautiful." He leaned over the side and shouted to Thorne, "Where's my mount?"

"Coming up," Thorne said.

The rope now brought up a heavy wide-based tripod, and a circular mount on top. There were five video cameras atop the mount, and dangling wires leading to solar panels. Levine and Malcolm began to set it up.

"What happens to the video?" Arby said.

"The data gets multiplexed, and we uplink it back to California. By satellite. We'll also hook into the security network. So we'll have lots of observation points."

"And we don't have to be here?"

Right."

"And this is what you call a high hide?"

"Yes. At least, that's what scientists like Sarah Harding call it."

Thorne climbed up to join them. The little shelter was now quite crowded, but Levine didn't seem to notice. He was entirely focused on the dinosaurs; he turned a pair of binoculars on the animals spread across the plain. "Just as we thought," he said to Malcolm. "Spatial oranization. Infants and juveniles in the center of the herd, protective adults on the periphery. The apatosaurs use their tails as defense,"

"That's the way it looks."

"Oh, there's no question about it," Levine said. He sighed. "It's so agreeable to be proven right."

On the ground below, Eddie unpacked the circular aluminum cage, the same one they had seen in California. It was six feet tall and four feet in diameter, constructed of one-inch titanium bars. "What do you want me to do with this?" Eddie said.

"Leave it down there," Levine said. "That's where it belongs."

Eddie set the cage upright in the corner of the scaffolding. Levine climbed down.

"And what's that for?" Arby said, looking down. "Catching a dinosaur?"

In point of fact, just the opposite." Levine clipped the cage to the side of the scaffolding. He swung the door open and shut, testing it. There was a lock in the door. He checked the lock, too, leaving the key in place, with its dangling elastic loop. "It's a predator cage, like a shark " Levine said, "If you're down here walking around and anything happens, you can climb in here, and you'll be safe."

"In case what happens?" Arby said, with a worried look.

"Actually, I don't think anything will happen," Levine said. "Because I doubt the animals will pay any attention to us, or to this little house, once the structure's been concealed."

"You mean they won't see it?"

"Oh, they'll see it," Levine said, "but they'll ignore it."

"But if they smell us…"

Levine shook his head. "We sited the hide so the prevailing wind is toward us. And you may have noticed these ferns have a distinct smell." It was a mild, slightly tangy odor, almost like eucalyptus.

Arby fretted. "But suppose they decide to eat the ferns?"

"They won't," Levine said. "These are Dicranopterus cyatheoides. They're mildly toxic and cause a rash in the month. In point of fact, there's a theory that their toxicity first evolved back in the Jurassic, as a defense against dinosaur browsers."

"That's not a theory," Malcolm said. "It's just idle speculation."

"There's some logic behind it," Levine said. "Plant life in the Mesozoic must have been severely challenged by the arrival of very large dinosaurs. Herds of giant herbivores, each animal consuming hundreds of pounds of plant matter each day, would have wiped out any plants that didn't evolve some defense - a bad taste, or nettles, or thorns, or chemical toxicity. So perhaps cyatheoides evolved its toxicity back then. And it's very effective, because contemporary animals don't eat these ferns, anywhere on earth. That's why they're so abundant. You may have noticed."

"Plants have defenses?" Kelly said.

"Of course they do. Plants evolve like every other form of life, and they've come up with their own forms of aggression, defense, and so on. In the nineteenth century, most theories concerned animals - nature red in tooth and claw, all that. But now scientists are thinking about nature green in root and stem. We realize that plants, in their ceaseless struggle to survive, have evolved everything from complex symbiosis with other animals, to signaling mechanisms to warn other plants, to outright chemical warfare."

Kelly frowned. "Signaling? Like what?"

"Oh, there are many examples," Levine said. "In Africa acacia trees evolved very long, sharp thorns - three inches or so - but that only provoked animals like giraffes and antelope to evolve long tongues to get past the thorns. Thorns alone didn't work. So in the evolutionary arms race, the acacia trees next evolved toxicity. They started to produce large quantities of tannin in their leaves, which sets off a lethal metabolic reaction in the animals that eat them. Literally kills them. At the same time, the acacias also evolved a kind of chemical warning system among themselves. If an antelope begins to eat one tree in a grove, that tree releases the chemical ethylene into the air, which causes other trees in the grove to step up the production of leaf tannin. Within five or ten minutes, the other trees are producing more tannin, making themselves poisonous.

"And then what happens to the antelope? It dies?"

"Well, not any more," Levine said, "because the evolutionary arms race continued, Eventually, antelopes learned that they could only browse for a short time. Once the trees started to produce more tannin, they had to stop eating it. And the browsers developed new strategies. For example, when a giraffe eats an acacia tree, it then avoids all the trees downwind. Instead, it moves on to another tree that is some distance away. So the animals have adapted to this defense, too."

"In evolutionary theory, this is called the Red Queen phenomenon," Malcolm said. "Because in Alice in Wonderland the Red Queen tells Alice she has to run as fast as she can just to stay where she is. That's the way evolutionary spirals seem. All the organisms are evolving at a furious pace just to stay in the same balance. To stay where they are."

Arby said, "And this is common? Even with plants?"

"Oh yes," Levine said. "In their own way, plants are extremely active. Oak trees, for example, produce tannin and phenol as a defense when caterpillars attack them. A whole grove of trees is alerted as soon as one tree is infested. It's a way to protect the entire grove - a kind of cooperation among trees, you might say."

Arby nodded, and looked out from the high hide at the apatosaurs, still by the river below. "So," Arby said, "is that why the dinosaurs haven't eaten all the trees off this island? Because those big apatosaurs must eat a lot of plants. They have long necks to eat the high leaves. But the trees hardly look touched."

"Very good," Levine said, nodding, "I noticed that myself."

"Is that because of these plant defenses?"

"Well, it might be," Levine said. "But I think there is a very simple explanation for why the trees are preserved."

"What's that?"

"Just look," Levine said. "It's right before your eyes."

Arby picked up the binoculars and stared at the herds. "What's the simple explanation?"

"Among paleontologists," Levine said, "there's been an interminable debate about why sauropods have long necks. Those animals you see have necks twenty feet long. The traditional belief has been that sauropods evolved long necks to eat high foliage that could not be, reached by smaller animals."

"So?" Arby said. "What's the debate?"

"Most animals on this planet have short necks," Levine said, "because a long neck is, well, a pain in the neck. It causes all sorts of problems. Structural problems: how to arrange muscles and ligaments to support a long neck. Behavioral problems: nerve impulses must travel a long way from the brain to the body. Swallowing problems: food has to go a long way from the mouth to the stomach. Breathing problems: air has to be pulled down a long windpipe. Cardiac problems: blood has to be pumped way up to the head, or the animal faints, In evolutionary terms, all this is very difficult to do."

"But giraffes do it," Arby said.

"Yes, they do. Although giraffe necks are nowhere near this long. Giraffes have evolved large hearts, and very thick fascia around the neck. In effect, the neck of a giraffe is like a blood-pressure cuff, going all the way up."

"Do dinosaurs have the same cuff?"

"We don't know. We assume apatosaurs have huge hearts, perhaps three hundred pounds or more. But there is another possible solution to the problem of pumping blood in a long neck."

"Yes?"

"You're looking at it right now," Levine said.

Arby clapped his hands. "They don't raise their necks!"

"Correct," Levine said. "At least, not very often, or for long periods. Of course, right now the animals are drinking, so their necks are down, but my guess is that if we watch them for an extended period we'll find they don't spend much time with their necks raised high."

"And that's why they don't eat the leaves on the trees!"

"Right."

Kelly frowned. "But if their long necks aren't used for eating, then why did they evolve them in the first place?"

Levine smiled. "There must be a good reason," he said. "I believe it has to do with defense."

"Defense? Long necks?" Arby stared. "I don't get it."

"Keep looking," Levine said. "It's really rather obvious."

Arbv peered through binoculars. He said to Kelly, "I hate it when he tells us it's obvious."

"I know," she said, with a sigh.

Arby glanced over at Thorne, and caught his eye. Thorne made a V with his fingers, and then pushed one finger, tilting it over. The movement forced the second finger to shift, too. So the two fingers were connected…

If it was a clue, he didn't get it. He didn't get it. He frowned.

Thorne mouthed: "Bridge."

Arby looked, and watched the whip-like tails swing back and forth over the younger animals. "I get it!" Arby said. "They use their tails for defense. And they need long necks to counterbalance the long tails. It's like a suspension bridge!"

Levine squinted at Arby. "You did that very fast," he said.

Thorne turned away, hiding a smile.

"But I'm right…" Arby said.

"Yes," Levine said, "your view is essentially correct. Long necks exist because the long tails exist. It's a different Situation in theropods, which stand on two legs. But in quadrupeds, there needs to be a counterbalance for the long tail, or the animal would simply tip over."

Malcolm said, "Actually, there is something much more puzzling about this apatosaur herd."

Oh?" Levine said. "What's that?"

"There are no true adults," Malcolm said. "Those animals we see are very large by our standards. But in fact, none of them has attained full adult size. I find that perplexing."

"Do you? It doesn't trouble me in the least," Levine said. "Unquestionably, it is simply because they haven't had enough time to reach maturity. I'm sure apatosaurs grow more slowly than the other dinosaurs. After all, large mammals like elephants grow more slowly than small ones.

Malcolm shook his head. "That's not the explanation," he said.

"Oh? Then what?"

"Keep looking," Malcolm said, pointing out over the plain. "It's really rather obvious."

The kids giggled.

Levine gave a little shiver of displeasure. "What is obvious to me," he said, "is that none of the species appear to have attained full adulthood. The triceratops, the apatosaurs, even the parasaurs are a bit smaller than one would expect. This argues for a consistent factor: some element of diet, the effects of confinement on a small island, perhaps even the way they were engineered. But I don't consider it particularly remarkable or worrisome."

"Maybe you're right," Malcolm said. "And then again, maybe you're not."

Puerto Cortes

"No flights?" Sarah Harding said. "What do you mean, there are no flights?" It was eleven o'clock in the morning. Harding had been flying for the last fifteen hours, much of it spent on a U.S. military transport that she'd caught from Nairobi to Dallas. She was exhausted. Her skin felt grimy; she needed a shower and a change of clothes. Instead she found herself arguing with this very stubborn official in a ratty little town on the west coast of Costa Rica. Outside, the fain had stopped, but the sky was still gray, with low-hanging clouds over the deserted airfield.

"I am sorry," Rodriguez said. "No flights can be arranged."

"But what about the helicopter that took the men earlier?"

"There is a helicopter, yes."

"Where is it?"

"The helicopter is not here."

"I can see that. But where is it?"

Rodriguez spread his hands. "It has gone to San Cristobal."

"When will it be back?"

"I do not know. I think tomorrow, or perhaps the day after."

"Senor Rodriguez," she said firmly, "I must get to that island today."

"I understand your wish," Rodriguez said. "But I cannot do anything to help this."

"What do you suggest?"

Rodriguez shrugged. "I could not make a suggestion."

"Is there a boat that will take me?"

"I do not know of a boat."

"This is a harbor," Harding said. She pointed out the window. "I see all sorts of boats out there."

"I know. But I do not believe one will go to the islands. The weather is not so favorable."

"But if I were to go down to - "

"Yes, of course." Rodriguez sighed. "Of course you may ask."

Which was how she found herself, shortly after eleven o'clock on a rainy morning, walking down the rickety wooden dock, with her backpack on her shoulder. Four boats were tied up to the dock, which smelled strongly of fish. But all the boats seemed to be deserted. All the activity was at the far end of the dock, where a much larger boat was tied up. Beside the boat, a red Jeep Wrangler was being strapped for loading, along with several large steel drums and wooden crates of supplies. She admired the car in passing; it had been specially modified, enlarged to the size of the Land Rover Defender, the most desirable of all field vehicles. Changing this Jeep must have been an expensive alteration, she thought: only for researchers with lots of money.

Standing on the dock, a pair of Americans in wide-brimmed sun hats were shouting and pointing as the Jeep lifted lopsidedly into the air, and was swung onto the deck of the boat with an ancient crane. She heard one of the men shout "Careful! Careful!" as the Jeep thudded down hard on the wooden deck. "Damn it, be careful!" Several workmen began to carry the boxes onto the ship. The crane swung back to pick up the steel drums.

Harding went over to the nearest man and said politely, "Excuse me, but I wonder if you could help me."

The man glanced at her. He was medium height, with reddish skin and bland features; he looked awkward in new khaki safari clothes. His manner was preoccupied and tense. "I'm busy now," he said, and turned away. "Manuel! Watch it, that's sensitive equipment!"

"I'm sorry to bother you," she continued, "but my name is Sarah Harding, and I'm trying - "

"I don't care if you're Sarah Bernhardt, the - Manuel! Damn it!" The man waved his arms. "You there! Yes, you! Hold that box upright!"

"I'm trying to get to Isla Sorna," she said, finishing.

At this, the man's entire demeanor changed. He turned back to her slowly. "Isla Sorna?" he said. "You're not associated with Dr. Levine by any chance, are you?"

"Yes, I am."

"Well, I'll be damned," be said, suddenly breaking into a warm smile. "What do you know!" He extended his hand. "I'm Lew Dodgson, from the Biosyn Corporation, back in Cupertino. This is my associate, Howard King."

"Hi," the other man said, nodding. Howard King was younger and taller than Dodgson, and he was handsome in a clean-cut California way. Sarah recognized his type: a classic beta male animal, subservient to the core. And there was something odd about his behavior toward her: he moved a little away, and seemed as uncomfortable around her as Dodgson now seemed friendly.

"And up there," Dodgson continued, pointing onto the deck, "is our third, George Baselton."

Harding saw a heavyset man on the deck, bent over the boxes as they came on board. His shirtsleeves were soaked in sweat. She said, "Are you all friends of Richard?"

"We're on our way over to see him right now," Dodgson said, "to help him out." He hesitated, frowning at her. "But, uh, he didn't tell us about you…"

She was suddenly aware then of how she must appear to him: a short woman in her thirties, wearing a rumpled shirt, khaki shorts, and heavy boots. Her clothes dirty, her hair unkempt after all the flights.

She said, "I know Richard through Ian Malcolm. Ian and I are old friends."

I see…" He continued to stare at her, as if he was unsure of her in some way.

She felt compelled to explain. "I've been in Africa. I decided to come here at the last minute," she said. "Doc THorne called me."

"Oh, of course. Doc." The man nodded, and seemed to relax, as if everything now made sense to him.

She said, "Is Richard all right?"

"Well, I certainly hope so. Because we're taking all this equipment to him."

"You're going to Sorna now?"

"We are, if this weather holds," Dodgson said, glancing at the sky. "We should be ready to go in five or ten minutes. You know, you're welcome to join us, if you need a ride," he said cheerfully. "We could use the company. Where's your stuff?"

"I've only got this," she said, lifting her small backpack.

"Traveling light, eh? Well, good, Ms. Harding. Welcome to the party."

He seemed entirely open and friendly now. It was such a marked change from his earlier behavior. But she noticed that the handsome man, King, remained distinctly uneasy. King turned his back to her, and acted very busy, shouting at the workmen to be careful with the last of the wooden crates, which were marked "Biosyn Corporation" in stenciled lettering. She had the impression he was avoiding looking at her. And she still hadn't gotten a good look at the third man, on deck. It made her hesitate.

"You're sure it's all right…"

"Of course it's all right! We'd be delighted!" Dodgson said. "Besides, how else are you going to get there? There's no planes, the helicopter is gone.

"I know, I checked…"

"Well, then, you know. If you want to get to the island, you'd better go with us."

She looked at the jeep on the boat, and said, "I think Doc must already be there, with his equipment."

At the mention of that, the second man, King, snapped his head around in alarm. But Dodgson just nodded calmly and said, "Yes, I think so. He left last night, I believe."

"That's what he said to me."

"Right." Dodgson nodded. "So he's already there. At least, I hope he is."

From on deck, there were shouts in Spanish, and a captain in greasy overalls came and looked over the side. "Senor Dodgson, we are ready."

"Good," Dodgson said. "Excellent. Climb aboard, Ms. Harding. Let's get going!"

King

Spewing black smoke, the fishing boat chugged out of the harbor, heading toward open sea. Howard King felt the rumble of the ship's engines beneath his feet, heard the creak of the wood. He listened to the shouts of the crewmen in Spanish. King looked back at the little town of Puerto Cortes, a jumble of little houses clustered around the water's edge. He hoped this damn boat was seaworthy - because they were out in the middle of nowhere.

And Dodgson was cutting corners. Taking chances again.

It was the situation King feared most.

Howard King had known Lewis Dodgson for almost ten years, ever since he had joined Biosyn as a young Berkeley Ph.D., a promising researcher with the energy to conquer the world. King had done his doctoral thesis on blood-coagulation factors. He had joined Biosyn at a time of intense interest in those factors, which seemed to hold the key to dissolving clots in patients with heart attacks. There was a race among biotech companies to develop a new drug that would save lives, and make a fortune as well.

Initially, King worked on a promising substance called Hemaggluttin V-5, or HGV-5. In early tests it dissolved platelet aggregation to an astonishing degree. King became the most promising young researcher at Biosyn. His picture was prominently featured in the annual report. He had his own lab, and an operating budget of nearly half a million dollars.

And then, without warning, the bottom fell out. In preliminary tests on human subjects, HGV-5 failed to dissolve clots in either myocardial infarctions or pulmonary embolisms. Worse, it produced severe side effects: gastrointestinal bleeding, skin rashes, neurological problems. After one patient died from convulsions, the company halted further testing. Within weeks, King lost his lab. A newly arrived Danish researcher took it over; he was developing an extract from the saliva of the Sumatran yellow leech, which showed more promise.

King moved to a smaller lab, decided he was tired of blood factors, and turned his attention to painkillers. He had an interesting compound, the L-isomer of a protein from the African horny toad, which seemed to have narcotic effects. But he had lost his former confidence, and when the company reviewed his work, they concluded that his research was insufficiently documented to warrant seeking FDA approvals for testing. His horny-toad project was summarily canceled.

King was then thirty-five, and twice a failure. His picture no longer graced the annual report. It was rumored that the company would probably let him go at the next review period. When he proposed a new research project, it was rejected at once. It was a dark time in his life.

Then Lewis Dodgson suggested they have lunch.

Dodgson had an unsavory reputation among the researchers; he was known as "The Undertaker," because of the way he took over the work of others, and prettied it up as his own. In earlier years, King never would have been seen with him. But now he allowed Dodgson to take him to an expensive seafood restaurant in San Francisco.

"Research is hard," Dodgson said, sympathetically.

"You can say that again," King said.

"Hard, and risky," Dodgson said. "The fact is, innovative research rarely pans out. But does management understand? No. If the research fails, you're the one who's blamed. It's not fair."

"Tell me," King said.

"But that's the name of the game." Dodgson shrugged, and speared a leg of soft-shell crab.

King said nothing.

"Personally, I don't like risk," Dodgson continued. "And original work is risky. Most new ideas are bad, and most original work fails. That's the reality. If you feel compelled to do original research, you can expect to fail. That's all right if you work in a university, where failure is praised and success leads to Ostracism. But in industry…no, no. Original work in industry is not a wise career choice. It's only going to get you into trouble. Which is where you are right now, my friend."

"What can I do? " King said.

"Well," Dodgson said. "I have my I own version of the scientific method. I call it focused research development. If only a few ideas are going to be good, why try to find them yourself? It's too hard. Let other people find them - let them take the risk - let them go for the so-called glory. I'd rather wait, and develop ideas that already show promise. Take what's good, and make it better. Or at least, make it different enough so that I can patent it. And then I own it. Then, it's mine."

King was amazed at the straightforward way that Dodgson admitted he was a thief. He didn't seem in the least embarrassed. King poked at his salad for a while. "Why are you telling me this?"

"Because I see something in you," Dodgson said. "I see ambition. Frustrated ambition. And I'm telling you, Howard, you don't have to be frustrated. You, don't even have to be fired from the company at the next performance review. Which is exactly what's going to happen. How old is your kid?"

"Four," King said.

"Terrible, to be out of work, with a young family. And it won't be easy to get another job. Who's going to give you a chance now? By thirty-five, a research scientist has already made his mark, or he's not likely to. I don't say that's right, but that's how they think."

King knew that's how they thought. At every biotechnology company in California.

"But Howard," Dodgson said, leaning across the table, lowering his voice, "a wonderful world awaits you, if you choose to look at things differently. There's a whole other way to live your life. I really think you should consider what I'm saying."

Two weeks later, King became Dodgson's personal assistant in the Department of Future Biogenic Trends, which was bow Biosyn referred to its efforts at industrial espionage. And in the years that followed, King had once again risen swiftly at Biosyn - this time because Dodgson liked him.

Now King had all the accoutrements of success: a Porsche, a mortgage, a divorce, a kid he saw on weekends. All because King had proven to be the perfect second in command, working long hours, handling the details, keeping his fast-talking boss out of trouble. And in the process, King had come to know all the sides of Dodgson - his charismatic side, his visionary side, and his dark, ruthless side. King told himself that he could handle the ruthless side, that he could keep it in check, that over the years he had learned how to do that.

But sometimes, he was not so sure.

Like now.

Because here they were, in some rickety stinking fishing boat, heading out into the ocean off some desolate village in Costa Rica, and in this tense moment Dodgson had suddenly decided to play some kind of game, meeting this woman and deciding to take her along.

King didn't know what Dodgson intended, but he could see the intense gleam in Dodgson's eyes that he had seen only a few times before, and it was a look that always alarmed him.

The woman Harding was now up on the foredeck, standing near the bow. She was looking off at the ocean. King saw Dodgson walking around the Jeep, and beckoned to him nervously.

"Listen," King said, "we have to talk."

"Sure," Dodgson said, easily. "What's on your mind?"

And he smiled. That charming smile.

Harding

Sarah Harding stared at the gray, menacing sky. The boat rolled in the heavy offshore swell. The deckhands scrambled to tie down the Jeep, which threatened repeatedly to break free. She stood in the bow, fighting seasickness. On the far horizon, dead ahead, she could just see the low black line that was their first glimpse of Isla Sorna.

She turned and looked back, and saw Dodgson and King were huddled by the railing amidships, in intense conversation. King seemed to be upset, gesticulating rapidly. Dodgson was listening, and shaking his head. After a moment, he put his arm on King's shoulder. He seemed to be trying to calm the younger man down. Both men ignored the activity around the jeep. Which was odd, she thought, considering how worried they had been earlier about the equipment. Now they didn't seem to care.

As for the third man, Baselton, she had of course recognized him, and she was surprised to find him here on this little fishing boat. Baselton had shaken her hand in a perfunctory way, and he had disappeared belowdecks as soon as the ship pulled away from the dock. He had not reappeared. But perhaps he was seasick, too.

As she continued to watch, she saw Dodgson break away from King, and hurry over to supervise the deckhands. Left alone, King went to check on the straps that lashed the boxes and barrels to the deck farther aft. The boxes marked "Biosyn."

Harding had never heard of the Biosyn Corporation. She wondered what connection Ian and Richard had with it. Whenever Ian was around her, he had always been critical, even contemptuous, of biotechnology companies. And these men seemed to be unlikely friends. They were too rigid, too…geeky.

But then, she reflected, Ian did have strange friends. They were always showing up unexpectedly at his apartment - the Japanese calligrapher, the Indonesian gamalan troupe, the Las Vegas juggler in a shiny bolero jacket, that weird French astrologer who thought the earth was hollow…And then there were his mathematician friends. They were really crazy. Or so they seemed to Sarah. They were so wild-eyed, so wrapped up in their proofs. Pages and pages of proofs, sometimes hundreds of pages. It was all too abstract for her. Sarah Harding liked to touch the dirt, to see the animals, to experience the sounds and the smells. That was real to her. Everything else was just a bunch of theories: possibly right, possibly wrong.

Waves began to crash over the bow, and she moved a little astern, to keep dry. She yawned; she hadn't slept much in the last twenty-four hours. Dodgson finished working on the Jeep, and came over to her.

She said, "Everything all right?"

"Oh yes," Dodgson said, smiling cheerfully.

"Your friend King seemed upset."

"He doesn't like boats," Dodgson said. He nodded to the waves. "But we're making better time. It'll only be an hour or so, until we land."

"Tell me," she said. "What is the Biosyn Corporation? I've never heard of it."

"It's a small company," Dodgson said. "We make what are called consumer biologicals. We specialize in recreational and sports organisms. For example, we engineered new kinds of trout, and other game fish. We're making new kinds of dogs-smaller pets for apartment dwellers. That sort of thing."

Exactly the sort of thing that Ian hated, she thought. "How do you know Ian?"

"Oh, we go way back," Dodgson said.

She noticed his vagueness. "How far?"

"Back to the days of the park."

"The park," she said.

He nodded. "Did he ever tell you how he hurt his leg?"

"No," she said. "He would never talk about it. He just said it happened on a consulting job that had…I don't know. Some sort of trouble. Was it a park?"

"Yes, in a way," Dodgson said, staring out at the ocean, After a moment, he shrugged. "And what about you? How do you know him?"

"He was one of my thesis readers. I'm an ethologist. I study large mammals in African grassland ecosystems. East Africa. Carnivores, in particular."

"Carnivores?"

"I've been studying hyenas," she said. "Before that, lions."

"For a long time?"

"Almost ten years, now. Six years continuously, since my doctorate."

"Interesting," Dodgson said, nodding, "And so did you come here all the way from Africa?"

"Yes, from Seronera. In Tanzania."

Dodgson nodded vaguely. He looked past her shoulder toward the island. "What do you know. Looks like the weather may clear, after all."

She turned and saw streaks of blue in the thinning clouds overhead. The sun was trying to break through. The sea was calmer. And she was surprised to see the island was much closer. She could clearly see the cliffs, rising above the seas. The cliffs were reddish-gray volcanic rock, very sheer.

"In Tanzania," Dodgson said. "You run a large research team?"

"No. I work alone."

"No students?" he said.

"I'm afraid not. It's because my work just isn't very glamorous. The big savannah carnivores in Africa are primarily nocturnal. So my research is mostly conducted at night."

"Must be hard on your husband."

"Oh, I'm not married," she said, with a little shrug.

"I'm surprised," he said. "After all, a beautiful woman like you…"

"I never had time," she said quickly. To change the subject, she said, "Where do you land on this island?"

Dodgson turned to look. They were now close enough to the island to see the waves crashing, high and white, against the base of the cliffs. They were only a mile or two away.

"It's an unusual island," Dodgson said. "This whole region of central America is volcanic. There are something like thirty active volcanoes between Mexico and Colombia. All these offshore islands were at one time active volcanoes, part of the central chain. But unlike the mainland, the islands are now dormant. Haven't erupted for a thousand years or so.

"So we're seeing the outside of the crater?"

"Exactly. The cliffs are all the result of erosion from rainfall, but the ocean erodes the base of the cliffs, too. Those flat sections on the cliff you see are where the ocean cut in at the bottom, and huge areas of the cliff face were undermined, and just cleaved, falling straight down into the sea. It's all soft volcanic rock."

"And so you land…"

"There are several places on the windward side where the ocean has cut caves into the cliff. And at two of those places, the caves meet rivers flowing out from the interior. So they're passable." He pointed ahead. "You see there, you can just now see one of the caves."

Sarah Harding saw a dark irregular opening cut into the base of the cliff. All around it, the waves crashed, plumes of white water rising fifty feet up into the air.

"You're going to take this boat into that cave there?"

"If the weather holds, yes." Dodgson turned away. "Don't worry, it's not as bad as it looks. Anyway, you were saying. About Africa. When did you leave Africa?"

"Right after Doc Thorne called. He said he was going with Ian to rescue Richard, and asked if I wanted to come."

"And what did you say?"

"I said I'd think about it."

Dodgson frowned. "You didn't tell him you were coming?"

"No. Because I wasn't sure I wanted to. I mean, I'm busy. I have my work. And it's a long way."

"For an old lover," Dodgson said, nodding sympathetically.

She sighed. "Well. You know. Ian."

"Yes, I know Ian," Dodgson said. "Quite a character."

"That's one way to put it," she said.

There was an awkward silence. Dodgson cleared his throat. "I'm confused," he said, "Who exactly did you tell you were coming here?"

"Nobody," she said. "I just jumped on the next plane and came."

"But what about your university, your colleagues…"

She shrugged. "There wasn't time. And as I said, I work alone." She looked again at the island. The cliffs rose high above the boat. They were only a few hundred yards away. The cave appeared much larger now, but the waves crashed high on either side. She shook her head. "It looks pretty rough."

"Don't worry," Dodgson said. "See? The captain's already making for it. We'll be perfectly safe, once we're passing through. And then…It should be very exciting."

The boat rolled and dipped in the sea, an uncertain motion. She gripped the railing. Beside her, Dodgson grinned. "See what I mean? Exciting, isn't it?" He seemed suddenly energized, almost agitated. His body became tense; he rubbed his hands together. "No need to worry, Ms. Harding, I can't allow anything to happen to - "

She didn't know what he was talking about, but before she could reply, the nose of the boat dipped again, kicking up spray, and she stumbled a little. Dodgson bent over quickly - apparently to steady her - but it seemed as if something went wrong - his body struck against her legs, then lifted - and then another wave crashed over them and she felt her body twist and she screamed and clutched at the railing. But it was all happening too fast, the world upended and swirled around her, her head clanged once on the railing and then she was tumbling, falling through space. She saw the peeling paint on the hull of the boat sliding past her, she saw the green ocean rush up toward her, and then she was shocked with the sudden stinging cold as she plunged into the rough, heaving sea, and sank beneath the waves, into darkness.

The Valley

"This is going extremely well," Levine said, rubbing his hands together. "Far beyond my expectations, I must say. I couldn't be more pleased."

He was standing in the high hide with Thorne, Eddie, Malcolm, and the kids, looking down on the valley floor below. Everyone was sweating inside the little observation hut; the midday air was still and hot. Around them, the grassy meadow was deserted; most of the dinosaurs had moved beneath the trees, into the cool of the shade.

The exception was the herd of apatosaurs, which had left the trees to return to the river, where they were now drinking once again. The huge animals clustered fairly tightly around the water's edge. In the same vicinity, but more spread out, were the high-crested parasaurolophasaurs; these somewhat smaller dinosaurs positioned themselves near the apatosaur herd.

Thorne wiped sweat out of his eyes and said, "Why, exactly, are you pleased?"

"Because of what we're seeing here," Malcolm said. He glanced at his watch, and wrote an entry in his notebook. "We're getting the data that I hoped for. It's very exciting."

Thorne yawned, sleepy in the heat. "'Why is it exciting? The dinosaurs are drinking. What's the big deal?"

"Drinking again," Levine corrected him. "For the second time in an hour. At midday. Such fluid intake is highly suggestive of the thermoregulatory strategies these large creatures employ."

"You mean they drink a lot to stay cool," Thorne said, always impatient with jargon.

"Yes. Clearly they do. Drink a lot. But in my view, their return to the river may have another significance entirely."

"Which is?"

"Come, come," Levine said, pointing. "Look at the herds. Look how they are arranged spatially. We are seeing something that no one has witnessed before, or even suspected, for dinosaurs. We're seeing nothing less than inter-species symbiosis."

"We are?"

Yes," Levine said. "The apatosaurs and the parasaurs are together. I saw them together yesterday, too. I'll bet that they're always together, when they're out on the open plain. Undoubtedly you are wondering why."

"Undoubtedly," Thorne said.

"The reason," Levine said, "is that the apatosaurs are very strong but weak-sighted, whereas the parasaurs are smaller, but have very sharp vision. So the two species stay together because they provide a mutual defense. just the way zebras and baboons stay together on the African plain. Zebras have a good sense of smell, and baboons have good eyesight. Together they're more effective against predators than either is alone."

"And you think this is true of the dinosaurs because…"

"It's rather obvious," Levine said. "Just look at the behavior. When the two herds were alone, each clustered tightly among themselves. But when they're together, the parasaurs spread out, abandoning their former herd arrangement, to form an outer ring around the apatosaurs. Just as you see them now. That can only mean that individual paras are going to be protected by the apatosaur herd. And vice versa. It can only be a mutual predator defense."

As they watched, one of the parasaurs lifted its head, and stared across the river. It honked mournfully, a long musical sound. All the other parasaurs looked up and stared, too. The apatosaurs continued to drink at the river, although one or two adults raised their long necks.

In the midday heat, insects buzzed around them, Thorne said, "So where are the predators?"

"Right there," Malcolm said, pointing toward a stand of trees on the other side of the river, not far from the water.

Thorne looked, and saw nothing.

"Don't you see them?"

"No."

"Keep looking. They're small, lizard-like animals. Dark brown. Raptors," he said.

Thorne shrugged. He still saw nothing. Standing beside him, Levine began to eat a power bar. Preoccupied with holding the binoculars, he dropped the wrapper on the floor of the hide. Bits of paper fluttered to the ground below.

"How are those things?" Arby said.

"Okay. A little sugary."

"Got any more?" he said.

Levine rummaged in his pockets and gave him one. Arby broke it in half, and gave half to Kelly. He began to unwrap his half, carefully folding the paper, putting it neatly in his pocket.

"You realize this is all highly significant," Malcolm said. "For the question of extinction. Already it's obvious that the extinction of the dinosaurs is a far more complex problem than anyone has recognized."

"It is?" Arby said.

"Well, consider," Malcolm said. "All extinction theories are based on the fossil record. But the fossil record doesn't show the sort of behavior we're seeing here. It doesn't record the complexity of groups interacting."

"Because fossils are just bones," Arby said.

"Right. And bones are not behavior. When you think about it, the fossil record is like a series of photographs: frozen moments from what is really a moving, ongoing reality. Looking at the fossil record is like thumbing through a family photo album. You know that the album isn't complete. You know life happens between the pictures. But you don't have any record of what happens in between, you only have the pictures. So you study them, and study them. And pretty soon, you begin to think of the album not as a series of moments, but as reality itself. And you begin to explain everything in terms of the album, and you forget the underlying reality.

"And the tendency," Malcolm said, "has been to think in terms of physical events. To assume that some external physical event caused the extinctions. A meteor hits the earth, and changes the weather. Or volcanoes erupt, and change the weather. Or a meteor causes the volcanoes to erupt and change the weather. Or vegetation changes, and species starve and become extinct. Or a new disease arises, and species become extinct. Or a new plant arises, and poisons all the dinosaurs. In every case, what is imagined is some external event. But what nobody imagines is that the animals themselves might have changed-not in their bones, but their behavior. Yet when you look at animals like these, and see how intricately their behavior is interrelated, you realize that a change in group behavior could easily lead to extinction."

"But why would group behavior change?" Thorne said. "If there wasn't some external catastrophe to force it, why should the behaviour change?"

"Actually," Malcolm said, "behavior is always changing, all the time. Our planet is a dynamic, active environment. Weather is changing. The land is changing. Continents drift. Oceans rise and fall. Mountains thrust up and erode away. All the organisms on the planet are constantly adapting to those changes. The best organisms are the ones that can adapt most rapidly. That's why it's hard to see how a catastrophe that produces a large change could cause extinction, since so much change is occurring all the time, anyway."

"In that case," Thorne said, "what causes extinction?"

"Certainly not rapid change alone," Malcolm said. "The facts tell us that clearly."

"What facts?"

"After every major environmental change, a wave of extinctions as usually followed-but not right away. Extinctions only occur thousands, or millions of years later. Take the last glaciation in North America. The glaciers descended, the climate changed severely, but animals didn't die. Only after the glaciers receded, when you'd think things would go back to normal, did lots of species become extinct. That's when giraffes and tigers and mammoths vanished on this continent. And that's the usual pattern. It's almost as if species are weakened by the major change, but die off later. It's a well-recognized phenomenon."

"It's called Softening Up the Beachhead," Levine said. "And what's the explanation for it?"

Levine was silent.

"There is none" Malcolm said. "It's a paleontological mystery. But I believe that complexity theory has a lot to tell us about it. Because if the notion of life at the edge of chaos is true, then major change pushes animals closer to the edge. It destabilizes all sorts of behavior. And when the environment goes back to normal, it's not really a return to normal. In evolutionary terms, it's another big change, and it's just too much to keep up with. I believe that new behavior in populations can emerge in unexpected ways, and I think I know why the dinosaurs - "

"What's that?" Thorne said.

Thorne was looking at the trees, and saw a single dinosaur hop out into view. It was rather slender, agile on its hind legs, balancing with a stiff tail. It was six feet tall, green-brown with dark-red stripes, like a tiger.

"That," Malcolm said, "is a velociraptor."

Thorne turned to Levine. "That's what chased you up in the tree? It looks ugly."

"Efficient," Levine said. "Those animals are brilliantly constructed killing machines. Arguably the most efficient predators in the history of the planet. The one that just stepped out will be the alpha animal. It leads the pack."

Thorne saw other movement beneath the trees. "There's more."

"Oh yes," Levine said. "This particular pack is very large." He picked up binoculars, and peered through them. "I'd like to locate their nest, he said. "I haven't been able to find it anywhere on the island. Of course they're secretive, but even so…"

The parasaurs were all crying loudly, moving closer to the apatosaur herd as they did so. But the big apatosaurs seemed relatively indifferent; the adults nearest the water actually turned their backs to the approaching raptor.

"Don't they care?" Arby said. "They're not even looking at him,"

"Don't be fooled," Levine said, "the apatosaurs care very much. They may look like gigantic cows, but they're nothing of the sort. Those whiptails are thirty or forty feet long, and weigh several tons. Notice how fast they can swing them. One smack from those tails would snap an attacker's back."

"So turning away is part of their defense?"

"Unquestionably, yes. And you can see now how the long necks balance their tails."

The tails of the adults were so long, they reached entirely across the river, to the other shore. As they swung back and forth, and the parasaurs cried out, the lead raptor turned away. Moments later, the entire pack began to slink off, following the edge of the trees, heading up into the hills.

"Looks like you're right," Thorne said. "The tails scared them off."

"How many do you count?" Levine said.

"I don't know. Ten. No, wait - fourteen. Maybe more. I might have missed a few."

"Fourteen." Malcolm scribbled in his notebook.

"You want to follow them?" Levine said.

"Not now."

"We could take the Explorer."

"Maybe later," Malcolm said.

"I think we need to know where their nest is," Levine said. "It's essential, Ian, if we're going to settle predator-prey relationships. Nothing is more important than that. And this is a perfect opportunity to follow - "

"Maybe later," Malcolm said. He checked his watch again.

"That's the hundredth time you've checked your watch today," Thorne said.

Malcolm shrugged. "Getting to be lunchtime," he said. "By the way, what about Sarah? Shouldn't she be arriving soon?"

"Yes. I imagine she'll show up any time now," Thorne said.

Malcolm wiped his forehead. "It's hot up here."

"Yes, it's hot."

They listened to the buzzing of insects in the midday sun, and watched the raptors retreat.

"You know, I'm thinking," Malcolm said. "Maybe we ought to go back."

"Go back?" Levine said. "Now? What about our observations? What about the other cameras we want to place and - "

"I don't know, maybe it'd be good to take a break."

Levine stared at him in disbelief. He said nothing.

Thorne and the kids looked at Malcolm silently.

"Well, it seems to me," Malcolm said, "that if Sarah's coming all the way from Africa, we should be there to greet her." He shrugged. "I think it's simple politeness."

Thorne said, "I didn't realize that, uh…"

"No, no," Malcolm said quickly. "It's nothing like that. I just, uh…You know, maybe she's not even coming." He looked suddenly uncertain. "Did she say she was coming?"

"She said she'd think about it."

Malcolm frowned. "Then she's coming. If Sarah said that she's corning. I know her. So. What do you say, want to go back?"

"Certainly not," Levine said, peering through binoculars. "I wouldn't dream of leaving here now."

Malcolm turned. "Doc? Want to go back?"

"Sure," Thorne said, wiping his forehead. "It's hot."

"If I know Sarah," Malcolm said, climbing down the scaffolding, she's going to show up on this island just looking great."

Cave

She struggled upward, and her head broke the surface, but she saw only water - great swells rising fifteen feet above her, on all sides. The power of the ocean was immense. The surge dragged her forward, then back, and she was helpless to resist. She could not see the boat anywhere, only foaming sea, on all sides. She could not see the island, only water. Only water. She fought a sense of overwhelming panic.

She tried to kick against the current, but her boots were leaden. She sank down again, and struggled back, gasping for air. She had to get her boots off, somehow. She gulped a breath and ducked her head under the water, and tried to unlace the boots. Her lungs burned as she fumbled with the knots. The ocean swept her back and forth, ceaselessly

She got one boot off, gulped air, and ducked down again. Her fingers were stiff with cold and fright, as she worked on the other boot. It seemed to take hours. Finally her legs were free, light, and she dogpaddled, catching her breath. The surge lifted her high, dropped her again. She could not see the island. She felt panic again. She turned, and felt the surge lift once more. And then she saw the island

The sheer cliffs were close, frighteningly close. The waves boomed as they smashed against the rocks. She was no more than fifty yards offshore, being swept inexorably toward the crashing surf On the next crest, she saw the cave, a hundred yards to her right. She tried to swim toward it, but it was hopeless. She had no power at all to move in this gigantic surf. She felt only the strength of the sea, sweeping her to the Cliffs.

Panic made her heart race. She knew she would be instantly killed. A wave crested over her; she gulped sea water, and coughed. Her eyes blurred. She felt nausea and deep, deep terror.

She put her head down and began to swim, arm over arm, kicking as hard as she could. She had no sense of movement, only the sideways pull of the surge. She dared not look up. She kicked harder. When she raised her head for another breath, she saw she had moved a little - not much, but a little - to the north. She was a little nearer to the cave.

She was encouraged, but she was terrified. She had so little strength! Her arms and legs ached with her effort. Her lungs burned. Her breath came in short ragged heaving gasps. She coughed again, grabbed another breath, put her head down and kicked onward.

Even with her head in the water, she heard the deep boom of the surf against the cliffs. She kicked with all her might. The currents and surge moved her left and right, forward and back. It was hopeless. But still she tried.

Gradually, the ache in her muscles became a steady drill pain. She felt she had lived with this pain all her life. She did not notice it any more. She kicked on, oblivious.

When she felt the surge lift her up again, she raised her head for a breath. She was startled to see that the cave was very close. A few more strokes and she would be swept inside it. She had thought the current might be less severe around the cave. But it wasn't; on either side of the opening, the waves crashed high, climbing the cliff walls, and then falling back. The boat was nowhere in sight.

She ducked her head down again, kicked forward, using the last of her strength. She could feel her entire body weakening. She could not last much longer. She knew she was being carried toward the cliffs. She heard the boom of the surf louder now, and she kicked again, and suddenly a huge swell swept her up, lifting her, carrying her toward the cliffs. She was powerless to resist it. She raised her head to look, and saw darkness, inky darkness.

In her exhaustion and pain, she realized that she was inside the cave. She had been swept into the cave! The booming sound was hollow, reverberating. It was too dark to see the walls on either side. The current was intense, sweeping her ever deeper. She gasped for breath and paddled ineffectually. Her body scraped against rock; she felt a moment of searing pain, and then she was swept farther into the depths of the cave. But now there was a difference. She saw faint light on the ceiling, and the water around her seemed to glow. The surge lessened. She found it easier to keep her head above water. She saw hot light ahead, brilliantly hot - the end of the cave.

And suddenly, astonishingly, she was carried through, and burst into sunlight and open air. She found herself in the middle of a broad muddy river, surrounded by dense green foliage. The air was hot and still; she heard the distant cries of jungle birds.

Up ahead, around a bend in the river, she saw the stern of Dodgson's boat, already tied up to the shore. She could not see any of the people, and she didn't want to see them.

Summoning her remaining strength, she kicked toward shore, and clutched at a stand of mangroves, growing thickly along the water's edge. Too weak to hold on, she hooked her arm around a root, and lay on her back in the gentle current, looking up at the sky, gasping for breath. She did not know how much time passed, but finally she felt strong enough to haul herself arm over arm along the mangrove roots at the water's edge, until she came to a narrow break in the foliage, leading to a patch of muddy shore beyond. As she dragged herself out of the water, and up on the slippery bank, she noticed several rather large animal footprints in the mud. They were curious, three-toed footprints, with each toe ending in a large claw…

She bent to examine them more closely, and then she felt the earth vibrating, trembling beneath her hands. A large shadow fell over her and she looked up in astonishment at the leathery, pale underbelly of an enormous animal. She was too weak to react, even to raise her head.

The last thing she saw was a huge leathery foot landing beside her, shushing in the mud, and a soft snorting sound. And then suddenly, abruptly, exhaustion overtook her, and Sarah Harding collapsed, and fell onto her back. Her eyes rolled up into her head, and she lost consciousness.

Dodgson

A few yards up from the shore of the river, Lewis Dodgson climbed into the custom-made jeep Wrangler and slammed the door shut. Beside him in the passenger seat, Howard King was wringing his hands. He said, "How could you have done that to her?"

"Done what?" George Baselton said, from the back seat.

Dodgson did not reply. He turned the key in the ignition. The engine rumbled to life. He popped the four-wheel drive into gear and headed up the hill into the jungle, away from the boat at the shore.

"How could you?" King said again, agitated. "I mean, Jesus."

"What happened was an accident," Dodgson said.

"An accident? An accident?"

"That's right, an accident," Dodgson said calmly. "She fell overboard."

"I didn't see anything," Baselton said.

King was shaking his head. "Jesus, what if somebody comes to investigate and - "

"What if they do?" Dodgson said, interrupting him. "We were in rough seas, she was standing at the bow, a big wave hit us and she was washed overboard. She couldn't swim very well. We circled and looked for her, but there was no hope. A very unfortunate accident. So what are you concerned about?"

"What am I concerned about?"

"Yes, Howard. Exactly what the fuck are you concerned about?"

"I saw it, for Christ's sake - "

"No, you didn't," Dodgson said.

"I didn't see anything," Baselton said. "I was down below, the whole time."

"That's fine for you," Howard King said. "But what if there's an investigation?"

The Jeep bounced up the dirt track, moving deeper into the jungle. "There won't be," Dodgson said. "She left Africa in a hurry, and she didn't tell anybody where she was going."

"How do you know?" King whined.

"Because she told me, Howard. That's how I know. Now get the map out and stop moaning. You knew the deal when you joined me."

"I didn't know you were going to kill somebody, for Christ's sake."

"Howard," Dodgson said, with a sigh. "Nothing's going to happen. Get the map out."

"How do you know?" King said.

"Because I know what I'm doing," Dodgson said. "That's why. Unlike Malcolm and Thorne, who are somewhere on this island, screwing around, doing fuck knows what in this damned jungle."

Mention of the others caused a new worry. Fretting, King said, "Maybe we'll run into them…"

"No, Howard, we won't. They'll never even know we're here. We're only going to be on this island for four hours, remember? Land at one. Back on the boat by five. Back at the port by seven. Back in San Francisco by midnight. Bang. Done. Finito. And finally, after all these years, I'll have what I should have had long ago."

"Dinosaur embryos," Baselton said.

"Embryos?" King asked, surprised.

"Oh, I'm not interested in embryos any more," Dodgson said. "Years ago, I tried to get frozen embryos, but there's no reason to bother with embryos now. I want fertilized eggs. And in four hours, I'll have them from every species on this island."

"How can you do that in four hours?"

"Because I already know the precise location of every dinosaur breeding site on the island. The map, Howard."

King opened the map. It was a large topographical chart of the island, two feet by three feet, showing terrain elevations in blue contours. At several places in lowland valleys, there were dense red concentric circles. In some places, clusters of circles. "What's this?" King said.

"Why don't you read what it says," Dodgson said.

King turned the map, and looked at the legend. "'Sigma data Landsat/Nordstat mixed spectra VSFR/FASLR/IFFVR.' And then a bunch of numbers. No, wait. Dates."

"Correct," Dodgson said. "Dates."

"Pass dates? This is a summary chart, combining data from several satellite passes?"

"Correct."

King frowned. "And it looks like…visible spectrum, and false aparture radar, and…what?"

"Infrared. Broadband thermal VR." Dodgson smiled. "I did all this in about two hours. Downloaded all the satellite data summarized it, and had the answers I wanted."

"I get it," King said. "These red circles are infrared signatures!"

"Yes," Dodgson said. "Big animals leave big signatures. I got all the satellite flybys over this island for the last few years, and mapped the location of heat sources. And the locations overlapped from pass to pass, which is what makes these red concentric marks. Meaning that the animals tend to be located in these particular places. Why?" He turned to King. "Because these are the nesting sites."

"Yes. They must be," Baselton said.

"Maybe that's where they eat," King said.

Dodgson shook his head irritably. "Obviously, those circles can't be feeding sites."

"Why not?"

"Because these animals average twenty tons apiece, that's why. You get a herd of twenty-ton dinos, and you're talking a combined biomass of more than half a million pounds moving through the forest. That many big animals are going to eat a lot of plant matter in the course of a day. And the only way they can do that is by moving. Right?"

"I guess…"

"You guess? Look around you, Howard. Do you see any denuded sections of forest? No, you don't. They eat a few leaves from the trees, and move on. Trust me, these animals have to move to eat. But what they don't move is their nesting sites. So these red circles must be nesting sites." He glanced at the map. "And unless I'm wrong, the first of the nests is just over this rise, and down the hill on the other side."

The Jeep fishtailed in a patch of mud, and ground forward, lurching up the hill.

Mating Calls

Richard Levine stood in the high hide, staring at the herds through binoculars. Malcolm had gone back to the trailer with the others, leaving Levine alone. In fact, Levine was relieved to have him gone. Levine was quite content to make observations on these extraordinary animals, and he was aware that Malcolm did not share his boundless enthusiasm. Indeed, Malcolm always seemed to have other considerations on his mind. And Malcolm was notably impatient with the act of observation - he wanted to analyze the data, but he did not want to collect it.

Of course, among scientists, that represented a well-known difference in personality. Physics was a perfect example. The experimentalists and the theorists lived in utterly different worlds, passing papers back and forth but sharing little else in common. It was almost as if they were in different disciplines.

And for Levine and Malcolm, the difference in their approach had surfaced early, back in the Santa Fe days. Both men were interested in extinction, but Malcolm approached the subject broadly, from a purely mathematical standpoint. His detachment, his inexorable formulas, had fascinated Levine, and the two men began an informal exchange over frequent lunches: Levine taught Malcolm paleontology; Malcolm taught Levine nonlinear mathematics. They began to draw some tentative conclusions which both found exciting. But they also began to disagree. More than once they were asked to leave the restaurant; then they would go out into the heat of Guadelupe Street, and walk back toward the river, still shouting at each other, while approaching tourists hurried to the other side of the street.

In the end, their differences came down to personalities. Malcolm considered Levine pedantic and fussy, preoccupied with petty details. Levine never saw the big picture. He never looked at the consequences of his actions. For his own part, Levine did not hesitate to call Malcolm imperious and detached, indifferent to details.

"God is in the details," Levine once reminded him.

"Maybe your God," Malcolm shot back. "Not mine. Mine is in the process."

Standing in the high hide, Levine thought that answer was exactly what you would expect from a mathematician. Levine was quite satisfied that details were everything, at least in biology, and that the most common failing of his biological colleagues was insufficient attention to detail.

For himself, Levine lived for the details, and he could not ever let them go. Like the animal that had attacked him with Diego. Levine thought of it often, turning it over and over again, reliving the events. Because there was something troubling, some impression that he could not get right.

The animal had attacked quickly, and he had sensed it was a basic theropod form-hind legs, stiff tail, large skull, the usual-but in the brief flash in which he had seen the creature, there seemed to be a peculiarity around the orbits, which made him think of Carnotaurus sastrei. From the Gorro Frigo formation in Argentina. And in addition, the skin was extremely unusual, it seemed to be a sort of bright mottled green, but there was something about it…

He shrugged. The troubling idea hung in the back of his mind, but he couldn't get to it. He 'ust couldn't get it.

Reluctantly, Levine turned his attention to the parasaur herd, browsing by the river, alongside the apatosaurs. He listened as the parasaurs made their distinctive, low trumpeting sounds. Levine noticed that most often the parasaurs made a sound of short duration, a kind of rumbling honk. Sometimes, several animals made this sound at once, or very nearly overlapping; so it seemed to be an audible way of indicating to the herd where all the members were. Then there was a much longer, more dramatic trumpeting call. This sound was made infrequently, and only by the two largest animals in the herd, which raised their heads and trumpeted loud and long. But what did the sound mean?

Standing there in the hot sun, Levine decided to perform a little experiment. He cupped his hands around his mouth, and imitated the parasaur's trumpeting cry. It wasn't a very good imitation, but immediately the lead parasaur looked up, turning its head this way and that. And it gave a low cry, answering Levine.

Levine gave a second call.

Again, the parasaur answered.

Levine was pleased by this response, and made an entry in his notebook. But when he looked up again, he was surprised to see that the parasaur herd was drifting away from the apatosaurs. They collected together, formed a single line, and began to walk directly toward the high hide.

Levine started to sweat.

What had he done? In some bizarre corner of his mind, he wondered if he had imitated a mating cry. That was all he needed, to attract a randy dinosaur. Who knew how these animals behaved in mating? With growing anxiety, he watched them march forward. Probably, he should call Malcolm, and ask his advice. But as he thought about it, he realized that by imitating that cry he had interfered with the environment, introduced a new variable. He had done exactly what he had told Thorne he did not intend to do. It was thoughtless, of course. And surely not very important in the scheme of things. But Malcolm was certain to give him hell about it.

Levine lowered his binoculars and stared. A deep trumpeting sound reverberated through the air, so loud it hurt his ears. The ground began to shake, making the high hide sway back and forth precariously.

My God, he thought. They're coming right for me. He bent over, and with fumbling fingers, searched his backpack for the radio.

Problems of Evolution

In the trailer, Thorne took the rehydrated meals out of the microwave, and passed the plates around the little table. Everyone unwrapped them, and began to cat. Malcolm poked his fork into the food. "What is this stuff?"

"Herb-baked chicken breast," Thorne said.

Malcolm took a bite, and shook his head. "Isn't technology wonderful?" he said. "They manage to make it taste just like cardboard."

Malcolm looked at the two kids seated opposite him, who were eating energetically. Kelly glanced up at him, and gestured with her fork at the books strapped into a shelf beside the table. "One thing I don't understand."

"Only one?" Malcolm said.

"All this business about evolution," she said. "Darwin wrote his book a long time ago, right?"

"Darwin published the Origin of Species in 1859," Malcolm said.

"And by now, everybody believes it, isn't that right?"

"I think it's fair to say that every scientist in the world agrees that evolution is a feature of life on earth," Malcolm said. "And that we are descended from animal ancestors. Yes."

"Okay," Kelly said. "So, what's the big deal now?"

Malcolm smiled. "The big deal," he said, "is that everybody agrees evolution occurs, but nobody understands how it works. There are big problems with the theory. And more and more scientists are admitting it."

Malcolm pushed his plate away. "You have to track the theory," he said, "over a couple of hundred years. Start with Baron Georges Cuvier: the most famous anatomist in the world in his day, living in the intellectual center of the world, Paris. Around 1800, people began digging up old bones, and Cuvier realized that they belonged to animals no longer found on earth. That was a problem, because back in 1800, everybody believed that all the animal species ever created were still alive. The idea seemed reasonable because the earth was thought to be only a few thousand years old. And because God, who had created all the animals, would never let any of his creations become extinct. So extinction was agreed to be impossible. Cuvier agonized over these dug-up bones, but he finally concluded that God or no God, many animals had become extinct - as a result, he thought, of worldwide catastrophes, like Noah's flood."

"Okay…"

"So Cuvier reluctantly came to believe in extinction," Malcolm said, "but he never accepted evolution. In Cuvier's mind, evolution didn't occur. Some animals died and some survived, but none evolved. In his view, animals didn't change. Then along came Darwin, who said that animals did evolve, and that the dug-up bones were actually the extinct predecessors of living animals. The implications of Darwin's idea upset lots of people. They didn't like to think of God's creations changing, and they didn't like to think of monkeys in their family trees. It was embarrassing and offensive. The debate was fierce. But Darwin amassed a tremendous amount of factual data - he had made an overwhelming case. So gradually his idea of evolution was accepted by scientists, and by the world at large. But the question remained: how does evolution happen? For that, Darwin didn't have a good answer."

" Natural selection," Arby said.

"Yes, that was Darwin's explanation. The environment exerts pressure which favors certain animals, and they breed more often in subsequent generations, and that's how evolution occurs. But as many people realized, natural selection isn't really an explanation. It's just a definition: if an animal succeeds, it must have been selected for. But what in the animal is favored? And how does natural selection actually operate? Darwin had no idea. And neither did anybody else for another fifty years."

"But it's genes," Kelly said.

"Okay," Malcolm said. "Fine. We come to the twentieth century. Mendel's work with plants is rediscovered. Fischer and Wright do population studies. Pretty soon we know genes control heredity-whatever genes are. Remember, through the first half of the century, all during World War I and World War II, nobody had any idea what a gene was. After Watson and Crick in 1953, we knew that genes were nucleotides arranged in a double helix. Great. And we knew about mutation. So by the late twentieth century, we have a theory of natural selection which says that mutations arise spontaneously in genes, that the environment favors the mutations that are beneficial, and out of this selection process evolution occurs. It's simple and straightforward. God is not at work. No higher organizing principle involved. In the end, evolution is just the result of a bunch of mutations that either Survive or die. Right?"

"Right," Arby said.

"But there are problems with that idea," Malcolm said. "First of all, there's a time problem. A single bacterium - the earliest form of life has two thousand enzymes. Scientists have estimated how long it would take to randomly assemble those enzymes from a primordial soup. Estimates run from forty billion years to one hundred billion years. But the earth is only four billion years old. So, chance alone seems too slow. Particularly since we know bacteria actually appeared only four hundred million years after the earth began. Life appeared very fast - which is why some scientists have decided life on earth must be of extraterrestrial origin. Although I think that's just evading the issue."

"Okay…"

"Second, there's the coordination problem. If you believe the current theory, then all the wonderful complexity of life is nothing but the accumulation of chance events - a bunch of genetic accidents strung together. Yet when we look closely at animals, it appears as if many elements must have evolved simultaneously. Take bats, which have echolocation-they navigate by sound. To do that, many things must evolve. Bats need a specialized apparatus to make sounds, they need specialized ears to hear echoes, they need specialized brains to interpret the sounds, and they need specialized bodies to dive and swoop and catch insects. If all these things don't evolve simultaneously, there's no advantage. And to imagine all these things happen purely by chance is like imagining that a tornado can hit a junkyard and assemble the Parts into a working 747 airplane. It's very hard to believe."

"Okay," Thorne said. "I agree."

"Next problem. Evolution doesn't always act like a blind force should. Certain environmental niches don't get filled. Certain plants don't get eaten. And certain animals don't evolve much. Sharks haven't changed for a hundred and sixty million years. Opossums haven't changed since dinosaurs became extinct, sixty-five million years ago. The environments for these animals have changed dramatically, but the animals have remained almost the same. Not exactly the same, but almost. In other words, it appears they haven't responded to their environment."

"Maybe they're still well adapted," Arby said.

"Maybe. Or maybe there's something else going on that we don't understand."

" Like what?"

"Like other rules that influence the outcome."

Thorne said, "Are you saying evolution is directed?"

"No," Malcolm said. "That's Creationism and it's wrong. Just plain wrong. But I am saying that natural selection acting on genes is probably not the whole story. It's too simple. Other forces are also at work. The hemoglobin molecule is a protein that is folded like a sandwich around a central iron atom that binds oxygen. Hemoglobin expands and contracts when it takes on and gives up oxygen-like a tiny molecular lung. Now, we know the sequence of amino acids that make up hemoglobin. But we don't know how to fold it. Fortunately, we don't need to know that, because if you make the molecule, it folds all by itself. It organizes itself. And it turns out, again and again, that living things seem to have a self-organizing quality. Proteins fold. Enzymes interact. Cells arrange themselves to form organs and the organs arrange themselves to form a coherent individual. Individuals organize themselves to make a population. And populations organize themselves to make a coherent biosphere. From complexity theory, we're starting to have a sense of how this self-organization may happen, and what it means. And it implies a major change in how we view evolution."

"But," Arby said, "in the end, evolution still must be the result of the environment acting on genes."

"I don't think it's enough, Arb," Malcolm said. "I think more is involved - I think there has to be more, even to explain how our own species arose."

"About three million years ago," Malcolm said, "some African apes that had been living in trees came down to the ground. There was nothing special about these apes. Their brains were small and they weren't especially smart. They didn't have claws or sharp teeth for weapons. They weren't particularly strong, or fast. They were certainly no match for a leopard. But because they were short, they started standing upright on their hind legs, to see over the tall African grass. That's how it began. just some ordinary apes, looking out over the grass.

"As time went on, the apes stood upright more and more of the time. That left their hands free to do things. Like all apes, they were tool-users. Chimps, for example, use twigs to fish for termites. That sort of thing. As time went on, our ape ancestors developed more complex tools. That stimulated their brains to grow in size and complexity. It began a spiral: more complex tools provoked more complex brains which provoked more complex tools. And our brains literally exploded, in evolutionary terms. Our brains more than doubled in size in about a million years. And that caused problems for us."

"Like what?"

"Like getting born, for one thing. Big brains can't pass through the birth canal - which means that both mother and child die in childbirth. That's no good. What's the evolutionary response? To make human infants born very early in development, when their brains are still small enough to pass through the pelvis. It's the marsupial solution - most of the growth occurs outside the mother's body. A human child's brain doubles during the first year of life. That's a good solution to the problem of birth, but it creates other problems. It means that human children will be helpless long after birth. The infants of many mammals can walk minutes after they're born. Others walk in a few days, or weeks. But human infants can't walk for a full year. They can't feed themselves for even longer. So one price of big brains was that our ancestors had to evolve new, stable social organizations to permit long-term child care, lasting many years, These big-brained, totally helpless children changed society. But that's not the most important consequence."

"No?"

"No. Being born in an immature state means that human infants have unformed brains. They don't arrive with a lot of built-in, instinctive behavior. Instinctively, a newborn infant can suck and grasp, but that's about all. Complex human behavior is not instinctive at all. So human societies had to develop education to train the brains of their children. To teach them how to act. Every human society expends tremendous time and energy teaching its children the right way to behave. You look at a simpler society, in the rain forest somewhere, and you find that every child is born into a network of adults responsible for helping to raise the child. Not only parents, but aunts and uncles and grandparents and tribal elders. Some teach the child to hunt or gather food or weave; some teach them about sex or war. But the responsibilities are clearly defined, and if a child does not have, say, a mother's brother's sister to do a specific teaching job, the people get together and appoint a substitute. Because raising children is, in a sense, the reason the society exists in the first place. It's the most important thing that happens, and it's the culmination of all the tools and language and social structure that has evolved. And eventually, a few million years later, we have kids using computers.

"Now, if this picture makes sense, where does natural selection act? Does it act on the body, enlarging the brain? Does it act on the developmental sequence, pushing the kids out early? Does it act on social behavior, provoking cooperation and child-caring? Or does it act everywhere all at once - on bodies, on development, and on social behavior?"

"Everywhere at once," Arby said.

"I think so," Malcolm said. "But there may also be parts of this story that happen automatically, the result of self-organization. For example, infants of all species have a characteristic appearance. Big eyes, big heads, small faces, uncoordinated movements. That's true of kids and puppies and baby birds. And it seems to provoke adults of all species to act tenderly toward them. In a sense, you might say infant appearance seems to self-organize adult behavior. And in our case, a good thing, too."

Thorne said, "What does that have to do with dinosaur extinction?"

"Self-organizing principles can act for better or worse. Just as self-organization can coordinate change, it can also lead a population into decline, and cause it to lose its edge. On this island, my hope is we'll see self-organizing adaptations in the behavior of real dinosaurs - and it'll tell us why they became extinct. In fact, I'm pretty sure we already know why the dinosaurs became extinct."

The radio clicked. "Bravo," Levine said, over the intercom. "I couldn't have put it better myself. But perhaps you better see what is happening out here. The parasaurs are doing something very interesting, Ian."

"What's that?"

"Come and look."

"Kids," Malcolm said, "you stay here and watch the monitors." He pressed the radio button. "Richard? We're on our way."

Parasaurs

Richard Levine gripped the railing of the high hide, and watched tensely. Directly ahead, coming into view over a low rise, he saw the magnificent head of a Parasaurolophus walkeri. The duck-billed hadrosaur's skull was three feet long, but it was made larger by a long horned crest that extended backward high in the air.

As the animal approached, Levine could see the green mottling on the head. He saw the long powerful neck, the heavy body with its light green underbelly. The parasaurolophus was twelve feet tall, and roughly the size of a large elephant. Its head was almost as high as the floor of the high hide. The animal moved steadily toward him, its footsteps thumping on the ground. Moments later, he saw a second head appear over the rise-then a third, and a fourth. The animals trumpeted, and walked in single file directly toward him.

Within moments, the lead animal was abreast of the hide. Levine held his breath as it passed. The animal stared at him, its large brown eye rolling to watch him. It licked its lips with a dark-purple tongue. The hide shook with its footsteps. And then it had passed, continuing on toward the jungle behind. Soon after, the second animal passed.

The third animal brushed against the structure, rocking it slightly. But the dinosaur did not seem to notice; it continued steadily on. So did the others. One by one, they disappeared, into the dense foliage behind the high hide. The earth ceased to vibrate. It was then that he saw the game trail, running past the high hide and into the jungle.

Levine sighed.

His body relaxed slowly. He picked up his binoculars and took a deep breath, calming himself His panic faded. He began to feel better.

And then he thought: What are they doing? Where are they going? Because, as he considered it, the behavior of the parasaurs seemed extremely strange. They had been in a defensive cluster while they fed, but in movement they had shifted to single file which broke the usual clumped herd pattern, and made every animal vulnerable to predation. Yet the behavior was clearly organized. Moving in single file must serve some purpose.

But what?

Now that they were within the jungle, the animals had begun making low trumpeting sounds of short duration. Again, he had the sense that this was some sort of vocalization to convey position. Perhaps for members to keep track of each other while they moved through the jungle, while they changed locations.

But why were they changing locations?

Where were they going? What were they doing?

He certainly couldn't tell here, standing up in the high hide. He hesitated, listening to them. Then, in a decisive moment, he swung his leg over the railing and climbed quickly down the scaffolding.

Heat

She felt heat, and wet. Something rough scraped along her face, like sandpaper. It happened again, this roughness on her cheek. Sarah Harding coughed. Something dripped on her neck. She smelled an odd, sweetish odor, like fermenting African beer. There was a deep hissing sound. Then the rough scraping again, starting at her neck, moving up her cheek.

Slowly, she opened her eyes and stared up into the face of a horse. The big, dull eye of the horse peered down at her, with soft eyelashes. The horse was licking her with its tongue. It was almost pleasant, she thought, almost reassuring. Lying on her back in the mud, with a horse -

It wasn't a horse.

The head was too narrow, she suddenly saw, the snout too tapered, the proportions all wrong. She turned to look and saw that it was a small head, leading to a surprisingly thick neck, and a heavy body -

She jumped up, scrambling to her knees. "Oh my God!"

Her sudden movement startled the big animal, which snorted in alarm, and moved slowly away. It walked a few steps down the muddy shore and then turned back, looking at her reproachfully.

But she could see it now: small head, thick neck, huge lumbering body, with a double row of pentagonal plates running along the crest of the back. A dragging tail, with spikes in it.

Harding blinked.

It couldn't be.

Confused and dazed, her brain fumbled for the name of this creature, and it came back to her, all the way from childhood.

Stegosaurus.

It was a God damn stegosaurus.

In her astonishment, her mind went back to the glaring white hospital room, when she had visited Ian Malcolm in his delirium, when he mumbled the names of several dinosaurs. She had always had her suspicions. But even now, confronted by a living stegosaur, her immediate reaction was that it must be some kind of a trick. Sarah squinted at the animal, looking for the seam in the costume, the mechanical joints beneath the skin. But the skin was seamless, and the animal moved in an integrated, organic way. The eyes blinked again, slowly. Then the stegosaurus turned away from her, moved to the water's edge, and lapped it with its large rough tongue.

The tongue was dark blue.

How could that be? Dark blue from venous blood? Was it coldblooded? No. This animal moved much too smoothly; it had the assurance - and indifference - of a warm-blooded creature. Lizards and reptiles always seemed to be paying attention to the temperature of their surroundings. This creature didn't behave that way at all. It stood in the shade, and lapped up the cold water, indifferent to it all.

She looked down at her shirt, saw the foamy spittle running down from her neck. It had drooled on her. She touched it with her fingers. It was warm.

It was warm-blooded, all right.

A stegosaurus.

She stared.

The stegosaurus's skin had a pebbled texture, but it was not scaly, like a reptile's. It was more like the skin of a rhino, she thought. Or of a warthog. Except it was entirely hairless, without the bristles of a pig.

The stegosaurus moved slowly. It had a peaceful, rather stupid air. And it probably was stupid, she thought, looking again at the head. The braincase was much smaller than that of a horse. Very small for the body weight.

She got to her feet, and groaned. Her body ached. Every limb and muscle was sore. Her legs trembled. She took a breath.

A few yards away, the stegosaurus paused, glanced at her, taking in her new upright appearance. When she did not move, it became indifferent once again, and returned to drinking from the river.

"I'll be damned," she said.

She looked at her watch. It was one-thirty in the afternoon, the sun still high overhead. She couldn't use the sun to navigate, and the afternoon was very hot. She decided she had better start walking, and try and find Malcolm and Thorne. Barefooted, moving stiffly, her muscles aching, she headed into the jungle, away from the river.

After walking half an hour, she was very thirsty, but she had trained herself to go without water for long periods in the African savannah. She continued on, indifferent to her own discomfort. As she approached the top of a ridge, she came to a game trail, a wide muddy track through the jungle. It was easier walking along the trail, and she had been following it for about fifteen minutes when she heard an excited yelping from somewhere ahead. It reminded her of dogs, and she proceeded cautiously.

Moments later, there was a crashing sound in the underbrush, corning from several directions at once, and suddenly a dark-green, lizard-like animal about four feet high burst through the foliage at terrific speed, shrieked, and leapt over her. She ducked instinctively, and hardly had time to recover before a second animal appeared and raced past her. Within instants, a whole herd of animals was running past her on all sides, yelping in fear, and then the next one brushed against her and knocked her over. She fell in the mud as other animals leapt and crashed around her.

A few feet ahead on the trail she saw a large tree with low-hanging branches. She acted without thinking, jumping to her feet, grabbing the branch, and swinging up. She reached safety just as a new dinosaur, with sharp-clawed feet, rushed through the maid beneath her, and chased after the fleeing green creatures. As this animal went away from her, she glimpsed a dark body, six feet tall, with reddish stripes like a tiger. Soon after, a second striped animal appeared, then a third - a pack of predators, hissing and snarling, as they pursued the green dinosaurs.

From her years in the field, she found herself automatically counting the animals that rushed past her. By her count, there were ten striped predators, and that immediately piqued her interest. It made no sense, she thought. As soon as the last of the predators was gone, she dropped down to the ground arid hurried to follow them. It occurred to hey that it might be foolish to do so, but her curiosity overcame her.

She chased the tiger-dinosaurs up a hill, but even before she reached the crest she could tell from the snarls and growls that they had already brought an animal down. At the crest, she looked down on their kill.

But it was like no kill she had ever seen in Africa. On the Seronera plain, a kill site had its own organization which was quite predictable, and in a way was almost stately. The biggest predators, lions or hyenas, were closest to the carcass, feeding with their young. Farther out, waiting their turn, were the vultures and marabou storks, and still farther out, the jackals and other small scavengers circled warily. After the big predators finished, the smaller animals moved in. Different animals ate different parts of the bodies: the hyenas and vultures ate bones; the jackals nibbled the carcass clean. This was the pattern at any kill, and as a result there was very little squabbling or fighting around the food.

But here, she saw pandemonium - a feeding frenzy. The fallen animal was thickly covered with striped predators, all furiously ripping the flesh of the carcass, with frequent pauses to snarl and fight with each other. Their fights were openly vicious - one predator bit the adjacent animal, inflicting a deep flank wound. Immediately, several other predators snapped at the same animal, which limped away, hissing and bleeding, badly wounded. Once at the periphery, the wounded animal retaliated by biting the tail of another creature, again causing a serious wound.

A young juvenile, about half the size of the others, kept pushing forward, trying to get at a bit of the carcass, but the adults did not make room for it. Instead, they snarled and snapped in fury. The youngster was frequently obliged to hop back nimbly, keeping its distance from the razor-sharp fangs of the grownups. Harding saw no infants at all. This was a society of vicious adults.

As she watched the big predators, their heads and bodies smeared in blood, she noticed the crisscross pattern of healed scars on their flanks and necks. These were obviously quick, intelligent animals, yet they fought continually. Was that the way their social organization had evolved? If so, it was a rare event.

Animals of many species fought for food, territory, and sex, but these fights most often involved display and ritual aggression; serious Injury seldom occurred. There were exceptions, of course. When male hippos fought to take over a harem, they often severely wounded other males. But in any case, nothing matched what she saw now.

As she watched, the wounded animal at the edge of the kill slunk forward and bit another adult, which snarled and leapt at it, slashing with its long toe-claw. In a flash, the injured predator was eviscerated, coils of pale intestine slipping out through a wide gash. The animal fell howling to the ground, and immediately three adults turned away from the kill and jumped onto its newly fallen body, and began to tear the animal's flesh with rapacious intensity.

Harding closed her eyes, and turned away. This was a different world, and one she did not understand at all. In a daze, she headed back down the bill, moving quietly, carefully away from the kill.

Noise

The Ford Explorer glided quietly forward along the jungle path. They were following a game trail on the ridge above the valley, heading down toward the high hide, in the valley below.

Thorne drove. He said to Malcolm, "You were saying earlier that you knew why the dinosaurs became extinct…"

"Well, I'm pretty sure I do," Malcolm said. "The basic situation is simple enough." He shifted in his seat. "Dinosaurs arose in the Triassic, about two hundred million years ago. They proliferated throughout the Jurassic and the Cretaceous periods that followed. They were the dominant life form on this planet for about a hundred and fifty million years - which is a very long time."

"Considering we've been here for only three million," Eddie said.

"Let's not put on airs," Malcolm said. "Some puny apes have been here for three miIlion years. We haven't. Recognizable human beings have only been on this planet for thirty-five thousand years," he said. "That's how long it's been since our ancestors painted caves in France and Spain, drawing pictures of game to invoke success in the hunt. Thirty-five thousand years. In the history of the earth, that's nothing at all. We've just arrived."

"Okay…"

"And of course even thirty-five thousand years ago, we were already making species extinct. Cavemen killed so much game that animals became extinct on several continents. There used to be lions and tigers in Europe. There used to be giraffes and rhinos in Los Angeles. Hell, ten thousand years ago, the ancestors of Native Americans hunted the woolly mammoth to extinction. This is nothing new, this human tendency - "

"Ian.'

"Well, it's a fact, although your modern airheads think it's all so brand-new - "

"Ian. You were talking about dinosaurs."

"Right. Dinosaurs. Anyway, during a hundred and fifty million years on this planet, dinosaurs were so successful that by the Cretaceous there were twenty-one major groups of them. A few groups, like the camarasaurs and fabrosaurs, had died out. But the overwhelming majority of dinosaur groups were still active throughout the Cretaceous. And then, suddenly, about sixty-five million years ago, every single group became extinct. And only the birds remained. So. The question is - What was that?"

"I thought you knew," Thorne said.

"No. I mean, what was that sound? Did you hear something?" "No," Thorne said.

"Stop the car," Malcolm said.

Thorne stopped the car, and clicked off the engine. They rolled down the windows and felt the still, midday heat. There was almost no breeze. They listened for a while.

Thorne shrugged. "I don't hear anything. What did you think you - "

"Sssh," Malcolm said. He cupped his hand to his ear and put his head out the window, listening intently. After a moment, he came back in. "I could have sworn I heard an engine."

"An engine? You mean an internal-combustion engine?"

"Right." He pointed to the east. "It sounded like it was coming from over there."

They listened again, and heard nothing.

Thorne shook his head. "I can't imagine a gas engine here, Ian. There's no gas to run one."

The radio clicked. "Dr. Malcolm?" It was Arby, in the trailer.

" Yes, Arby."

"Who else is here? On the island?"

"What do you mean?"

"Turn on your monitor."

Thorne flicked on the dashboard monitor. They saw a view from one of the security cameras. The view looked down into the narrow, steep east valley. They saw the slope of a hillside, dark beneath the trees. A tree branch blocked much of the frame. But the view was still, silent. There was no sign of activity.

"What did you see, Arby?"

"Just watch."

Through the leaves, Thorne saw a flash of khaki, then another. He realized it was a person, half-walking, half-sliding, down the steep jungle slope toward the floor below. Small compact frame, short dark hair.

"I'll be damned," Malcolm said, smiling.

"You know who that is?"

"Yes, of course. It's Sarah."

"Well, we better go get her." Thorne reached for the radio, pressed the button. "Richard," he said.

There was no answer.

"Richard? Are you reading?"

There was no answer.

Malcolm sighed. "Great. He's not answering. Probably decided to go for a walk. Pursuing his research…"

"That's what I'm afraid of," Thorne said. "Eddie, unhook the motorcycle and go see what Levine's doing now. Take a Lindstradt with you. We'll go pick up Sarah."

Trail

Levine followed the game trail, moving deeper into the darkness of the jungle. The parasaurs were somewhere up ahead, making a lot of noise as they crashed through the ferns and palms on the jungle floor. At least now he understood why they had formed into a single file: there was no other practical way to move through the dense growth of the rain forest.

Their vocalizations had never stopped, but Levine noticed they were taking on a different character - more high-pitched, more excited. He hurried forward, pushing past wet palm fronds taller than he was, following the beaten trail. As he listened to the cries of the animals ahead, he also began to notice a distinctive odor, pungent and sweet-sour. He had the feeling the odor was growing stronger.

But up ahead, something was happening, there was no doubt about it. The parasaur vocalizations were now clipped, almost barking sounds. He sensed in them an agitated quality. But what could agitate an animal twelve feet high and thirty feet long?

His curiosity overwhelmed him. Levine began to run through the jungle, shoving aside palms, leaping over fallen trees. In the foliage ahead, he heard a hissing sound, a sort of spattering, and then one of the parasaurs gave a long, low trumpeting cry.

Eddie Carr drove the motorcycle up to the high hide, and stopped. Levine was gone. He looked at the ground around the hide, and saw many deep animal footprints in the ground. The prints were large, about two feet in diameter, and they seemed to be going off into the jungle behind the hide.

He scanned the ground, and saw fresh bootmarks as well. They had an Asolo tread; he recognized them as Levine's. In some places the bootmarks disrupted the edge of the animal footprints, which meant that they had been made afterward. The bootmarks also led into the forest.

Eddie Carr swore. The last thing he wanted to do was to go into that jungle. The very idea gave him the creeps. But what choice was there?

He had to get Levine back. That guy, he thought, was getting to be a real problem. Eddie unshouldered the rifle, and set it laterally across the handlebars of the motorcycle. Then he twisted the grips, and silently, the bike moved forward, into darkness.

Heart pounding with excitement, Levine pushed past the last of the big palms. He stopped abruptly. Directly ahead of him, the tall of a parasaur swung back and forth above his head. The animal's hindquarters were turned toward him. And a thick stream of urine gushed from the poste-rior pubis, spattering on the ground below. Levine jumped back, avoiding the stream. Beyond the nearest animal, he saw a clearing in the jungle, trampled flat by countless animal feet. The parasaurs had located themselves at various positions within this clearing, and they were all urinating together.

So they were latrine animals, he thought. That was fascinating, and totally unexpected.

Many contemporary animals, including rhinos and deer, preferred to relieve themselves at particular spots. And many times, the behavior of herds was coordinated. Latrine behavior was generally considered to be a method of marking territory. But whatever the reason, no one had ever suspected that dinosaurs acted in this way.

As Levine watched, the parasaurs finished urinating, and each moved a few feet to the side. Then they defecated, again in unison. Each parasaur produced a large mound of straw-colored spoor. This was accompanied by low trumpeting from each animal in the herd - along with an enormous quantity of expelled flatus, redolent of methane.

Behind him, a voice whispered, "Very nice."

He turned, and saw Eddie Carr sitting on the motorcycle. He was waving his hand in front of his face. "Dino farts," he said. "Better not light a match around here, you'll blow the place up…"

"Ssssh," Levine hissed angrily, shaking his head. He turned back to the parasaurs. This was no time to be interrupted by a vulgar young fool. Several of the animals bent their heads down, and began to lick the puddles of urine. No doubt they wanted to recover lost nutrients, he thought. Perhaps salt. Or perhaps hormones. Or perhaps it was something seasonal. Or perhaps -

Levine edged forward.

They knew so little about these creatures. They didn't even know the most basic facts about their lives - how they ate, how they eliminated, how they slept and bred. A whole world of intricate, interlocking behaviors had evolved in these long-vanished animals. Understanding them now could be the work of a lifetime for dozens of scientists. But that would probably never happen. All he could hope to do was make a few conjectures, a few simple deductions that skimmed the surface of the complexity of their lives.

The parasaurs trumpeted, and headed deeper into the forest. Levine moved forward to follow them.

"Dr. Levine," Eddie said quietly. "Get on the bike. Now."

Levine ignored him, but as the big animals departed, he saw dozens of tiny green dinosaurs leap chattering out into the clearing. He realized at once what they were: Procompsognathus triassicus. Small scavenger, found by Fraas in 1913, in Bavaria. Levine stared, fascinated. Of course he knew the animal well, but only from reconstructions, because there were no complete skeletons of Procompsognathus anywhere in the world. Ostrom had done the most complete studies, but he had to work with a skeleton that was badly crushed, and fragmentary. The tall, neck, and arms were all missing from the animals Ostrom described. Yet here the procompsognathids were, fully formed and active, hopping around I Ike so many chickens. As he watched, the compys began to eat the fresh dung, and drink what was left of the urine. Levine frowned. Was that part of ordinary scavenger behavior?

Levine wasn't sure…

He edged forward, to look at them more closely.

"Dr. Levine!" Eddie whispered.

It was interesting that the compys only ate fresh dung, not the dried remnants that were everywhere in the clearing. Whatever nutrients they were obtaining from the dung, it must only be present in fresh specimens. That suggested a protein or hormone that would degrade over time. Probably he should obtain a fresh sample for analysis. He reached into his shirt pocket, and withdrew a plastic baggie. He moved among the compys, which seemed indifferent to his presence.

He crouched down by the nearest dung pile, and reached slowly forward.

"Dr. Levine!"

He glanced back, annoyed, and in that moment one of the compys leapt forward and bit his hand. Another jumped onto his shoulder and bit his car. Levine yelled, and stood up. The compys hopped onto the ground and scampered away.

"Damn it!" he said.

Eddie drove up on the motorcycle. "That's enough," he said. "Get on the damn bike. We're getting out of here."

Nest

The red Jeep Wrangler came to a stop. Directly ahead, the game trail they had been following continued through the foliage, to a clearing beyond. The game trail was wide and muddy, trampled flat by large animals. They could see large, deep footprints in the mud.

From the clearing, they heard a low honking noise, like the sound of very large geese. Dodgson said, "Okay. Give me the box."

King didn't answer.

Baselton said, "What box?"

Without taking his eyes off the clearing, Dodgson said, "There's a black box on the seat beside you, and a battery pack. Give them to me."

Baselton grunted. "It's heavy."

"That's because of the cone magnets." Dodgson reached back, took the box, which was made of black anodized metal. It was the size of a shoebox, except it ended in a flaring cone. Underneath was mounted a pistol grip. Dodgson clipped a battery pack to his belt, and plugged it into the box. Then he picked the box up by the pistol grip. There was a knob at the back, facing him, and a graduated dial.

Dodgson said, "Batteries charged?"

"They're charged," King said.

"Okay," Dodgson said. "I'll go first, into the nest area. I'll adjust the box, and get rid of the animals. You two follow behind me, and once the animals are gone, you each take an egg from the nest. Then you leave, and bring them back to the car. I'll come back last. Then we all drive off, Got it?"

"Right," Baselton said.

"Okay," King said. "What kind of dinosaurs are these?"

"I have no fucking idea," Dodgson said, climbing out of the car. "And it doesn't make any difference. Just follow the procedure." He closed the door softly.

The others got out quietly, and they started forward, down the wet trail. Their feet squished in the mud. The sound from the clearing continued. To Dodgson, it sounded like a lot of animals.

He pushed aside the last of the ferns and saw them.

It was a large nesting site, with perhaps four or five low earthen mounds, covered in grasses. The mounds were about seven feet wide, and three feet deep. There were twenty beige-colored adults around the mounds-a whole herd of dinosaurs, surrounding the nesting site. And the adults were big, thirty feet long and ten feet high, all honking and snorting,

"Oh, my God," Baselton said, staring.

Dodgson shook his head. "They're maiasaurs, he whispered. "This is going to be a piece of cake."

Maiasaurs had been named by paleontologist Jack Horner. Before Horner, scientists assumed that dinosaurs abandoned their eggs, as most reptiles did. Those assumptions fitted the old picture of dinosaurs as cold-blooded, reptilian creatures, Like reptiles, they were thought to be solitary; murals on museum walls rarely showed more than one example from each species - a brontosaurus here, a stegosaurus or a triceratops there, wading through the swamps. But Horner's excavations in the badlands of Montana provided clear, unambiguous evidence that at least one species of hadrosaurs had engaged in complex nesting and parenting behavior. Horner incorporated that behavior in the name he gave these creatures: maiasaur meant "good-mother lizard."

Watching them now, Dodgson could see the maiasaurs were indeed attentive parents, the big adults circling the nests, moving carefully to step outside the shallow earthen mounds. The beige maiasaurs were duck-billed dinosaurs; they had large heads that ended in a broad, flattened snout, rather like the bill of a duck.

They were taking mouthfuls of grass, and dropping it on the eggs in the mounds. This was, he knew, a way to regulate the temperature of the eggs. If the huge animals sat on the eggs, they would crush them. So instead they put a layer of grass over the eggs, which trapped heat and kept the eggs at a more constant temperature. The animals worked steadily.

"They're huge," Baselton said.

"They're nothing but oversized cows," Dodgson said. Although the maiasaurs were large, they were plant-eaters, and they had the docile, slightly stupid manner of cows. "Ready? Here we go."

He lifted the box like a gun, and stepped forward, into view.

Dodgson expected a big reaction when the maiasaurs saw him, but there was none at all. They hardly seemed to notice him. One or two adults looked over, stared with dumb eyes, and then looked away. The animals continued to drop grass on the eggs, which were pale white, oval, and nearly two feet long. Each was about twice the size of an ostrich egg. About the size of a small beach ball. No animals had hatched yet.

King and Baselton stepped out, and stood beside him in the clearing. Still the maiasaurs ignored them.

"Amazing," Baselton said.

"Fine for us," Dodgson said. And he turned on the box.

A continuous, high-pitched shriek filled the clearing. The maiasaurs immediately turned toward the sound, honking and lifting their heads. They seemed agitated, confused. Dodgson twisted the dial, and the shriek became higher, ear-splitting.

The maiasaurs bobbed their heads, and moved away from the painful sound. They clustered at the far end of the clearing. Several of the animals urinated in alarm. A few of them moved away into the folliage, abandoning the nest. They were agitated, but they stayed away.

"Go now," Dodgson said.

King stepped into the nearest nest, and grunted as he picked up an egg. His arms hardly reached around the huge oval. The maiasaurs honked at him, but none of the ' adults moved forward. Then Baselton went into the nest, took an egg, and followed King back to the car.

Dodgson walked backward, holding the box on the adults. At the edge of the clearing, he turned the sound off.

At once the maiasaurs came back, honking loudly and repeatedly. But as they returned to the nests, it seemed as if the adults forgot what had just happened. Within a few moments, they ceased honking, and went back to dropping grass over the eggs. They ignored Dodgson as he left and headed back along the game trail.

Stupid animals, Dodgson thought, as he went to the car. Baselton and King were setting the eggs into big Styrofoam containers in the back, and fitting the foam packing around them carefully. Both men were grinning like kids.

"That was amazing!"

"Great! Fantastic!"

"What'd I tell you?" Dodgsoii said. "Nothing to it." He glanced at his watch. "At this rate, we'll finish in less than four hours."

He climbed behind the steering wheel and turned on the engine. Baselton got into the back seat. King got in the passenger seat and took out the map.

"Next," Dodgson said.

The High Hide

"I tell you, it's fine," Levine said irritably. He was sweating in the stifling heat beneath the aluminum roof of the high hide. "Look, it didn't even break the skin." He held out his hand. There was a red semicircle where the compy had pressed its teeth into the skin, but that was all.

Beside him, Eddie said, "Yeah, well, your ear is bleeding a little."

"I don't feel anything. It can't be bad."

"No, it's not bad, " Eddie said, opening the first-aid kit. "But I better clean it up."

"I prefer," Levine said, "to get on with my observations." The dinosaurs were barely a quarter-mile away from him, and he could see them well. In the still midday air, he could hear them breathe.

He could hear them breathe.

Or at least he could, if this young man would leave him alone. "Look," Levine said, "I know what I'm doing here. You came in at the end of a very interesting and successful experiment. I actually called the dinosaurs to me, by imitating their cry."

"You did?" Eddie said.

"Yes, I did. That was what led them into the forest in the first place. So I hardly think that I need your assistance - "

"The thing is," Eddie said, "you got some of that dino shit on your ear and there's a couple of little punctures. I'll just clean it off for you." He soaked a gauze pad with disinfectant. "May sting a little."

"I don't care, I have other - Ow!"

"Stop moving," Eddie said. "It'll only take a second."

"It's absolutely unnecessary."

"If you just stand still, it'll be done. There." He took the gauze away. Levine saw brown and a faint streak of red. Just as he suspected, the injury was trivial. He reached up and touched his ear. It didn't hurt at all.

Levine squinted out at the plain, as Eddie packed up the first-aid case.

"Jeez, it's hot up here," Eddie said.

"Yes," Levine said, shrugging.

"Sarah Harding arrived, and I think they took her back to the trailer. You want to go back now?"

"I can't imagine why," Levine said.

"I just thought you might want to say hello or something," Eddie said.

"My work is here," Levine said. He turned away, raised his binoculars to his eyes.

"So," Eddie said. "You don't want to come back?"

"Wouldn't dream of it," Levine said, staring through binoculars. "Not in a million years. Not in sixty-five million years."

Trailer

Kelly Curtis listened to the sound of the shower. She couldn't believe it. She stared at the muddy clothes tossed casually on the bed. Shorts and a khaki short-sleeve shirt.

Sarah Harding's actual clothes.

She couldn't help it. Kelly reached out and touched them. She noticed how the fabric was worn and frayed. Buttons sewn back on; they didn't match. And there were some reddish streaks near the pocket that she thought must be old bloodstains. She reached down and touched the fabric -

"Kelly?"

Sarah was calling to her, from the shower.

She remembered my name.

"Yes?" Kelly said, her voice betraying her nervousness.

"Is there any shampoo?"

"I'll look, Dr. Harding," Kelly said, opening drawers hastily. The men had all gone into the next compartment, leaving her alone with Sarah while she washed. Kelly searched desperately, opening the drawers, slamming them shut again.

"Listen," Sarah called, "it's okay if you can't find any."

"I'm looking.

"Is there any dishwashing liquid?"

Kelly paused. There was a green plastic bottle by the sink. "Yes, Dr. Harding, but - "

"Give it to me. It's all the same stuff. I don't care." The hand reached out, past the shower curtain. Kelly handed it to her. "And my name is Sarah."

"Okay, Dr. Harding."

"Sarah."

"Okay, Sarah."

Sarah Harding was a regular person. Very informal and normal.

Entranced, Kelly sat on the seat in the kitchen and waited, swinging her feet, in case Dr. Harding - Sarah - needed anything else. She listened to Sarah humming "I'm Gonna Wash That Man Right Out of My Hair." After a few moments, the shower turned off, and her hand reached out and took the towel on the hook. And then she came out, wrapped in the towel.

Sarah ran her fingers through her short hair, which seemed to be all the attention she gave to her appearance. "That feels better. Boy, this is a plush field trailer. Doc really did a great job."

"Yes," she said. "It's nice."

She smiled at Kelly. "How old are you, Kelly?"

"Thirteen."

"What is that, eighth grade?"

"Seventh."

"Seventh grade," Sarah said, thoughtfully.

Kelly said, "Dr. Malcolm left some clothes for you. He said he thought they'd fit." She pointed to a clean pair of shorts and a tee shirt.

"Whose are these?"

"I think they're Eddie's."

Sarah held them up. "Might work." She took them around the corner, into the sleeping area, and started getting dressed. She said, "What are you going to do when you grow up?"

"I don't know," Kelly said.

"That's a very good answer."

"It is?" Kelly's mother was always pushing her to get a part-time job to decide what she wanted to do with her life.

"Yes," Sarah said. "Nobody smart knows what they want to do until they get into their twenties or thirties."

"Oh."

"What do you like to study?"

"Actually, uh, I like math," she said, in a sort of guilty voice.

Sarah must have heard her tone, because she said, "What's wrong with math?"

"Well, girls aren't good at it. I mean, you know."

"No, I don't know." Sarah's voice was flat.

Kelly felt panic. She had been experiencing this warm feeling with Sarah Harding, but now she sensed it was dissolving away, as if she had given a wrong answer to a disapproving teacher. She decided not to say anything else. She waited in silence.

After a moment Sarah came out again, wearing Eddie's baggy clothes. She sat down and started putting on a pair of boots. She moved in a very normal, matter-of-fact way. "What did you mean girls aren't good at mathematics?"

"Well, that's what everybody says."

"Everybody like who?"

"My teachers."

Sarah sighed. "Great" she said, shaking her head. "Your teachers…"

"And the other kids call me a brainer. Stuff like that. You know." Kelly Just blurted it out. She couldn't believe that she was saying all this to Sarah Harding, whom she hardly knew at all except from articles and pictures, but here she was, telling her all this personal stuff. All these things that upset her.

Sarah just smiled cheerfully. "Well, if they say that, you must be pretty good at math, huh?"

"I guess."

She smiled. "That's wonderful, Kelly.

"But the thing is, boys don't like girls who are too smart."

Sarah's eyebrows went up. "Is that so?"

"Well, that's what everybody says.

"Like who?"

"Like my mom."

"Uh-huh. And she probably knows what she's talking about."

"I don't know," Kelly admitted. "My mom only dates jerks, actually."

"So she could be wrong?" Sarah asked, glancing up at Kelly as she tied her laces.

"I guess."

"Well, in my experience, Some men like smart women, and some don't. It's like everything else in the world. She stood up. "You know about George Schaller?"

"Sure. He studied pandas."

"Right. Pandas, and before that, snow leopards and lions and gorillas. He's the most important animal researcher in the twentieth century-and you know how he works?"

Kelly shook her head.

"Before he goes into the field, George reads everything that's ever been written about the animal he's going to study. Popular books, newspaper accounts, scientific papers, everything. Then he goes out and observes the animal for himself. And you know what he usually finds?"

She shook her head, not trusting herself to speak.

"That nearly everything that's been written or said is wrong. Like the gorilla. George studied mountain gorillas ten years before Dian Fossey ever thought of it. And he found that what was believed about gorillas was exaggerated, or misunderstood, or just plain fantasy - like the idea that you couldn't take women on gorilla expeditions, because the gorillas would rape them, Wrong. Everything…just… wrong."

Sarah finished tying her boots, and stood.

"So, Kelly, even at your young age, there's something you might as well learn now. All your life people will tell you things. And most of the time, probably ninety-five percent of the time, what they'll tell you will be wrong."

Kelly said nothing. She felt oddly disheartened to hear this.

"It's a fact of life," Sarah said. "Human beings are just stuffed full of misinformation. So it's hard to know who to believe. I know how you feel."

"You do?"

"Sure. My mom used to tell me I'd never amount to anything." She smiled. "So did some of my professors."

"Really?" It didn't seem possible.

"Oh yes," Sarah said. "As a matter of fact - "

From the other section of the trailer, they heard Malcolm say, No! No! Those idiots! They could ruin everything!"

Sarah immediately turned, and went into the other section. Kelly jumped off the seat, and hurried after her.

The men were all clustered around the monitor. Everyone was talking at once, and they seemed to be upset. "This is terrible," Malcolm was saying. "Terrible!"

Thorne said, "Is that a jeep?"

"They had a red Jeep," Harding said, coming up to look.

"Then it's Dodgson," Malcolm said. "Damn!"

"What's he doing here?"

"I can guess."

Kelly pushed through to get a look. On the screen, she saw foliage, and intermittent flashes of a red-and-black vehicle.

"Where are they now?" Malcolm said to Arby.

"I think they're in the east valley," Arby said. "Near where we found Dr. Levine."

The radio clicked. Levine's voice said, "Do you mean there are now other people on the island?"

"Yes, Richard."

"Well, you better go stop them, before they mess everything up."

"I know. Do you want to come back?"

"Not without a compelling reason. Inform me if one arises." And his radio clicked off.

Harding stared at the screen, watching the Jeep. "That's them, all right," she said. "That's your friend Dodgson."

"He's not my friend," Malcolm said. He got up, wincing in pain from his leg. "Let's go," he said. "We have to stop these bastards. There's no time to waste."

Nest

The red jeep Wrangler rolled softly to a stop. Directly ahead was a wall of dense foliage. But through it they could see sunlight, from the clearing beyond.

Dodgson sat quietly in the car, listening. King turned to him I I about to speak, but Dodgson held up his hand, gesturing to him to be silent.

Then he heard it clearly - a low rumbling growl, almost a purr. It was coming from beyond the foliage ahead. It sounded like the biggest jungle cat he had ever heard. And intermittently, he felt a slight vibration, hardly anything, but enough to make the car keys clink against the steering column. As he felt that vibration, it slowly dawned on him: It's walking.

Something very big. Walking.

Beside him, King was staring forward in astonishment; his mouth hung open. Dodgson glanced back at Baselton; the professor was gripping the seat with white fingers, as he listened to the sound.

A shadow moved across the ferns directly ahead. judging the shadow, the animal was twenty feet high, and forty feet long. It walked on its hind legs, and had a large body, a short neck, a very big head.

A tyrannosaur.

Dodgson hesitated, staring at the shadow. His heart was pounding in his chest. He considered going on to the next nest, but he was confident that the box would work here, too. He said, "Let's get this over with. Give me the box."

Baselton handed him the box, just as he had done before.

Dodgson said, "Charged?"

"Batteries arc charged," King said.

"Okay," he said. "Here we go. Exactly the same as before. I'll go first, you two follow, and bring the eggs back to the car. Ready?"

"Ready," Baselton said.

King did not answer. He was still staring at the shadow. "What kind of a dinosaur is that?"

"That's a tyrannosaurus."

"Oh Jesus," King said.

"A tyrannosaurus?" Baselton said.

"It doesn't matter what it is," Dodgson said irritably. "Just follow the plan, like before. Everybody ready?"

"Just a minute," Baselton said.

King said, "What if it doesn't work?"

"We already know it works," Dodgson said.

"There's a rather curious fact about tyrannosaurs that was recently reported," Baselton said. "A paleontologist named Roxton did a study of the tyrannosaur braincase, and concluded that they have a brain not much different from a frog's, although of course much bigger. The implication was their nervous systems were adapted to motion only. They can 't see you if you stand still. Stationary objects become invisible to them."

Are you sure about that?" King said.

Baselton said, "That was the report. And it makes perfect sense. One can't forget that dinosaurs, for all their intimidating size, were actually rather primitive intellects. It's quite logical that a tyrannosaur would have the mental equipment of a frog."

"I don't see why we're rushing into this," King said, nervously. He stared forward. "It's much bigger than the other ones."

"So what?" Dodgson said. "You heard what George said. It's just a big frog. Let's get it done. Get out of the fucking car. And don't slam the doors."

George Baselton had felt quite good and authoritative, recalling that obscure article from the journals. He had been in his accustomed role, dispensing information to people who lacked it. Now that he approached the nest, he was astonished to notice that his knees had begun to tremble. His legs felt like rubber, He had always thought that was a figure of speech. He was alarmed to realize it could be literally true. He bit his lip, and forced himself under control. He was not, he told himself, going to show fear. He was the master of this situation.

Dodgson was already moving ahead, holding the black box like a gun in his hand. Baselton glanced over at King, who was deathly pale and sweating. He looked on the verge of collapse; he moved forward slowly. Baselton walked alongside him. Making sure he was all right.

Up ahead, Dodgson gave a final glance back, waved to Baselton and King to catch up. He glared at both of them, and then he stepped through the foliage into the clearing.

Baselton saw the tyrannosaur. No - there were two! They stood on both sides of a mud mound, two adults, twenty feet high on their hind legs, powerful, dark red, with big vicious jaws. Like the maiasaurs, the animals stared at Dodgson for a moment, a dumb stare, as if amazed to see an intruder. And then the tyrannosatirs roared in fury. An incredible, bellowing, air-shaking roar.

Dodgson lifted the box, pointed it at the animals. Immediately, a continuous, high-pitched shriek filled the clearing.

The tyrannosaurs roared in response, and lowered their heads, extending their necks forward, snapping their jaws, preparing to attack. They were huge - and they were unaffected by the sound. They started to come around the mound, toward Dodgson. The earth shook as they moved.

"Oh fuck," Kin said.

But Dodgson stayed cool. He twisted the dial. Baselton clapped his hands over his cars. The shriek became higher, louder, ear-splitting, incredibly painful. The response was immediate: the tyrannosaurs stepped back as if they had received a physical blow. They ducked their heads. They blinked their eyes rapidly. The sound seemed to vibrate in the air. They roared again, but weakly now, without conviction. A terrible screaming came from inside the mud nest.

Dodgson moved forward, pointing the box in the air, directly at the animals. The tyrannosaurs backed away, looking into the nest, then to Dodgson. They swung their heads back and forth rapidly, as if trying to clear their ears. Dodgson calmly adjusted the dial. The sound went higher. It was now excruciating.

Dodgson began to climb the mud mound of the nest. Baselton and King scrambled up, following him. Baselton found himself looking down into a nest with four mottled white eggs, and two young babies that looked for all the world like scrawny oversized turkeys. Anyway, some kind of gigantic baby birds.

The two tyrannosaurs were at the far end of the clearing, held away by the sound. Like the maiasaurs, they urinated in agitation. They stomped their feet. But they did not come closer.

Over the ear-splitting shriek of the box, Dodgson shouted, "Get the eggs!" In a daze, King stumbled down into the nest, grabbing the nearest egg. He fumbled it in his shaking hands; the egg flew into the air; he caught it again, and lurched back. He stepped on the leg of one of the babies, which screamed in fear and pain.

At this, the parents tried to come forward again, drawn by the infants cries. King hastily clambered out of the nest, ducked away through the foliage. Baselton watched him go.

"George!" Dodgson shouted, still aiming the box at the tyrannosaurs. "Get the other egg!"

Baselton turned to look at the adult tyrannosaurs, seeing their agitation and their anger, watching their laws snap open and closed, and he had the sudden feeling that sound or no sound, these animals would not allow anyone to enter the nest again. King had been lucky but Baselton would not be lucky, he could feel it, and -

George! Now!"

Baselton said, "I can't!"

"You dumb fuck!" Holding the gun high, Dodgson began to climb down into the nest himself But as he started, he twisted his body - and the battery plug pulled out of the box.

The sound abruptly died.

In the clearing, there was silence.

Baselton moaned.

The tyrannosaurs shook their heads a final time, and roared.

Baselton saw Dodgson go rigidly still, his body frozen. Baselton also stood still. Somehow, he forced his body to stay where he was. He forced his knees to stop trembling. He held his breath.

And he waited.

On the far side of the clearing, the tyrannosaurs began to move toward him.

"What are they doing?" Arby cried, in the trailer. He was so close to the monitor his nose almost touched the screen. "Are they crazy? They're just standing there."

Beside him, Kelly said nothing. She watched the screen silently. "Want to be out there now, Kel?" Arby said.

"Shut up," Kelly said.

"No, they're not crazy," Malcolm said over the radio, as he stared at the dashboard monitor. The Explorer lurched down the trail, heading toward the eastern sector of the island. Thorne was driving. Sarah and Malcolm were in the back seat.

Sarah said, "He should be trying to put his sound machine together again. Are they really just going to stand there?"

"Yes," Malcolm said.

"Why?"

"They are misinformed," Malcolm said.

Dodgson

Dodgson watched the lead tyrannosaur come toward him. For such big animals, they were cautious. Only one of the two parents approached them, and although it paused to roar fiercely every few paces, it seemed oddly tentative, as if it was perplexed by the fact that the men were staying there. Or perhaps it could not see them. Perhaps he and Baselton had vanished from their view.

The other parent hung back, remaining toward the other side of the nest. Bobbing and ducking its head, agitated.

Agitated but not attacking.

Of course, the roars of the approaching dinosaur were terrifying, blood-chilling. Dodgson didn't dare glance at Baselton, just a few yards away. Baselton was probably peeing in his pants right now. just so he didn't turn and run, Dodgson thought. If he ran, he was a dead man. If he stayed perfectly still, everything would be all right.

Standing stiffly, keeping his body rigid, Dodgson held the anodized box at waist level in his left hand, near his belt buckle. With his right hand, he slowly, ever so slowly, pulled up the disconnected power cord. In a few moments he would feel the end plug in his hands, and then he, would slip it back into the box.

Meanwhile, he never took his eyes off the approaching tyrannosaur He felt the ground shake beneath his feet. He heard the cries of the infant that King had stepped on. Those cries seemed to bother the parents, to arouse them.

No matter. Just a few seconds more, and he would have the plug back in the power pack. And then…

The tyrannosaur was very close now. Dodgson could smell the rotten odor of the carnivore. The animal roared, and he felt hot breath. it was standing right by Baselton. Dodgson turned his head fractionally, to watch.

Baselton stood entirely still. The tyrannosaur came close, and lowered his big head. He snorted at Baselton. He raised his head again, as if perplexed.

He really can't see him, Dodgson thought.

The tyrannosaur bellowed, a ferocious sound. Somehow Baselton stayed unmoving. The tyrannosaur bent over, bringing his huge head down again. The jaws opened and closed. Baselton stared straight forward, not blinking. With huge flaring nostrils, the tyrannosaur smelled him, a long snuffling inhalation that fluttered Baselton's trouser legs.

Then the tyrannosaur nudged Baselton tentatively with his snout. And in that moment Dodgson realized that the animal could see him after all, and then the tyrannosaur swung his head laterally, striking Baselton in the side and easily knocking him to the earth. Baselton yelled as the tyrannosaur's big foot came down, pinning him to the ground. Baselton raised his arms and shouted "You son of a bitch!" just as the head came down, jaws wide, and closed on him. The movement was gentle, almost delicate, but in the next instant the head snapped high, tearing the body, and Dodgson heard a scream and saw something small and floppy hanging from the jaws, and realized it was Baselton's arm. Baselton's hand swung freely, the metal band of his wristwatch glinting beneath the tyrannosaur's huge eye.

Baselton was screaming, a continuous undifferentiated sound, and hearing it, Dodgson broke into a dizzying sweat. Then he turned and ran, back toward the car, back toward safety, back toward anything.

He ran.

Kell and Arb turned away from the monitor at the same moment. Kelly felt sick. She couldn't watch. But through the radio they could till hear the tinny screams of the man lying on his back, while the tyrannosaur tore him apart.

"Turn it off," Kelly said.

A moment later, the sound stopped.

Kelly sighed, let her shoulders drop. "Thank you," she said.

"I didn't do anything," Arby said.

She glanced back at the screen, and quickly looked away again. The tyrannosaur was tearing at something red. She shivered.

It was silent in the trailer. Kelly heard the tick of electronic counters, and the thumping of the water pumps under the floor. Outside, there was the faint sound of wind rustling the tall grass. Kelly suddenly felt very alone, very isolated on this island.

Arby," she said, "what are we going to do?"

Arby didn't answer her.

He bolted for the bathroom.

"I knew it," Malcolm said, staring at the dashboard monitor. "I knew that would happen. They tried to steal eggs. Now look - the tyrannosaurs are leaving! Both of them!" He pushed the radio transmitter. "Arby. Kelly. Are you there?"

"We can't talk," Kelly said.

The Explorer continued down the hillside, toward the area of the tyrannosaur nest. Thorne gripped the wheel grimly as he drove. "What a damn mess."

"Kelly. Are you listening? We can't see what's happening down there. The tyrannosaurs have left the nest! Kelly? What's happening?"

Dodgson sprinted for the Jeep. The battery pack fell off his belt as he ran, but he didn't care. Up ahead in the jeep, he saw King waiting, tense and pale.

Dodgson got behind the wheel, started the engine. The tyrannosaurs roared.

"Where's Baselton?" King asked.

"Didn't make it," Dodgson said.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean he fucking didn't make it!" Dodgson yelled, and slammed the car into gear. The Jeep took off, bouncing up the hill. They heard the tyrannosaurs bellowing behind them.

King was holding the egg, looking back down the road. "Maybe we should get rid of this," he said.

"Don't you fucking dare!" Dodgson said.

King was rolling down the window. "Maybe he just wants the egg back."

"No," Dodgson said. "No!" He reached across the passenger seat, struggling with King as he drove. The trail was narrow, with deep ruts. The Jeep lurched forward.

Suddenly, one of the tyrannosaurs burst from the trees in the road ahead. The animal stood there, snarling, blocking the road.

"Oh Christ," Dodgson said, slamming on the brakes. The car slid sickeningly in the muddy track, came to a stop.

The tyrannosaur lumbered toward them, bellowing.

"Turn around!" King screamed. "Turn around!"

But Dodgson didn't turn around. He slammed the car into reverse, and started backing down the trail. He was driving fast, and the road was narrow.

"You're crazy!" King said. "You're going to kill us!"

Dodgson swung his arm, smacked King with his hand. "Shut the flick up!" he shouted. It took all his attention to maneuver the car back down the winding trail. Even going as fast as he could, he was sure the tyrannosaur would be faster. It wasn't going to work. They were in a fucking jeep with a fucking cloth top, and they were going to get killed and -

"No!" King shouted.

Behind them, Dodgson saw the second tyrannosaur, charging up the road toward them. He looked forward, saw the first tyrannosaur bearing down on them. They were trapped.

He twisted the wheel in panic and the car ran off the road, crashing backward into dense underbrush and surrounding trees, and he felt a jolting impact. Then the rear of the car dropped sickeningly, and he realized the back wheels were hanging over the edge of a hill. He gunned the engine frantically, but the wheels just spun in the air. It was hopeless. And slowly, the car sank backward, deeper into foliage so dense he could not see through it. But they were over the edge. Beside him, King was sobbing. He heard the tyrannosaurs roaring, very near now.

Dodgson flung open the car door, and jumped out into space. He lunged through the foliage, fell, hit a tree trunk, and tumbled down a steep jungle hill. Somewhere along the way he felt a sharp pain in his forehead, and saw stars for the brief moment before blackness enveloped him, and he lost consciousness.

Decision

They sat in the Explorer, on top of the ridge overlooking the jungle-covered east valley. The windows were down. They listened to the bellowing of the tyrannosaurs, as the huge animals crashed through the underbrush.

"They both left the nest," Thorne said.

"Yeah. Those guys must have taken something." Malcolm sighed.

They were silent a while, listening.

They heard a soft buzzing, and then Eddie pulled up alongside them, in the motorcycle. "I thought you might need help. Are you going to go down?"

Malcolm shook his head. "No, absolutely not. It's too dangerous - we don't know where they are."

Sarah Harding said, "Why did Dodgson just stand there like that? That's not the way to act around predators. You get caught around lions, you make a lot of noise, wave your hands, throw things at them. Try to scare them off. You don't just stand there."

"He probably read the wrong research paper," Malcolm said, shaking his head. "There's been a theory going around that tyrannosaurs can only see movement. A guy named Roxton made casts of rex braincases, and concluded that tyrannosaurs had the brain of a frog."

The radio clicked. Levine said, "Roxton is an idiot. He doesn't know enough anatomy to have sex with his wife. His paper was a joke."

"What paper?" Thorne said.

The radio clicked again. "Roxton," Levine said, "believed that tyrannosaurs had a visual system like an amphibian: like a frog. A frog sees motion but doesn't see stillness. But it is quite impossible that a predator such as a tyrannosaur would have a visual system that worked that way. Quite impossible. Because the most common defense of prey animals is to freeze. A deer or something like that, it senses danger, and it freezes. A predator has to be able to see them anyway. And of course a tyrannosaur could."

Over the radio, Levine snorted with disgust. "It's just like the other idiotic theory put forth by Grant a few years back that a tyrannosaur could be confused by a driving rainstorm, because it was not adapted to wet climates. That's equally absurd. The Cretaceous wasn't particularly dry. And in any case, tyrannosaurs are North American animals they've only been found in the U.S. or Canada. Tyrannosaurs lived on the shores of the great inland sea, east of the Rocky Mountains. There are lots of thunderstorms on mountain slopes. I'm quite sure tyrannosaurs saw plenty of rain, and they evolved to deal with it."

"So is there any reason why a tyrannosaur might not attack somebody?" Malcolm said.

"Yes, Of Course. The most obvious one," Levine said.

"Which is?"

"If it wasn't hungry. If it had just eaten another animal. Anything larger than a goat would take care of its hunger for hours to come. No, no. The tyrannosaur sees fine, moving or still."

They listened to the roaring, coming up from the valley below. They saw thrashing in the underbrush, about half a mile away, to the north. More bellowing. The two rexes seemed to be answering each other.

Sarah Harding said, "What are we carrying?"

Thorne said, "Three Lindstradts. Fully loaded."

"Okay," she said. "Let's go."

The radio crackled. "I'm not there," Levine said, over the radio. "But I'd certainly advise waiting."

"The hell with waiting," Malcolm said. "Sarah's right. Let's go down there and see how bad it is."

"Your funeral," Levine said.

Arby came back to the monitor, wiping his chin. He still looked a little green. "What are they doing now?"

"Dr. Malcolm and the others are going to the nest."

"Are you kidding?" he said, alarmed.

"Don't worry," Kelly said. "Sarah can handle it."

"You hope," Arby said.

Nest

Just beyond the clearing, they parked the Explorer. Eddie pulled up in the motorcycle, and leaned it against the trunk of a tree and waited while the others climbed out of the Explorer.

Sarah Harding smelled the familiar sour odor of rotting flesh and excrement that always marked a carnivore nesting site. In the afternoon heat, it was faintly nauseating. Flies buzzed in the still air. Harding took one of the rifles, slung it over her shoulder. She looked at the three men. They were all standing very still, tense, not moving. Malcolm's face was pale, particularly around the lips. It reminded her of the time that Coffmann, her old professor, had visited her in Africa. Coffmann was one of those hard-drinking Hemingway types, with lots of affairs at home, and lots of tales of his adventures with the orangs in Sumatra, the ring-tailed lemurs in Madagascar. So she took him with her to a kill site in the savannah. And he promptly passed out. He weighed more than two hundred pounds, and she had to drag him out by the collar while the lions circled and snarled at her. It had been a good lesson for her.

Now she leaned close to the three men and whispered, "If you've got any qualms about this, don't go. Just wait here. I don't want to worry about you. I can do this myself" She started off.

"Are you sure - "

"Yes. Now keep quiet." She moved directly toward the clearing. Malcolm and the others hurried to catch up with her. She pushed aside the palm fronds, and stepped out into the open. The tyrannosaurs were gone, and the mud cone was deserted. Over to the right, she saw a shoe, with a bit of torn flesh sticking out above the ragged sock. That was all there was left of Baselton.

From within the nest, she heard a plaintive, high-pitched squeal. Harding climbed up the mud bank, with Malcolm struggling to follow. She saw two infant tyrannosaurs there, mewling. Nearby were three large eggs. They saw heavy footprints all around, in the mud.

"They took one of the eggs," Malcolm said. "Damn."

"You didn't want anything to disrupt your little ecosystem?"

Malcolm smiled crookedly. "Yeah. I was hoping."

"Too bad," she said, and moved quickly around the edge of the pit.

She bent over, looking at the baby tyrannosaurs. One of the babies was cowering, its downy neck pulled into its body. But the second one behaved very differently. It did not move as they approached, but remained lying sprawled on its side, breathing shallowly, eyes glazed.

"This one's been hurt," she said.

Levine was standing in the high hide. He pressed the headset to his ear, and spoke into the microphone near his cheek. "I need a description," he said.

Thorne said, "There's two of them, roughly two feet long, weighing maybe forty pounds. About the size of small cassowary birds. Large eyes. Short snouts. Pale-brown color. And there's a ring of down around the necks."

"Can they stand?"

"Uh…if they can, not very well. They're kind of flopping around. Squeaking a lot."

"Then they're infants," Levine said, nodding. "Probably only a few days old. Never been out of the nest. I'd be very careful."

"Why is that?"

"With offspring that young," Levine said, "the parents won't leave them for long."

Harding moved closer to the injured infant. Still mewling, the baby tried to crawl toward her, dragging its body awkwardly. One leg was bent at an odd angle. "I think the left leg's hurt."

Eddie came closer, standing alongside her to see. "Is it broken?"

"Yeah, probably, but - "

"Hey!" Eddie said. The baby lunge d forward, and clamped its jaws around the ankle of his boot. He pulled his foot away, dragging the baby, which held its grip tightly. "Hey! Let go!"

Eddie lifted his leg up, shook it back and forth, but the baby refused to let go. He pulled for a moment longer, then stopped. Now the baby just lay there on the ground, breathing shallowly, jaws still locked around Eddie's boot. "Jeez," Eddie said.

"Aggressive little guy, isn't he," Sarah said. "Right from birth…"

Eddie looked down at the tiny, razor-sharp jaws. They hadn't penetrated the leather. The baby held on firmly. With the butt of his rifle, he poked the infant's head a couple of times. It had no effect at all. The baby lay on the ground, breathing shallowly. Its big eyes blinked slowly as they stared up at Eddie, but it did not release its grip.

They heard the distant roars of the parents, somewhere to the north. "Let's get out of here," Malcolm said. "We've seen what we came here to see. We've got to find where Dodgson went."

Thorne said, "I think I saw a track up the trail. They might have gone off there."

"We better have a look."

They all started back to the car.

"Wait a minute," Eddie said, looking down at his foot. "What am I going to do about the baby?"

"Shoot it," Malcolm said, over his shoulder.

"You mean kill it?"

Sarah said, "It's got a broken leg, Eddie, it's going to die anyway."

"Yeah, but - "

Thorne called, "We're going back up the trail, Eddie, and if we don't find Dodgson, we'll take the ridge road going toward the laboratory. Then down to the trailer again."

"Okay, Doc. I'm right behind you." Eddie lifted his rifle, turned it in his hands.

"Do it now," Sarah said, climbing into the Explorer. "Because you don't want to be here when Momma and Poppa get back."

Gambler's Ruin

Driving up the trail, Malcolm stared at the dashboard monitor, as the image flicked from one camera view to another. He was looking for Dodgson and the rest of his party.

Over the radio, Levine said, "How bad was it?"

"They took one egg," Malcolm said. "And we had to shoot one of the babies."

"So, a loss of two. Out of a total hatching brood of what, six?"

"That's right."

"Frankly, I'd say it's a minor matter," Levine said. "As long as you stop those people from doing anything more."

"We're looking for them now," Malcolm said morosely.

Harding said, "It was bound to happen, Ian. You know you can't expect to observe the animals without changing anything. It's a scientific impossibility."

"Of course it is," Malcolm said. "That's the greatest single scientific discovery of the twentieth century. You can't study anything without changing it."

Since Galileo, scientists had adopted the view that they were objective observers of the natural world. That was implicit in every aspect of their behavior, even the way they wrote scientific papers, saying things like "It was observed…" As if nobody had observed it. For three hundred years, that impersonal quality was the hallmark of science. Science was objective, and the observer had no influence on the results he or she described.

This objectivity made science different from the humanities, or from religion-fields where the observer's point of view was integral, where the observer was inextricably mixed up in the results observed.

But in the twentieth century, that difference had vanished. Scientific objectivity was gone, even at the most fundamental levels. Physicists now knew you couldn't even measure a single subatomic particle without affecting it totally. If you stuck your Instruments in to measure a particle's position, you changed its velocity. If you measured its velocity, you changed its position. That basic truth became the Heisenberg uncertainty principle: that whatever you studied you also changed. In the end, it became clear that all scientists were participants in a participatory universe which did not allow anyone to be a mere observer.

"I know objectivity is impossible," Malcolm said impatiently. "I'm not concerned about that."

"Then what are you concerned about?"

"I'm concerned about the Gambler's Ruin," Malcolm said, staring at the monitor.

Gambler's Ruin was a notorious and much-debated statistical phenomenon that had major consequences both for evolution, and for everyday life. "Let's say you're a gambler," he said. "And you're playing a coin-toss game. Every time the coin comes up heads, you win a dollar. Every time it comes up tails, you lose a dollar."

"Okay."

"What happens over time?"

Harding shrugged. "The chances of getting either heads or tails is even. So maybe you win, maybe you lose. But in the end, you'll Come out at zero."

"Unfortunately, you don't," Malcolm said. "If you gamble long enough, you'll always lose - the gambler is always ruined. That's why casinos stay in business. But the question is, what happens over time? What happens in the period before the gambler is finally ruined?"

"Okay," she said. "What happens?"

"If you chart the gambler's fortunes over time, what you find is the gambler wins for a period, or loses for a period. In other words, everything in the world goes in streaks. It's a real phenomenon, and you see it everywhere: in weather, in river flooding, in baseball, in heart rhythms, in stock markets. Once things go bad, they tend to stay bad. Like the old folk saying that bad things come in threes. Complexity theory tells us the folk wisdom is right. Bad things cluster. Things go to hell together. That's the real world."

"So what are you saying? That things are going to hell now?"

"They could be, thanks to Dodgson," Malcolm said, frowning at the monitor. "What happened to those bastards, anyway?"

King

There was a buzzing, like the sound of a distant bee. Howard King was dimly aware of it, as he came slowly back to consciousness. He opened his eyes, and saw the windshield of a car, and the branches of trees beyond.

The buzzing was louder.

King didn't know where he was. He couldn't remember how he got here, what had happened. He felt pain in his shoulders, and at his hips. His forehead throbbed. He tried to remember but the pain distracted him, prevented him from thinking clearly. The last thing he remembered was the tyrannosaur in front of him on the road. That was the last thing. Then Dodgson had looked back and -

King turned his head, and cried out as sudden, sharp pain ran up his neck to his skull. The pain made him gasp, took his breath away. He closed his eyes, wincing. Then he slowly opened them again.

Dodgson was not in the car. The driver's door hung wide open, a dappled shadow across the door panel. The keys were still in the ignition.

Dodgson was gone.

There was a streak of blood across the top of the steering wheel. The black box was on the floor by the gearshift. The open driver's door creaked a little, moved a little.

In the distance, King heard the buzzing again, like a giant bee. It was a mechanical sound, he now realized. Something mechanical.

It made him think of the boat. How long would the boat wait at the river? What time was it, anyway? He looked at his watch. The crystal was smashed, the hands fixed at 1:54.

He heard the buzzing again. It was coming closer.

With an effort, King pushed himself away from the seat, toward the dashboard. Streaks of electric pain shot up his spine, but quickly subsided. He took a deep breath.

I'm all right, he thought. At least, I'm still here.

King looked at the open driver's door, in the sunlight. The sun was still high. It must still be sometime in the afternoon. When was the boat leaving? Four o'clock? Five o'clock? He couldn't remember any more. But he was certain that those Spanish fishermen wouldn't hang around once it started to get dark. They'd leave the island.

And Howard King wanted to be on the boat when they did. It was the only thing he wanted in the world. Wincing, he raised himself up, and painfully slid over to the driver's seat. He settled himself in, took a deep breath, and then leaned over, and looked out the open door.

The car was hanging over empty space, supported by trees. He saw a steep jungle hillside, falling away beneath him. It was dark beneath the canopy of trees. He felt dizzy, just looking down. The ground must be twenty or thirty feet below him. He saw scattered green ferns, and a few dark boulders. He twisted his body to look more.

And then he saw him.

Dodgson lay on his back, head downward, on the slope of the hill. His body was crumpled, arms and legs thrown out in awkward positions. He was not moving. King couldn't see him very well, in the dense foliage on the hillside, but Dodgson looked dead.

The buzzing was suddenly very loud, building rapidly, and King looked forward and saw, through the foliage that blocked the windshield, a car driving by, not ten yards away. A car!

And then the car was gone. From the sound of it, he thought, it was an electric car. So it must be Malcolm.

Howard King was somehow encouraged by the thought that other people were on this island. He felt new strength, despite the pain in his body. He reached forward, and turned the key in the ignition. The engine rumbled.

He put the car in gear, and gently stepped on the accelerator.

The rear wheels spun. He engaged the front-wheel drive. At once, the Jeep rumbled forward, lurching through the branches. A moment later, he was out on the road.

He remembered this road now. To the right, it led down to the tyrannosaurus nest. Malcolm's car had gone to the left.

King turned left, and headed up the road. He was trying to remember how to get back to the river, back to the boat. He vaguely recalled that there was a Y-fork in the road at the top of the hill. He would take that fork, he decided, drive down the hill, and get the hell off this island.

That was his only goal.

To get off this island, before it was too late.

Bad News

The Explorer came to the top of the hill, and Thorne drove onto the ridge road. The road curved back and forth, cut into the rock face of the cliff. In many places, the dropoff was precipitous, but they had views over the entire island. Eventually they came to a place where they could look over the valley. They could see the high hide off to the left, and closer by, the clearing with the two trailers. Off to the right was the laboratory complex, and the worker complex beyond.

"I don't see Dodgson anywhere," Malcolm said unhappily. "Where could he have gone?"

Thorne pushed the radio button. "Arby?"

"Yes, Doc."

"Do you see them?"

"No, but…" He hesitated.

"What?"

"Don't you want to come back here now? It's pretty amazing."

"What is?" Thorne said.

"Eddie," Arby said. "He just got back. And he brought the baby with

him."

Malcolm leaned forward. "He did what?"