by Tess Sharpe
Tanya and I exchange looks. I shrug, because I don’t know what to do other than sit here and stare at the beakers, as ordered. Is Dr. Wu going to sit there? Does he just expect us to stay quiet the whole time?
“Can you tell us about any of the projects your team is working on?” Tanya asks, taking on the awkward silence for all of us.
“Much of our work is focused on preparing for the opening of the park,” Dr. Wu replies—the vaguest possible answer. He must notice Tanya’s disappointed look, because he sighs and relents a little. “Right now, my personal team is focused on building the necessary DNA strands to acclimate a Mosasaurus to the changes in the ocean since the Maastrichtian Age.”
“You found Mosasaurus DNA?” Tanya squeaks with excitement. “Was it extracted from the mosquitoes in amber? I know the theory is they never dove very deep in the water, but were they surfacing enough to get fed on by the mosquitoes? Or did you find different DNA sources?”
“We are exploring many source options,” Dr. Wu says, not quite answering her questions. I have a feeling that in his work, he has to sidestep so many questions that he’s become a master at it. “We got extraordinarily lucky with the Mosasaurus DNA, I will admit. But we still have a way to go before we can create a viable specimen.”
“That’s so cool,” Tanya says. “Amanda’s gonna freak when she finds out.”
“Definitely,” I agree.
The silence envelops us again, and I keep one eye on the thermometer, the other on Dr. Wu. Tanya shifts in her seat as the minutes tick by, and then finally, she blurts out, “Dr. Wu, are we supposed to just be quiet the whole time?”
He pauses for a moment before looking up and meeting her questioning gaze. I can’t tell if he’s annoyed or impressed by her gumption. But that’s Tanya for you.
“Feel free to talk among yourselves,” he says. “As long as it doesn’t distract you from the work at hand. I want temperatures confirmed every ninety seconds as protocol demands.”
“Got it,” Tanya says, relief in her eyes.
Eric doesn’t even look up from his camera. He’s moved on from footage of the valley to close-ups of some of the command center screens.
“I’ve been thinking about Pearl,” Tanya says to me.
“What about her?” I ask. I told Tanya what happened with Pearl and the Gyrosphere, and she was just as horrified as I was at the idea of Pearl being kept isolated, away from the valley.
“I’ve been trying to come up with solutions,” she says. “We’ve seen with Lovelace and music that the dinosaurs respond to different stimuli, right? So maybe the solution to Pearl’s playfulness is to find what mellows her.”
I think about it. “So we’re looking for the dinosaur version of anti-catnip?” I ask, and is it my imagination, or does Dr. Wu let out a soft chuckle?
“Actually, that’s not a bad idea,” Tanya says. “There are probably some plants that could have calming effects on her.”
“Like koalas, and how the eucalyptus leaves they eat make them sleep a lot?”
“That’s actually a myth,” Tanya says.
“Seriously?”
“Yeah. Turns out they’re sleepy all the time because eucalyptus is kind of toxic and they use up so much energy just to digest it. There are a lot of other plants that have sedative effects. But I’m not sure how we’d identify which ones would work…or if we could get Pearl to eat enough so she’d be calm but not keel over.”
She taps her capped pen against her mouth, frowning at the beaker in front of her as she goes over it in her head. “My gut says the medicinal approach is the wrong one. There are just too many variables that makes it unreliable in this situation.”
“So we’re back to behavioral modification and training,” I say. “Redirecting her attention.”
“The problem is that if an empty Gyrosphere is the trigger for her behavior, she needs a bunch of exposure therapy, basically, around it. But that might result in a bunch of smashed Gyrospheres before she gets the point. Those things can’t be cheap.”
“They are not,” Dr. Wu says.
“What do you think, Dr. Wu?” Tanya asks. “Pearl the Brachiosaurus keeps wanting to play with them. How do we get her to stop?”
“I am not a behaviorist,” Dr. Wu says.
“Well, neither are we,” Tanya says.
“Why don’t you take the question to your intern friends?” Dr. Wu asks, and for a second I wonder if he’s being sarcastic, but he seems serious. Maybe even a little interested in the Pearl problem. “Bouncing ideas off your colleagues can lead to fresh perspectives.”
“That’s a good idea,” Tanya says.
“For what it’s worth, Bertie is very good at her job,” Dr. Wu says. “And she is dedicated to the herbivores. It will take quite the fight to get her to make a choice that is wrong for them.”
“But what if it’s between what’s best for them and what’s best for the park?” I ask, and Dr. Wu’s lips tighten at the corners.
“This is the endeavor of many people’s life work, Claire,” he says, his voice serious. “And nothing will stop it now.”
I shiver, my mind flashing back to Wyatt’s phantom intern story just for a second, but before I can even think about the repercussions, Eric leans against the counter, his eyes fixed on the camera instead of where he’s putting his elbows. He bumps into a large stack of empty beakers and they teeter and tilt before crashing to the floor with a shattering sound that makes me jump.
Dr. Wu gets to his feet, a dangerous expression playing across his face. “All right. Time to go,” he says, or more like orders. “It’s almost lunch anyway. You two can return afterward. But you” —he points at Eric—“tell Mr. Masrani you’ve gotten enough footage.”
Red crawls along Eric’s cheeks. “Yes, Dr. Wu,” he mutters. “I’m sorry. I can help clean it—”
“I’ll have it taken care of,” Dr. Wu interrupts. “Just go.”
We skitter to obey, the three of us not breathing freely until we get through the maze of lab rooms and into the elevator.
“I thought he was going to explode,” Eric confesses, leaning against the elevator wall, his shoulders slumping. “Do you think Mr. Masrani will be mad?”
“Things get knocked over,” I assure him. “It happens. He knows that—that’s why he didn’t yell. He’s just a control freak, and we control freaks don’t like messes.”
“I should’ve looked where I was leaning,” Eric admits. “But I was thinking about how to edit together these long shots I got of Brachiosauruses at the watering hole last week, and the next thing I knew…”
“Don’t beat yourself up,” Tanya says gently. “The only person you need to impress is Mr. Masrani, and you know he’ll love all the footage you’ve got. He wouldn’t have chosen you for this job if he didn’t like your work.”
The elevator dings open and we walk out of the command center, joining Ronnie, who’s been shadowing some of the security guys who work up in the monitoring center on the top floor. We’ve got lunches in our jeep, and we take them out and eat on the steps of the command center before Eric heads back to his room and we girls return to the lab.
* * *
Dr. Wu is waiting for us at the elevator doors again when we get back downstairs. “Come along,” he says.
But instead of taking us back to our oh-so-scintillating assignment of temperature monitoring away from all the action, he makes a right at the end of the first group of labs. I raise my eyebrows at Tanya, who shrugs as we follow him down a narrow hallway. At the end, there’s a windowless steel door with the word RESTRICTED stamped across it. Dr. Wu steps in front of the retina scanner set in the wall beside it. A line of red light passes down his face, and then he punches a code into the keypad under the scanner.
The door swings open as a disembodied voice says, “Welcome, Dr. Wu.”
“Follow me,” he says, walking briskly down the all-white hall. The walls here are solid, not the glass walls of the lab, and the silence makes everything feel just a little spooky.
Dr. Wu comes to a stop in front of a set of double doors and turns to face us.
“Before we go inside,” he says, “I’m going to remind you two that you signed NDAs when you accepted your internships. What you see in the next room needs to be kept secret even from your fellow interns—including your brother, Ms. Skye—do you understand?” He fixes us both with a searing look.
My mouth’s dry with anticipation—just what is inside that room?—as Tanya and I affirm our understanding to the doctor.
“Very well,” Dr. Wu says. He presses his hand against the scanner, and the doors click open.
The room is cold. That’s the first thing I register as we step inside. Cold enough that I can see my breath in front of me, and it’s such a sudden change from the jungle’s oppressive humidity that’s filled our days. I close my eyes in relief for a moment.
And when I open them and see what’s in the room, I can’t look away.
“Is that…?” I ask, unable to believe it as Tanya and I draw forward.
“Yes,” Dr. Wu says, a proud smile spreading across his face. He walks over to the enormous nest, set on a low steel pedestal that has all sorts of wires and monitors hooked up to it. A glass dome is set over the nest—an incubator shield of some sort. I lean forward to peer inside, and it’s an unbelievable feeling to see the dozen large eggs tucked away in the twig and straw bedding.
“These are the very first hatchlings of the new era,” Dr. Wu says.
“I can’t believe this,” Tanya says. “These are Pteranodon eggs?”
Dr. Wu nods. He goes over to the lab table set in the back of the room and selects several bottles out of the cupboards set above it.
“What’s their gestation period?” Tanya asks, pushing her bangs out of her eyes as she leans forward to stare at the eggs in the incubator.
“Several months,” Dr. Wu says. “I’ve decided to give you an assignment.”
Those words are both exciting and kind of terrifying, because impressing this man is hard…and I know we’re both determined to do it.
“Today, I will be performing a procedure that involves using a microneedle to pierce the shell and the sac within.” He holds up a silver syringe with a long needle so fine I have to squint to make it out, even though he’s only a few feet away. “We do this in order to inject a cocktail of antibiotics and steroids directly into the developing embryo.”
I frown. In Izzie’s journal, she talked about a special mix of antibiotics and steroids that the Brachiosauruses were put on after their throat problems started. Is this the same thing? Does that mean other dinosaurs are getting sick too?
“Why risk the eggs so early?” Tanya asks. “Even with a microneedle, there’s a chance you might compromise the sac, right?”
“Correct,” Dr. Wu says.
“Okay, then why not wait until they’re hatched to administer the steroids and antibiotics?”
“It’s because of the throat infections, isn’t it?” I ask, and Dr. Wu looks at me, eyebrows raised.
“How did you know that?” he asks.
I flush. “One of the vets,” I lie, because I don’t want to show anyone Izzie’s notebook. “I asked how Olive got her scar. She said it was because of a surgery on her throat. Some sort of infection, right? Did any dinosaurs other than the Brachiosauruses have it?”
“It was a recurring problem in both the Brachiosauruses and the Triceratops after they were transported here,” Dr. Wu says. “Which is why we take these precautions now, even though they can be risky.”
“Did you figure out what was causing the infections?” I ask.
“No,” Dr. Wu says. “It doesn’t occur in all the dinosaurs, and we’ve been able to keep it at bay with medications in the ones who are vulnerable. And now, we treat it prenatally as a preemptive measure. But the cause of the infections is one of the many mysteries we have yet to solve about these creatures. There will always be more.”
“Did this ever happen during the original park’s time? Or at Isla Sorna?”
Dr. Wu’s eyes flicker. “No,” he says.
“So that suggests it’s environmental, specific to this region and time,” Tanya says, cluing in on my thinking.
“That would be my hypothesis,” I say.
“It’s not a bad one,” Dr. Wu says, and my mouth almost drops open because that’s a huge compliment from him. “But we’ve done extensive testing and can’t find any environmental source. Nor does it seem to be infectious or airborne.”
“That’s frustrating,” Tanya says.
“It is,” Dr. Wu acknowledges. “But a temporary solution has been found in the meantime. And the science will persist until a permanent one is discovered.”
There’s something so balanced about Dr. Wu’s words…and his world. He is in control, ruler of this tremendous domain of science and steel, keeper of the kind of knowledge and talent and brilliance most people can’t even dream of.
“Now, after the drugs have been administered to the embryos, they will need to be carefully monitored,” Dr. Wu explains. “That’s where you come in. Every morning, at seven a.m. sharp, you’ll report here for an hour to monitor the eggs. The scanners here do most of the work.” He gestures at the row of screens that take up most of back wall of the room. Each one displays a 3-D rendering of the egg and Pteranodon embryo. “But sometimes there are minute changes in sac pressure and weight that the scanners can’t catch, but dedicated interns can. Do you think you can be that dedicated?”
“Of course,” Tanya and I say at the same time.
“You can count on us,” Tanya assures him.
“And we’re very appreciative of the opportunity,” I add.
“Very well,” Dr. Wu says with a brisk nod. “Then be on time tomorrow morning, and we will go through the protocol and your duties. You’re dismissed for the day.”
Tanya and I manage to contain our glee as Dr. Wu escorts us back through the lab and to the elevator. But as soon as the doors close, my mouth drops open.
“Oh my God!” I say.
Tanya jumps up and down. “Pteranodon eggs!” she says—well, more like shrieks.
“Did you see how big they were?”
“Did you see the totally vivid, by-the-minute renderings on the monitors?”
“I can’t believe this,” I say. “He actually picked us! I thought we were pissing him off!”
“Me too!” Tanya says. “Way to go with the bronchial infection thing. That’s crazy. Which vet told you that?”
“Um, you know, I can’t remember. One of the guys. Dark hair? I’m bad with names.” I feel bad about lying, but I’m not ready to let anyone in on my secret weapon. Izzie, whoever she is, left her work behind for some reason. On purpose? Accidentally? The farther I read through her maze of a journal, the more questions I have about her and the mysterious infections she dealt with during her time here.
“Anyway, I didn’t impress him as much as you did,” I tell Tanya as the elevator opens into the lobby. The sun’s still high in the sky as we get in the jeep and begin the drive back to the hotel. “I wish I were as bold as you. You just kept asking him questions!”
We glide past Main Street and across the bridge, the water shimmering below us. In just the few weeks since we’ve arrived, the monorail track across the water has almost been completed. I wouldn’t be surprised if it was running before our time here is up. My stomach twinges at the thought of leaving, and I frown, trying to drive the feeling away.
“You’re bold,” Tanya says as she takes a right toward the hotel. “Justin told me how you faced down Oscar about Pearl.”
“I guess it’s easier when I
’m angry,” I admit, and Tanya laughs.
“Well, they do say redheads are supposed to have tempers,” she teases.
After dinner the next night, I’m sitting on my bed, finishing up my postcards to Karen and trying for the twentieth time to understand the map in Izzie’s notebook that has all the X’s on it, while Tanya video-chats with her family at the desk.
I can hear her little sister ask all sorts of questions about the dinosaurs, and I laugh when Tanya pretends to be a T. rex in front of the screen.
“Who’s that?”
“That’s Claire, my roommate!” Tanya says, tilting the screen toward me. Victory, Tanya and Eric’s little sister, looks like she’s about eight. Her hair is dark like the twins’, but it’s cropped close to her head in a pixie cut, a contrast to her pale skin. She’s super cute…like a frail little elf.
I wave at her. “Hi, Victory! You have a really cool name.”
Victory giggles. “Thank you. You have pretty hair.”
“So do you. I was just thinking that you look like a magical pixie.”
Tanya’s eyes go bright, and I wonder if I’ve said something wrong, but instead she says, “Okay, sweetie, I’ve gotta go. Tell Mom and Dad I’ll call them tomorrow to talk more. I love you! Mwuah, mwuah, mwuah!” She blows exaggerated kisses at the screen, which Victory imitates before signing off.
“You okay?” I ask, because Tanya’s jaw is tight.
“Yeah,” she says, in that way that tells me she totally isn’t. I hesitate, wondering if I should push. Maybe she just misses her family. I decide not to say anything when Tanya pastes a determined smile on her face. “She’s really sweet, isn’t she?”
“The sweetest,” I say. “I kind of always wanted a younger sibling. But I have my nephew. He’s a ton of fun.”
Tanya lies back against her mound of pillows. “I am really excited about tomorrow, but I’m not looking forward to waking up early,” she confesses.
“You’ll need all the tea and I’ll need all the coffee,” I say. “We’ll make it work.”
