"I don't really see why this is worrying you," Grant said. He yawned. He smelled the sulfur fumes of the volcanic steam. They were coming now to the section of road that ran near the coastline, overlooking the beach and the ocean.

"It's a way of looking at things," Malcolm said. "Mandelbrot found a sameness from the smallest to the largest. And this sameness of scale also occurs for events."

"Events?"

"Consider cotton prices," Malcolm said. "There are good records of cotton prices going back more than a hundred years. When you study fluctuations in cotton prices, you find that the graph of price fluctuations in the course of a day looks basically like the graph for a week, which looks basically like the graph for a year, or for ten years. And that's how things are. A day is like a whole life. You start out doing one thing, but end up doing something else, plan to run an errand, but never get there… And at the end of your life, your whole existence has that same haphazard quality, too. Your whole life has the same shape as a single day."

"I guess it's one way to look at things," Grant said.

"No," Malcolm said. "It's the only way to look at things. At least, the only way that is true to reality. You see, the fractal idea of sameness carries within it an aspect of recursion, a kind of doubling back on itself, which means that events are unpredictable. That they can change suddenly, and without warning."

"Okay…"

"But we have soothed ourselves into imagining sudden change as something that happens outside the normal order of things. An accident, like a car crash. Or beyond our control, like a fatal illness. We do not conceive of sudden, radical, irrational change as built into the very fabric of existence. Yet it is. And chaos theory teaches us," Malcolm said, "that straight linearity, which we have come to take for granted in everything from physics to fiction, simply does not exist. Linearity is an artificial way of viewing the world. Real life isn't a series of interconnected events occurring one after another like beads strung on a necklace. Life is actually a series of encounters in which one event may change those that follow in a wholly unpredictable, even devastating way." Malcolm sat back in his seat, looking toward the other Land Cruiser, a few yards ahead. "That's a deep truth about the structure of our universe. But, for some reason, we insist on behaving as if it were not true."

At that moment, the cars jolted to a stop, "What's happened?" Grant said.

Up ahead, they saw the kids in the car, pointing toward the ocean. Offshore, beneath lowering clouds, Grant saw the dark outline of the supply boat making its way back toward Puntarenas.

"Why have we stopped?" Malcolm said.

Grant turned on the radio and heard the girl saying excitedly, "Look there, Timmy! You see it, it's there!"

Malcolm squinted at the boat. "They talking about the boat?"

"Apparently."

Ed Regis climbed out of the front car and came running back to their window. "I'm sorry," he said, "but the kids are all worked up. Do you have binoculars here?"

"For what?"

"The little girl says she sees something on the boat. Some kind of animal," Regis said.

Grant grabbed the binoculars and rested his elbows on the window ledge of the Land Cruiser. He scanned the long shape of the supply ship. It was so dark it was almost a silhouette; as he watched, the ship's running lights came on, brilliant in the dark purple twilight.

"Do you see anything?" Regis said.

"No," Grant said.

"They're low down," Lex said, over the radio. "Look low down."

Grant tilted the binoculars down, scanning the bull just above the waterline. The supply ship was broad-beamed, with a splash flange that ran the length of the ship. But it was quite dark now, and he could hardly make out details.

"No, nothing…"

"I can see them," Lex said impatiently. "Near the back. Look near the back! "

"How can she see anything in this light?" Malcolm said.

"Kids can see," Grant said. "They've got visual acuity we forgot we ever had."

He swung the binoculars toward the stern, moving them slowly, and suddenly he saw the animals. They were playing, darting among the silhouetted stern structures. He could see them only briefly, but even in the fading light he could tell that they were upright animals, about two feet tall, standing with stiff balancing tails.

"You see them now?" Lex said.

"I see them," he said.

"What are they?"

"They're raptors," Grant said, "At least two. Maybe more. Juveniles."

"Jesus, " Ed Regis said. "That boat's going to the mainland."

Malcolm shrugged. "Don't get excited. Just call the control room and tell them to recall the boat."

Ed Regis reached in and grabbed the radio from the dashboard. They heard hissing static, and clicks as he rapidly changed channels. "There's something wrong with this one," he said. "It's not working."

He ran off to the first Land Cruiser. They saw him duck into it. Then he looked back at them. "There's something wrong with both the radios," he said. "I can't raise the control room."

"Then let's get going," Grant said.

In the control room, Muldoon stood before the big windows that overlooked the park. At seven o'clock, the quartz floodlights came on all over the island, turning the landscape into a glowing jewel stretching away to the south. This was his favorite moment of the day. He heard the crackle of static from the radios.

"The Land Cruisers have started again," Arnold said. "They're on their way home."

"But why did they stop?" Hammond said. "And why can't we talk to them?"

"I don't know," Arnold said. "Maybe they turned off the radios in the cars.

"Probably the storm," Muldoon said. "Interference from the storm."

"They'll be here in twenty minutes," Hammond said. "You better call down and make sure the dining room is ready for them. Those kids are going to be hungry."

Arnold picked up the phone and heard a steady monotonous hiss. "What's this? What's going on?"

"Jesus, hang that up," Nedry said. "You'll screw up the data stream."

"You've taken all the phone lines? Even the internal ones?"

"I've taken all the lines that communicate outside," Nedry said. "But your internal lines should still work."

Arnold punched console buttons one after another. He heard nothing but hissing on all the lines.

"Looks like you've got 'em all."

"Sorry about that," Nedry said. "I'll clear a couple for you at the end of the next transmission, in about fifteen minutes." He yawned. "Looks like a long weekend for me. I guess I'll go get that Coke now." He picked up his shoulder bag and headed for the door. "Don't touch my console, okay?"

The door closed.

"What a slob," Hammond said.

"Yeah," Arnold said. "But I guess he knows what he's doing."

Along the side of the road, clouds of volcanic steam misted rainbows in the bright quartz lights. Grant said into the radio, "How long does it take the ship to reach the mainland?"

"Eighteen hours," Ed Regis said. "More or less. It's pretty reliable." He glanced at his watch. "It should arrive around eleven tomorrow morning."

Grant frowned. "You still can't talk to the control room?"

"Not so far."

"How about Harding? Can you reach him?"

"No, I've tried. He may have his radio turned off."

Malcolm was shaking his head. "So we're the only ones who know about the animals on the ship."

"I'm trying to raise somebody," Ed Regis said. "I mean, Christ, we don't want those animals on the mainland."

"How long until we get back to the base?"

"From here, another sixteen, seventeen minutes," Ed Regis said.

At night, the whole road was illuminated by big floodlights. It felt to Grant as if they were driving through a bright green tunnel of leaves. Large raindrops spattered the windshield.

Grant felt the Land Cruiser slow, then stop. "Now what?"

Lex said, "I don't want to stop. Why did we stop?"

And then, suddenly, all the floodlights went out. The road was plunged into darkness, Lex said, "Hey!"

"Probably just a power outage or something," Ed Regis said. "I'm sure the lights'll be on in a minute."

"What the hell?" Arnold said, staring at his monitors.

"What happened?" Muldoon said. "You lose power?"

"Yeah, but only power on the perimeter. Everything in this building's working fine. But outside, in the park, the power is gone. Lights, TV cameras, everything." His remote video monitors had gone black.

"What about the two Land Cruisers?"

"Stopped somewhere around the tyrannosaur paddock."

"Well," Muldoon said, "call Maintenance and let's get the power back on.

Arnold picked up one of his phones and heard hissing: Nedry's computers talking to each other. "No phones. That damn Nedry. Nedry! Where the hell is he?"

Dennis Nedry pushed open the door marked FERTILIZATION, With the perimeter power out, all the security-card locks were disarmed. Every door in the building opened with a touch.

The problems with the security system were high on Jurassic Park's bug list. Nedry wondered if anybody ever imagined that it wasn't a bug-tbat Nedry had programmed it that way. He had built in a classic trap door. Few programmers of large computer systems could resist the temptation to leave themselves a secret entrance. Partly it was common sense: if inept users locked up the system-and then called you for help-you always had a way to get in and repair the mess. And partly it was a kind of signature: Kilroy was here.

And partly it was insurance for the future. Nedry was annoyed with the Jurassic Park project; late in the schedule, InGen had demanded extensive modifications to the system but hadn't been willing to pay for them, arguing they should be included under the original contract. Lawsuits were threatened; letters were written to Nedry's other clients, implying that Nedry was unreliable. It was blackmail, and in the end Nedry had been forced to eat his overages on Jurassic Park and to make the changes that Hammond wanted.