Chapter Text
The heat pressed down on the group, physically restraining you. Sweat rolled down your face and mosquitoes buzzed at you from every direction. It was worse than you'd imagined, but you weren't about to admit that. It had taken forever to get in contact with John Hammond and convince him you were the right choice for the expedition to Isla Sorna. All your years of studying calcified bone and flattened fossils had been pointing you in this direction, toward an island where dinosaurs still lived. Even if they had been cooked up in a lab and dropped off on the island, it was still, in your eyes, a miracle.
John Hammond had refused, however. You were too young, too inexperienced, and he'd already had his four picked out. Aside from already making his choices, you weren't even technically a paleontologist yet. He'd wanted someone who not only was an expert in their field, but had years of experience. All you'd had was passion and most of a doctorate.
Peter Ludlow, however, didn't seem to care about your experience or lack of degree. After you'd hung up with Hammond, you'd gotten a call from Ludlow. He didn't explain why he wanted you specifically for his own venture to Isla Sorna, but he'd said that the more people who understood dinosaurs in his party, the better.
Of course, when you'd accepted Ludlow's invitation to send you Isla Sorna, you hadn't realized it would be in the company of Ian Malcolm, the one person who seemed to vehemently hate Isla Nublar and the dinosaurs on them. It was his books and his testimonies that had shed light on the original island and its destruction. You'd read them, of course, as well as the books published by Dr. Grant (which had all been published pre-Nublar). It was Grant's books that had gotten you interested in paleontology. It was Malcolm's books that had gotten you interested in the island.
“How much did they pay you?” Ian asked, staring at you.
“They didn't pay me anything.”
“You came here for free? I hate to tell you this, but you've sold yourself short. Of course, chances of you making it off this island to spend any money are slim to none.”
“I didn't agree to go for the money,” you said. “I agreed to go to study the animals I've been studying my entire life – but in the flesh.”
“Yes, your flesh, in their teeth. Do you know how many carnivores are on this island? And the herbivores. They're just as bad, maybe even worse. They won't eat you, but they'll stomp you to death or, uh, I dunno, gouge you. They're not so different from rhinos or hippos or very, very angry bulls, you know.”
A half-smile formed on your face. You still couldn't believe you'd ended up on the island with the Ian Malcolm. Of course, meeting up with him and his group hadn't been planned.
“I know,” you said. “I guess I just was desperate to do something meaningful. I'm a grad student, you know. It's hard to do something worthwhile when you've got so many other people in your field. It feels like someone else is always doing something great, and you're just wasting time.”
“You're not a doctor?” Ian asked, eyebrows shooting up. “Ludlow sent out a student? A kid?”
“I'm not a kid, but thanks. Yes, I'm still a student.”
“You should've stayed in school.”
Annoyance etched a frown on your face. “Do you know how hard it is normally to do a dissertation in paleontology? Or in any degree?”
“Yes, I do. I actually am a doctor.”
“Okay, so you understand. Now imagine my position. I'm in a field where we study fossils and rocks and dead things. All of our information is from best guesses. Educated guesses, yeah, but still guesses. And I have to write my dissertation, and I have to present it, and I have to hope they don't reject me and keep all my research and make me start over. And then I hear that there's not one, but two islands with the very things I'm studying – things that have supposedly been dead for millions for years – still living.”
“So you wanted to write a killer dissertation? You've come an awful long way to write a paper.”
“No,” you said. “I came all this way because my degree may be completely useless by the time I graduate. And if I didn't, some other grad student would. Learning about Isla Nublar, and now Isla Sorna, is how Charles Doolittle Walcott must have felt when he discovered the Burgess shale. It's like the world has opened up and presented this opportunity, and you have to decide if you're a coward or if you're gonna risk everything to jump right into it.”
Ian sighed, brushing mosquitoes off his arms. “Let me tell you from experience, it's better to be a coward on an island like this.”
“I'll be honest. I know I'm not smart enough to get my degree, and I don't have enough sway to get an internship or job anywhere even if I do graduate. My career's more dead than the fossils I'm studying, and I haven't even started.” You looked out at the group. “I figured this was my first and only chance to do something meaningful before I flunked out. And if I die here, at least I know I didn't have much potential to go to waste.”
“Don't say that,” Ian chided. “You've gotten this far into your degree, haven't you? Researching for your dissertation? You make it off this island, you'll have a hell of a lot to write about.”
“Yeah,” chimed in another voice. It was Kelly, Ian's daughter. She had come out of her daze to look at you. “You shouldn't be so hard on yourself. I think you probably have more right to be here than anyone else on the island.”
“How do you figure that?”
“You said it yourself: you didn't come here for money. You came here to study the dinosaurs, because you love them. Everyone else is here for a check. Well, not everyone.” Kelly grimaced and looked at her dad.
“Why are you here, Dr. Malcolm? In all your interviews, you said you'd never step foot on Isla Nublar again. I know this is a different island, but same principle, right?”
“I'm flattered you listened to my interviews,” he said, wrapping an arm around Kelly and holding her tight. “But, you're right, I'm not here because of money. I'm here because of her.” He nodded toward the woman you'd learned was Sarah Harding. She'd been part of Hammond's original group for the island. She was the experienced paleontologist that you weren't.
“She brought you here?”
“In a way. She came first, I followed.” Ian looked down at Kelly. “And she was a stowaway.”
“Sorry,” she grimaced again.
Ian turned back to you. “How'd you end up with Ludlow's group? They're all in it for money. Except for Roland, I guess. But they're all here to exploit the dinosaurs, bring them back to San Diego and make a zoo out of them. That doesn't sound like something you're trying to do.”
“I didn't know that's what he was doing,” you admitted, turning a hot glare in Ludlow's direction. “I was rejected by Hammond, but I guess he got my number. He contacted me and said he could use another dinosaur expert on his team. I'm not an expert, but I wasn't going to decline an invite to the island. If I'd known he was here to kidnap them and take them to the mainland, I would've told him to stick it up his–” You stopped and looked back at Kelly. “Sorry. He's not a very likeable man, is he?”
Kelly shook her head.
“But I guess he's not much different from Hammond, is he?” you said, looking at each face in the group. They were all exhausted, sweaty, frightened. “Hammond was also exploiting these animals. He just gave them more acreage to run around in.”
“I don't think we can pick a ‘winner’ between Hammond and Ludlow when it comes to the Ethics Olympics,” Ian said.
Roland stood and motioned for the rest of the group to follow. “Break's over. Let's go.”
Everyone slowly stood and collected their things. You'd managed to save one of your backpacks, which you now slung over your shoulders. It contained your field notes and several disposable cameras. You'd never know how the photos you took turned out until you'd returned home – if you returned home – and got them developed. If they were blurry or if the film was compromised, the photos would be useless.
Maybe, if everyone else got off the island, you'd be able to stay in contact with Sarah Harding or Nick Van Owen and use some of their photos for your dissertation.
And even if you flunked out, at least you'd have some photos to hang on your living room wall. Then again, if you managed to escape Isla Sorna, you might want to forget your entire time there.
The group moved forward as one, sluggish in the humidity. Birds and insects chirped from behind leaves and between branches. Everyone's ears were tuned to catch any unusual sounds. Their bodies were on edge, waiting to feel the thunderous rumble of footsteps through the earth, to hear the too-close roar of an angry tyrannosaurus.
You nearly jumped out of your skin when something fell across your shoulders. You looked up to see Ian Malcolm in step beside you, one arm around your shoulders, the other around Kelly's.
“Listen, kid,” he said in a soft voice. “You're gonna get off this island, and you're gonna write a fantastic dissertation, and you're going to graduate with your doctorate. And then you're never gonna want to think about dinosaurs ever again in your life. I promise.”
You laughed, a mixture of relief and fear. “Well, everything you've said so far has been true, so I guess I have to believe you, huh?”
“That would be a generally good rule, yes. It's when people stop listening to me when things go really bad.”
“Okay,” you said with a smile. “I believe you.”