"Inherent instability," Gennaro said. "And what did you do when you got his report?"
"We disagreed with it, and ignored it, of course," Arnold said.
"Was that wise?"
"It's self-evident," Arnold said. "We're dealing with living systems, after all. This is life, not computer models."
In the harsh quartz lights, the hypsilophodont's green head hung down out of the sling, the tongue dangling, the eyes dull.
"Careful! Careful!" Hammond shouted, as the crane began to lift.
Harding grunted and eased the head back onto the leather straps. He didn't want to impede circulation through the carotid artery. The crane hissed as it lifted the animal into the air, onto the waiting flatbed truck. The hypsy was a small dryosaur, seven feet long, weighing about five hundred pounds. She was dark green with mottled brown spots. She was breathing slowly, but she seemed all right. Harding had shot her a few moments before with the tranquilizer gun, and apparently he had guessed the correct dose. There was always a tense moment dosing these big animals. Too little and they would run off into the forest, collapsing where you couldn't get to them. Too much and they went into terminal cardiac arrest. This one had taken a single bounding leap and keeled over. Perfectly dosed.
"Watch it! Easy!" Hammond was shouting to the workmen.
"Mr. Hammond," Harding said. "Please."
"Well, they should be careful-"
"They are being careful," Harding said. He climbed up onto the back of the flatbed as the hypsy came down, and he set her into the restraining harness. Harding slipped on the cardiogram collar that monitored heartbeat, then picked up the big electronic thermometer the size of a turkey baster and slipped it into the rectum. It beeped: 96.2 degrees.
"How is she?" Hammond asked fretfully.
"She's fine," Harding said. "She's only dropped a degree and a half."
"That's too much," Hammond said. "Too deep."
"You don't want her waking up and jumping off the truck," Harding snapped.
Before coming to the park, Harding had been the chief of veterinary medicine at the San Diego Zoo, and the world's leading expert on avian care. He flew all over the world, consulting with zoos in Europe, India, and Japan on the care of exotic birds. He'd had no interest when this peculiar little man showed up, offering him a position in a private game park. But when he learned what Hammond had done ... It was impossible to pass up. Harding had an academic bent, and the prospect of writing the first Textbook of Veterinary Internal Medicine: Diseases of Dinosauria was compelling. In the late twentieth century, veterinary medicine was scientifically advanced- the best zoos ran clinics little different from hospitals. New textbooks were merely refinements of old. For a world-class practitioner, there were no worlds left to conquer. But to be the first to care for a whole new class of animals: that was something!
And Harding had never regretted his decision, He had developed considerable expertise with these animals. And he didn't want to hear from Hammond now.
The hypsy snorted and twitched. She was still breathing shallowly; there was no ocular reflex yet. But it was time to get moving. "All aboard," Harding shouted. "Let's get this girl back to her paddock."
"Living systems," Arnold said, "are not like mechanical systems. Living systems are never in equilibrium. They are inherently unstable. They may seem stable, but they're not. Everything is moving and changing. In a sense, everything is on the edge of collapse."
Gennaro was frowning. "But lots of things don't change; body temperature doesn't change, all kinds of other-"
"Body temperature changes constantly," Arnold said. "Constantly. It changes cyclically over twenty-four hours, lowest in the morning, highest in the afternoon. It changes with mood, with disease, with exercise, with outside temperature, with food. It continuously fluctuates up and down. Tiny jiggles on a graph. Because, at any moment, some forces are pushing temperature up, and other forces are pulling it down. It is inherently unstable. And every other aspect of living systems is like that, too."
"So you're saying . . ."
"Malcolm's just another theoretician," Arnold said. "Sitting in his office, he made a nice mathematical model, and it never occurred to him that what he saw as defects were actually necessities. Look: when I was working on missiles, we dealt with something called 'resonant yaw.' Resonant yaw meant that, even though a missile was only slightly unstable off the pad, it was hopeless. It was inevitably going to go out of control, and it couldn't be brought back. That's a feature of mechanical systems. A little wobble can get worse until the whole system collapses. But those same little wobbles are essential to a living system. They mean the system is healthy and responsive. Malcolm never understood that."
"Are you sure he didn't understand that? He seems pretty clear on the difference between living and nonliving-"
"Look," Arnold said. "The proof is right here." He pointed to the screens.
"In less than an hour," he said, "the park will all be back on line. The only thing I've got left to clear is the telephones. For some reason, they're still out. But everything else will be working. And that's not theoretical. That's a fact."
The needle went deep into the neck, and Harding injected the medrine into the anesthetized female dryosaur as she lay on her side on the ground. Immediately the animal began to recover, snorting and kicking her powerful hind legs.
"Back, everybody," Harding said, scrambling away. "Get back."
The dinosaur staggered to her feet, standing drunkenly. She shook her lizard head, stared at the people standing back in the quartz lights, and blinked.
"She's drooling," Hammond said, worried.
"Temporary," Harding said. "It'll stop."
The dryosaur coughed, and then moved slowly across the field, away from the lights.
"Why isn't she hopping?"
"She will," Harding said. "It'll take her about an hour to recover fully. She's fine." He turned back to the car. "Okay, boys, let's go deal with the stego."
Muldoon watched as the last of the stakes was pounded into the ground. The lines were pulled taut, and the protocarpus tree was lifted clear. Muldoon could see the blackened, charred streaks on the silver fence where the short had occurred. At the base of the fence, several ceramic insulators had burst. They would have to be replaced. But before that could be done, Arnold would to have to shut down all the fences.
"Control. This is Muldoon. We're ready to begin repair."
"All right," Arnold said. "Shutting out your section now."
Muldoon glanced at his watch. Somewhere in the distance, he heard soft hooting. It sounded like owls, but he knew it was the dilophosaurs. He went over to Ramón and said, "Let's finish this up. I want to get to those other sections of fence."
An hour went by. Donald Gennaro stared at the glowing map in the control room as the spots and numbers flickered and changed. "What's happening now?"
Arnold worked at the console. "I'm trying to get the phones back. So we can call about Malcolm."
"No, I mean out there."
Arnold glanced up at the board. "It looks as if they're about done with the animals, and the two sections. just as I told you, the park is back in band. With no catastrophic Malcolm Effect. In fact, there's just that third section of fence. . . ."
"Arnold." It was Muldoon's voice.
"Yes?"
"Have you seen this bloody fence?"
"Just a minute."
On one of the monitors, Gennaro saw a high angle down on a field of grass, blowing in the wind. In the distance was a low concrete roof. "That's the sauropod maintenance building," Arnold explained. "It's one of the utility structures we use for equipment, feed storage, and so on. We have them all around the park, in each of the paddocks." On the monitor, the video image panned. "We're turning the camera now to get a look at the fence. . . ."
Gennaro saw a shining wall of metallic mesh in the light. One section had been trampled, knocked flat. Muldoon's Jeep and work crew were there.
"Huh," Arnold said. "Looks like the rex went into the sauropod paddock."
Muldoon said, "Fine dining tonight."
Chapter 17
"We'll have to get him out of there," Arnold said.
"With what?" Muldoon said. "We haven't got anything to use on a rex. I'll fix this fence, but I'm not going in there until daylight."
"Hammond won't like it."
"We'll discuss it when I get back," Muldoon said.
"How many sauropods will the rex kill?" Hammond said, pacing around the control room.
"Probably just one," Harding said. "Sauropods are big; the rex can feed off a single kill for several days."
"We have to go out and get him tonight," Hammond said.
Muldoon shook his head. "I'm not going in there until daylight."
Hammond was rising up and down on the balls of his feet, the way he did whenever he was angry. "Are you forgetting you work for me?"
"No, Mr. Hammond, I'm not forgetting. But that's a full-grown adult tyrannosaur out there. How do you plan to get him?"
"We have tranquilizer guns."