ALONE TOGETHER I OWEN GRADY

Lost In Space

Lost In Space

Owen Grady ran his grubby hands under the tap, the cold water refreshing against his skin, giving him a brief respite from the glaring heat. But what he really needed a break from was Hoskins, the man not taking the hint to piss off. Vic Hoskins was Head of Private Security, and was too fond of lording it over Owen at every opportunity. He had been talking for ten minutes straight about the changing nature of war, and how dinosaurs were the way forwards in terms of weaponry, Hoskins refusing point blank to see the flaws in such a strategy. But what annoyed Owen the most was that Hoskins didn't see the dinosaurs as beings in their own right, only something that had been sprung out of a test tube and could be easily replaced or altered on a whim.

"We're sitting on a goldmine, Grady," Hoskins was arguing, "and Masrani is using it to stock a petting zoo."

"He just wants to teach people some humility," Owen corrected him, silently adding Hoskins could also benefit from some instruction in the subject.

Hoskins rolled his eyes. "You seriously think the eighth richest man in the world is only into oil, telecom and family fun parks?" he scoffed. "He's so diversified he doesn't even know what he owns."

"How long has InGen been practising this pitch?" Owen asked, amused against his will.

"Since the day we hired you out of the Navy," Hoskins said coldly, coming over as he spoke, making Owen instinctively straighten up, "you knew the end game. Not our fault you got... attached." He glanced over his shoulder at the training enclosure where the raptors were prowling. "These animals can replace thousands of boots on the ground, Grady," he said, turning around again, "saving thousands of lives at the same time. Isn't that an ideal worth attaining?"

"Not really."

"Whaddya mean?" Hoskins frowned. "A Navy man such as yourself should be first in line to get this idea off the ground."

"Well, nowadays, I flatter myself I'm more a man of peace"-

-"Who is skilled in the art of war" –

-"I'm a goddamn animal behaviourist, Hoskins!" Owen snapped, finally losing his cool.

"There's no room for sentimentality on the battlefield, Grady," Hoskins retorted, "so the sooner you stop acting all Earth Mother over these beasts, the better."

Owen's jaw tightened, his wet hands unconsciously curling into fists, almost on the edge of knocking Hoskins onto the deck. Hoskins always got under his skin, but he'd never crossed the line before, even as he'd veered dangerously near it once too many times. It was usually bullshit Hoskins spouted, Owen reacting accordingly, never taking it seriously, even allowing himself a smile now and again, but not this time.

"Mr. Grady!" one of the workies yelled from across the yard. "Got a call waiting."

"Who is it?" Owen asked, already guessing who it could be. Only one person ever called the main office to speak to him, Claire preferring to complicate the lines of communication, using a walkie evidently beneath her.

"Ms. Dearing - says it's urgent."

"Dearing, huh?" Hoskins said significantly, Owen ignoring him.

"Okay, no problem," Owen then called back, shaking his hands dry before wiping them on the back of his jeans. "I need to go, man," he said abruptly to Hoskins, "duty calls."

"If that's what you're calling it," Hoskins said with a lewd wink, making Owen shake his head in disgust before turning and leaving.

~*~