But he was going slowly. He knew the animal could see well, but the grille of the catwalk, the unfamiliar mechanical odors had made it cautious. That caution was his only chance, Arnold thought. If he could get to the stairs, and then move down to the floor below…
Because he was pretty sure velociraptors couldn't climb stairs. Certainly not narrow, steep stairs.
Arnold glanced over his shoulder. The stairs were just a few feet away. Another few steps…
He was there! Reaching back, he felt the railing, started scrambling down the almost vertical steps. His feet touched flat concrete. The raptor snarled in frustration, twenty feet above him on the catwalk.
"Too bad, buddy," Arnold said. He turned away. He was now very close to the auxiliary generator. Just a few more steps and he would see it, even in this dim light…
There was a dull thump behind him.
Arnold turned.
The raptor was standing there on the concrete floor, snarling.
It had jumped down.
He looked quickly for a weapon, but suddenly he found he was slammed onto his back on the concrete. Something heavy was pressing on his chest, it was impossible to breathe, and he realized the animal was standing on top of him, and he felt the big claws digging into the flesh of his chest, and smelled the foul breath from the head moving above him, and he opened his mouth to scream.
Ellie held the radio in her hands, listening. Two more Tican workmen had arrived at the lodge; they seemed to know it was safe here. But there had been no others in the last few Minutes. And it sounded quieter outside. Over the radio, Muldoon said, "How long has it been?"
Wu said, "Four, five minutes."
"Arnold should have done it by now," Muldoon said. "If he's going to. You got any ideas?"
"No," Wu said.
"We heard from Gennaro?"
Gennaro pressed the button. "I'm here."
"Where the hell are you?" Muldoon said.
"I'm going to the maintenance building," Gennaro said. "Wish me luck."
Gennaro crouched in the foliage, listening.
Directly ahead he saw the planted pathway, leading toward the visitor center. Gennaro knew the maintenance shed was somewhere to the east. He heard the chirping of birds in the trees. A soft mist was blowing. One of the raptors roared, but it was some distance away. It sounded off to his right. Gennaro set out, leaving the path, plunging into the foliage.
Like to live dangerously?
Not really.
It was true, he didn't. But Gennaro thought he had a plan, or at least a possibility that might work. If he stayed north of the main complex of buildings, he could approach the maintenance shed from the rear. All the raptors were probably around the other buildings, to the south. There was no reason for them to be in the jungle.
At least, he hoped not.
He moved as quietly as he could, unhappily aware he was making a lot of noise. He forced himself to slow his pace, feeling his heart pound. The foliage here was very dense; he couldn't see more than six or seven feet ahead of him. He began to worry that he'd miss the maintenance shed entirely. But then he saw the roof to his right, above the palms.
He moved toward it, went around the side. He found the door, opened it, and slipped inside. It was very dark. He stumbled over something.
A man's shoe.
Gennaro frowned. He propped the door wide open and continued deeper into the building. He saw a catwalk directly ahead of him. Suddenly he realized he didn't know where to go. And he had left his radio behind.
Damn!
There might be a radio somewhere in the maintenance building. Or else he'd just look for the generator. He knew what a generator looked like. Probably it was somewhere down on the lower floor. He found a staircase leading down.
It was darker below, and it was difficult to see anything. He felt his way along among the pipes, holding his bands out to keep from banging his head.
He heard an animal snarl, and froze. He listened, but the sound did not come again. He moved forward cautiously. Something dripped on his shoulder, and his bare arm. It was warm, like water. He touched it in the darkness.
Sticky. He smelled it.
Blood.
He looked up. The raptor was perched on pipes, just a few feet above his head. Blood was trickling from its claws. With an odd sense of detachment, he wondered if it was injured. And then he began to run, but the raptor jumped onto his back, pushing him to the ground.
Gennaro was strong; he heaved up, knocking the raptor away, and rolled off across the concrete. When he turned back, he saw that the raptor had fallen on its side, where it lay panting.
Yes, it was injured. Its leg was hurt, for some reason.
Kill it
Gennaro scrambled to his feet, looking for a weapon. The raptor was still panting on the concrete. He looked frantically for sometbing-anything-to use as a weapon. When he turned back, the raptor was gone.
It snarled, the sound echoing in the darkness.
Gennaro turned in a full circle, feeling with his outstretched hands. And then he felt a sharp pain in his right hand.
Teeth.
It was biting him.
The raptor jerked his head, and Donald Gennaro was yanked off his feet, and he fell.
Lying in bed, soaked in sweat, Malcolm listened as the radio crackled. "Anything?" Muldoon said. "You getting anything?"
"No word," Wu said.
"Hell," Muldoon said,
There was a pause.
Malcolm sighed. "I can't wait," he said, "to hear his new plan."
"What I would like," Muldoon said, "is to get everybody to the lodge and regroup. But I don't see how."
"There's a Jeep in front of the visitor center," Wu said. "If I drove over to you, could you get yourself into it?"
"Maybe. But you'd be abandoning the control room."
"I can't do anything here anyway."
"God knows that's true," Malcolm said. "A control room without electricity is not much of a control room."
"All right," Muldoon said. "Let's try. This isn't looking good."
Lying in his bed, Malcolm said, "No, it's not looking good. It's looking like a disaster."
Wu said, "The raptors are going to follow us over there."
"We're still better off," Malcolm said. "Let's go."
The radio clicked off. Malcolm closed his eyes, and breathed slowly, marshaling his strength.
"Just relax," Ellie said. "Just take it easy."
"You know what we are really talking about here," Malcolm said. "All this attempt to control… We are talking about Western attitudes that are five hundred years old. They began at the time when Florence, Italy, was the most important city in the world. The basic idea of science-that there was a new way to look at reality, that it was objective, that it did not depend on your beliefs or your nationality, that it was rational-that idea was fresh and exciting back then. It offered promise and hope for the future, and it swept away the old medieval system, which was hundreds of years old. The medieval world of feudal politics and religious dogma and hateful superstitions fell before science. But, in truth, this was because the medieval world didn't really work any more. It didn't work economically, it didn't work intellectually, and it didn't fit the new world that was emerging.
Malcolm coughed.
"But now," he continued, "science is the belief system that is hundreds of years old. And, like the medieval system before it, science is starting not to fit the world any more. Science has attained so much power that its practical limits begin to be apparent. Largely through science, billions of us live in one small world, densely packed and intercommunicating. But science cannot help us decide what to do with that world, or how to live. Science can make a nuclear reactor, but it cannot tell us not to build it. Science can make pesticide, but cannot tell us not to use it. And our world starts to seem polluted in fundamental ways-air, and water, and land-because of ungovernable science." He sighed. "This much is obvious to everyone."
There was a silence. Malcolm lay with his eyes closed, his breathing labored. No one spoke, and it seemed to Ellie that Malcolm had finally fallen asleep. Then he sat up again, abruptly.
"At the same time, the great intellectual justification of science has vanished. Ever since Newton and Descartes, science has explicitly offered us the vision of total control. Science has claimed the power to eventually control everything, through its understanding of natural laws. But in the twentieth century, that claim has been shattered beyond repair. First, Heisenberg's uncertainty principle set limits on what we could know about the subatomic world. Oh well, we say. None of us lives in a subatomic world. It doesn't make any practical difference as we go through our lives. Then Godel's theorem set similar limits to mathematics, the formal language of science. Mathematicians used to think that their language had some special inherent trueness that derived from the laws of logic. Now we know that what we call 'reason' is just an arbitrary game. It's not special, in the way we thought it was.