CHAPTER TWO
HELL IN HIGH HEELS
'Rise and shine!'
'Fuck off Owen.'
I ran a palm over dry, sleep sodden eyes, lazily beginning to take over Owen's job of rolling up each blueprint full of our training routines. Shards of dawn were easing its way across the island, spilling onto the floors of the mapping room in little golden pools and we quietly shuffled paper posters together.
'When you specify inspection,' I grumble, ramming a blue print into a draw underneath the mapping table. 'You usually tell people the time before hand. Not blast their telephone line with calls at five o'clock in the morning.'
'I know,' he says. 'I didn't find out until late last night.'
'I thought you said they'd be out of our way.'
'You know Masrani, Laura,' he says. 'He's not far off Vic. He always gets funny about these animals around people who have anything to do with funding this place. Scared of all the legal stuff if something happened to em'.'
'But why? Barely anyone knows, or even cares that they come out here,' I say, tying an elastic band around a blueprint. 'Nothings changed there.'
'Ingen cares.'
'I couldn't really give a shit about what Ingen cares for.'
'Can you just please go with it, Laura?' he pleads flatly. His finely trimmed moustache twitches in the way it always does when he's visibly annoyed for all to see, a deep frown furrowing across his brow; peppered with drops of humidity. 'It's bad enough that I've still got your Uncle on my case whilst he's visiting with this bunch.'
I roll up another print. 'Another opinion I also don't a give shit about.'
'Laura.'
'No, it's ridiculous,' I say erratically. 'They're never here for any of the training or caretaking or planning. They come when it suits them, and what's more, they hear what suits them. He only be hears what he wants to hear. He has ever since they were born.'
An old sketch of one of our first scent drill was pressed under my palm, scrawled with a date from two years ago. Blue's outline was circled with 'bent knees, flat palm' scrawled next to it. 'They made them and now they think they own them or something,' I say. 'Its bullshit. It's like they've completely forgotten that they're animals.'
The thought of a bunch of lawyers in pressed, freshly-ironed suits, wandering around the arena without a clue as to what they were really looking at, murmuring total nonsense to each other, made my blood boil over in sizzling spats. It always had. Owen is so protective of his raptors, and its a characteristic I also grew from having spent so much time around him in that manner. Neither of us were ever in a good mood on the days we got asked to assist like this. Guests of any kind had always felt like an uneasy accommodation to make.
It had been tried and tested for years, this project. The park's geneticist, Henry Wu, had been hesitant to green light it. Considering I'd never seen or met the man in person, I'd assume that to be true. There'd been dozens of rounds tried and tested since Owen was hired to watch over the program, however most of them had to be aborted or euthanised due to health complications. Owen said that most of the batches prior to ours were given powerful hormonal injections to adapt them to the tropical climate that would have made them even more dangerous and harder to tame.
2012 was when our batch was born, and the IBRIS project officially commenced. Masrani made the decision to keep the IBRIS project under wraps from the rest of the resort, hence our placement on the furthest point of Nublar. Situated on the very far cliff faces of the island with a small, private beach to import equipment for the program. He gave Owen the training guidelines, but handed ownership of the project over to my Uncle. Wu wanted absolutely nothing to do with it. Once the eggs were transported out to the arena for Owen to be with them when they hatched, he demanded not to ever be contacted about it. Not even for a Code 19.
Most people believe it's to do with the accident that happened 2004, when a boy was supposedly slashed to death by one of the raptors they'd tried to incorporate amongst the resort attractions. They're are only rumours, of course. A lot of people still believe it was due to the accident at the original park back in 1993. Owen and I rarely ever speak of it. There isn't any need to. I know of the stories and the other islands and Masrani's "Bright Minds" program, but Owen had always tended to get a little passive whenever I tried feeding into my curiosity over it. The older I got, the less I had started to care.
'It sets us back an entire day,' I add. 'And we just got them to command to a scent drill without breaking momentum or running off. That took us months, Owen.'
He was shaking his head in agreement, which made me all the more angry that he of all people couldn't put a stop to this stupid inspection, if that's what we could even call it. 'I'll be having a word with him after all this, believe me,' he says.
In the distance, the rumble of cars began to drift through the moss speckled windows.
I shove the file draw shut. Grumbling non-sense to myself, Owen and I shuffle out of the mapping room and back into the compound grounds, humid breeze nipping at our bare forearms. Everyone that had bothered to wake up this early had pottered over to join us in witnessing what all the fuss was about. The rumbling grew into loud, smooth engines.
I turn to Owen. 'And just so you know, I don't technically have to be here until midday on Tuesdays, so I'm going back to bed the second they're done flouncing around.'
'You don't say from those dumbass pyjamas.'
I whack him across the arm with a sharp swat. He knew better than to stir the pot with me at this time of the morning.
In the faint peach sky ebbed with pink, five sparkling Mercedes with blinding white headlights rolled down the dirt path, coming to a slow stop in front of all of us with frowns, yawns and folded arms. The engines and lights flickered off gracefully.
'I thought Masrani usually choppers it here?' asks Ben, one of Owen's handymen.
I squint to try and make out a figure behind the leading car's tinted glass. Tall, slender people began piling out and adjusting their collars, re-fastening their ties, a man reaching to open the handle for somebody.
'I don't think it's Masrani,' I reply.
A head of trimmed, glossy red hair poked out from the car door, perfectly manicured fingers fussing with the stands waving in the breeze. I bite down on my tongue. Immediately, I felt Owen beside me chuckle in disapproval, turning his head so he could roll his eyes. The ungodly hour inspection at the crack of dawn suddenly made all the more sense.
Claire Dearing. Parks Operation Manager of Jurassic World. Today, she was sporting a stark, sleek bob cut jaunting down along her jawline, pressed white dress suit belted at the waist and a towering pair of high heels. I would be generous in saying that she had the emotional range of a teaspoon and treated our program with about as much interest as I show towards my Uncle.
Out of all the highly ranked individuals I'd ever shaken hands with here at Jurassic World, Claire Dearing will always be the initial interaction I recall in so much detail with so much resent. A constant, fulfilling reminder of it any time her gaze would find itself flickering over in my direction, cold and prejudiced.
Owen ran a hand over the back his neck, grumbling something I couldn't make out as he tried turning on his heels. I latch a firm hand onto his bicep.
'Don't even think about it,' I quip, not taking my eyes off her. Owen yanked his arm away, rubbing at the spot I'd grabbed.
The redhead examined her appearance in the car window, swiping a device from the man and approaching our team. Her pale ankles adorned with heels quiver as she walked along the uneven jungle floor towards us, determined not to make her struggle look as obvious as it was showing.
'Good morning, everybody,' Claire exhales brightly. Or at least tries too. It fell short on the brightness. 'Hope you had a wonderful first day back after the seasonal break.'
'Can we help you?' asks Owen, his tone about as neutral as his facial expression. Claire smiled sweetly at him, daggers glimmering behind her eyes and layers of mauve-coloured eyeshadow. She scrunched her nose together in a pinch. I could feel myself restraining a smirk. Masrani had forced her to come here, and she didn't want to.
'As a matter of fact, Mr. Grady, you can,' she says as she types into her tablet. She offers a small, condescending smile as she held out the screen to Owen and I. A document with highlighted check points and an all too familiar Simon Masrani signature digitally penned at the bottom.
'A new procedure from InGen Head Security practical operations under the IBRIS project,' she announces. 'Introducing a mandatory fortnightly inspection between the hours of seven and eight am starting from December 29th. Today's date.'
Owen and I look up at each other, then back at Claire, watching her flip the device closed and fold it under her arm.
'And who's idea was this?' Owen asks her.
'It has been authorised by Mr Masrani,' she replies bluntly, flicking a strand of hair from her face. 'Who is unavailable to visit today. Hence my unusual presence here to personally consult with you both.'
Unusual presence. It had come out of her mouth so seedily. I press my lips together, chest internally shaking with that smirk I could not longer repress. Owen said nothing. He looks back and forth between her and the tablet in her hands, unsure of whether to laugh or scowl, then quietly turns away. Claire scoffs lightly, watching him stride off.
'You know what I mean, Claire,' he says, almost sadly.
She grinds her jaw together. 'It's got nothing to do with Laura's Uncle, if that's what you're implying. Both Simon and Victor receive their procedure protocols from the board in San Diego.'
'And who might that be?'
'Is there a problem here?' she jabs at him, tone high, pristine eyebrows muddled together, looking at Owen as if he were crazy. Never mind the fact that she had shown up at the crack of dawn to enforce an inspection on a program with complete strangers that wasn't even under her control.
'Do whatever you want,' he says, turning on his heels to walk away. 'Just don't get anyone killed so Masrani isn't on my ass!' he calls out, disappearing into the cage. The metal gates clatter to a close.
Claire rolls her eyes. 'Unbelievable,' she murmurs. I watch the woman with absurdity.
'And can I ask why this mandatory inspection needs all of those people to conduct it?' I insist, gesturing towards the pack of business people all huddled together in discomfort from the lack of air-con they'd had in their cars.
'That, I cannot answer, Laura,' she replies. 'Like I said, this practice was at Ingen's request, not mine.'
'So it is actually true, then,' I say.
'What is?'
'That Masrani's been working on a new hybrid dinosaur. That's why they've upped all the inspections.'
Claire's head snaps up at me, eyes narrowed. 'How do you know about that?'
I snort. 'I work here, Claire. I know about everything that you do.'
'Well, you shouldn't know that information, nor should you be sharing it with your colleagues. That is highly classified.'
'Just because you choose to pretend we don't exist, doesn't mean other people in the park do.'
There's a certain point you get to with Claire, where your anger almost fizzes out into a kind of sympathy towards her. You can be completely livid, almost at the point where you could throw a punch if you wanted to, and it only takes one second for something to slightly shift inside of you. When you see someone like her, standing in a jungle in a suit that could probably expense a family's weekend trip to this resort, completely and utterly oblivious to everything around her, it saddened you in a sense. To see someone so out of place and so out of touch with where they are.
Unaware of the privilege they have to even be in this place.
'You know,' I say to her. 'For people who sound pretty confident with their brilliant idea to cook up a new dinosaur, you all seem pretty paranoid about keeping it contained.'
'I did not cook up a new dinosaur,' she spits. 'This has nothing to do with the new hybrid. This is new practical procedures for IBRIS authorised by Simon Masrani at the request of Ingen. I don't know how much clearer I can make myself, Laura.'
'Masrani hasn't seen these raptors since they were born.'
Her glare shifted over to Owen, who was busy preparing the raptor's morning feed. 'And who's fault is that?' she asks, her tone clipped. She turns back to her posse of inspectors, gesturing for them to start wandering around the compact.
It was absolutely no use. Rolling my eyes, I turn away and follow the collective group of us heading into the pen with the same shake of a head.
'Laura!' calls Claire. 'Don't leave just yet. I need to speak with you about a matter for a moment.'
I dug my heels into the dirt, my lips curling a sarcastic smile and spun around to her again. 'Sure thing,' I mutter to myself. 'And thank you, Laura, for offering to help this morning!'
Claire obliviously guides me over to one of her groups of inspectors, swatting away a mosquito hovering over her face in disgust. The group of inspectors were already fanning their faces, seething with regret for wearing fully tailored suit attire out to the jungle. They took no notice of me.
'Laura,' Claire says. 'I'd like you to meet one of our newest interns, Alex Anderson.'
A tall, lanky frame turns around to us at the sound of his name.
'He's going to be completing his veterinary study on African predators in your program. Seeing as IBRIS is the only project that works with closely intelligent carnivores on the island, Masrani has assigned him to this sector.'
Dark brown eyes blink back at me, an impressive head of jet black hair curled at the ends from Isla Nublar's humidity. He wore a buttoned blue bomber jacket and khaki trousers, a terrible combination for jungle's climate. He smiles, tiny lines crinkling around his eyes. He seemed far too enthusiastic for an early AM start.
'Alex,' Claire says. 'This is Laura Hoskins. She's the niece of our park's head of security and our deputy IBRIS specialist here at Jurassic World.'
Alex offers me a roughened, slightly clammy hand to shake, which I shook quickly. 'Nice to meet you,' he says, voice laced with dollops of tiredness like mine.
'Likewise,' I reply, offering him the same thin smile I'd given Claire.
The marketers collectively peer down at my bright green stegosaurus pyjama pants, but made no comment. Had the ground not been soft from morning dew, I would have happily kicked up a boot of dust to plaster onto their shoddy faces. Uncomfortable to be around people so very, very far from the environment around them, I cross my arms over my chest.
'I'd like you to treat his studies here with the utmost importance while he stays here,' Claire adds. 'He's not here to interact. Just document and observe.'
Like Claire, he also carried a tablet, and what seemed to be a folder full of papers and binders. He was fiddling for one tucked under his left arm, handing it to the man next to him. He also had a set of spreadsheets tucked under his arm, a calculator in hand. My stomach did a small jive. Masrani had also assigned marketers as inspectors.
'So, anyway...' Claire continues. The marketers began discussing the infrastructure of the compound whilst I was still standing with them. They drew up their tablets and turned suited backs away from me, mumbling and nodding in quiet agreement at Claire's words. 'Our last annual sector discussed potential for incorporating this arena into to the VIP tours, so I'd like to hear opinions on cutting back on the jeeps in order to install some overhead shade...'
'Claire?' I prompt sternly.
The quarrelling stops. She turns away from the group of marketers to look at me with disapproval.
'Laura,' she coaxes. 'I'm in the middle of a pitch.'
A pitch? There were many days where I could let it go; when Claire still spoke to me like I was a child who couldn't tell their feet from their hands. However, considering I was standing here, at the brink of dawn, in my ridiculous pyjamas, being ignored by total strangers in my work space, today was most certainly not one of those days.
'Can I speak with you? In private.'
The marketers look up from their conversation, lips pursed as they watch me uncomfortably. Embarrassed that I'd been hot headed in front of her colleagues, she dips her head with a forced smile. I guide us both towards the compound in the direction of the mapping room.
'What are you doing?' she hisses, still struggling to walk beside me in her ridiculous shoes.
'We need to talk.'
'And what is possibly more important than my marketers who fund your existence, Laura?'
I felt a colossal eye roll beckoning in my waterline as I open the door for Claire, the woman's hair flicking in my face as she brushes past me. What the hell were marketers even doing here for a safety inspection anyway? I slam the door shut behind me.
Claire crosses her arms, impatient. Childish almost. I took a breath before I started talking.
'Listen,' I start. 'This isn't some college, Claire. Okay? It's a training facility. Owen and I decide who's on the team.' I didn't even want to begin unpacking the comment about adding the arena as a stop on the VIP tours.
'Laura, this is not your facility. You do not own it. Masrani does. You are both specialists.'
'Correct. Meaning Masrani put Owen in charge, who then also put me in charge.'
Claire snorts an amused laugh, as though the thought of a young woman being in charge of such a high profile program was incredibly hilarious to ponder. Hypocritical at best, from her of all women.
'There are so many other programs, Claire,' I point out. 'Brachiosaurs Vet, Hatching Facilities, Control Room.'
'I'm afraid it's non-negotiable,' she replies.
Claire stays rooted to the spot, unfazed by me. She smiles down on me condescendingly through pallid lips, drawing her attention back to her tablet as she made her way to the door. I block her path.
The woman's eyes widen, so gravely insulted that I had dared to stand up to her. 'Excuse me!'
'This guy isn't coming into our program, Claire,' I state. 'He can't. And I'm not going to stand here and be told otherwise, especially by you.'
Claire's glossy mouth fell open, jolting her head back. 'I beg your pardon?!'
'You heard me. I'm part of being the boss when it comes to IBRIS. It's a classified operation, not a show and tell. It's not happening.'
Even though I was a full foot shorter than Claire in her heels and far less intimating in my bright green pyjamas, I wasn't wrong. I could feel my nostrils flaring as I stared her down. Claire's cheeks began to flush with anger underneath her blush, lips opening and closing like a broken garage door as she attempted to retaliate.
The door suddenly swung open, Owen stumbling into the mapping room. His eyes widened to see us standing a feet apart in mid-conversation. Even in the dim morning light, I could see his cheeks begin to tinge with pink. He swipes the rag draped over his shoulder aside and dusts his hands off.
'Everything okay?' he asks.
'No,' I reply, folding my arms across my chest. 'Your ex-girlfriend has just invited a college student on a field trip to stay with us and study the raptors.'
'Laura!' Claire roars.
Owen's puppy dog eyes melt away at the mention of his raptors, diverting his attention to Claire. 'Is this true?' he asks her.
Claire set her jaw, shoulders curling with anger. A Mercedes beeped from outside the compound.
'You oughta rethink that, Claire,' he tells her. 'We can't have some random kid just running around the arena untrained. No way.'
"It's only for a few days and it's on Masrani's orders," she replies irritably.
Owen shakes his head. 'I'll have a word to him then. Maybe we can send him to Sarah or Bertie or something, but he can't-'
'He can and he will be!' she bellows, her face now a deep shade of scarlet. 'Both of you are trained professionals. You will handle him accordingly, and both of you will treat Alex with the same amount of respect I show to you in any professional situation.'
Respect?! I scoff bitterly. 'You gotta be kidding me.'
'I don't kid, Laura. He starts with both of you tomorrow. You will do your best to make him feel welcome and allow him to make the most out of this opportunity for the benefit of his studies. Am I understood?'
I'd reached it. The point with her. I huff out yet another breath, stepping aside quietly to let her stride pass me. Owen and I share a look.
The redhead whips around to me, one pristine heel out the door. 'You've got a real attitude problem, you know that Laura?'