Michael Crichton - Jurassic Park

John Arnold was a systems engineer who had worked on the Polaris submarine missile in the late 1960s, until he had his first child and the prospect of making weapons became too distasteful. Meanwhile, Disney had started to create amusement park rides of great technological sophistication, and they employed a lot of aerospace people. Arnold helped build Disney World in Orlando, and had gone on to implement major Parks at Magic Mountain in California, Old Country in Virginia, and Astroworld in Houston.

His continuous employment at parks had eventually given him a somewhat skewed view of reality. Arnold contended, only half jokingly, that the entire world was increasingly described by the metaphor of the theme park. "Paris is a theme park," he once announced, after a vacation, "although it's too expensive, and the park employees are unpleasant and sullen."

For the past two years, Arnold's job had been to get Jurassic Park up and running. As an engineer, he was accustomed to long time schedules-he often referred to "the September opening," by which he meant September of the following year-and as the September opening approached, he was unhappy with the progress that had been made. He knew from experience that it sometimes took years to work the bugs out of a single park ride-let alone get a whole park running properly.

"You're just a worrier," Hammond said.

"I don't think so," Arnold said. "You've got to realize that, from an engineering standpoint, Jurassic Park is by far the most ambitious theme park in history. Visitors will never think about it, but I do."

He ticked the points off on his fingers.

"First, Jurassic Park has all the problems of any amusement park-ride maintenance, queue control, transportation, food handling, living accommodations, trash disposal, security.

"Second, we have all the problems of a major zoo-care of the animals; health and welfare; feeding and cleanliness; protection from insects, pests, allergies, and illnesses- maintenance of barriers; and all the rest.

"And, finally, we have the unprecedented problems of caring for a population of animals that no one has ever tried to maintain before."

"Oh, it's not as bad as all that," Hammond said.

"Yes, it is. You're just not here to see it," Arnold said. "The tyrannosaurs drink the lagoon water and sometimes get sick; we aren't sure why. The triceratops females kill each other in fights for dominance and have to be separated into groups smaller than six. We don't know why. The stegosaurs frequently get blisters on their tongues and diarrhea, for reasons no one yet understands, even though we've lost two. Hypsilophodonts get skin rashes. And the veloctraptors-"

"Let's not start on the velociraptors," Hammond said. "I'm sick of hearing about the velociraptors. How they're the most vicious creatures anyone has ever seen."

"They are," Muldoon said, in a low voice. "They should all be destroyed."

"You wanted to fit them with radio collars," Hammond said. "And I agreed."

"Yes. And they promptly chewed the collars off. But even if the raptors never get free," Arnold said, "I think we have to accept that Jurassic Park is inherently hazardous."

"Oh balls, " Hammond said. "Whose side are you on, anyway?

"We now have fifteen species of extinct animals, and most of them are dangerous," Arnold said. "We've been forced to delay the jungle River Ride because of the dilophosaurs; and the Pteratops Lodge in the aviary, because the pterodactyls are so unpredictable. These aren't engineering delays, Mr. Hammond. They're problems with control of the animals."

"You've had plenty of engineering delays," Hammond said. "Don't blame it on the animals."

"Yes, we have. In fact, it's all we could do to get the main attraction, Park Drive, working correctly, to get the CD-ROMs inside the cars to be controlled by the motion sensors. It's taken weeks of adjustment to get that working properly-and now the electric gearshifts on the cars are acting up! The gearshifts!"

"Let's keep it in perspective," Hammond said. "You get the engineering correct and the animals will fall into place. After all, they're trainable."

From the beginning, this had been one of the core beliefs of the planners. The animals, however exotic, would fundamentally behave like animals in zoos anywhere. They would learn the regularities of their care, and they would respond.

"Meanwhile, how's the computer?" Hammond said. He glanced at Dennis Nedry, who was working at a terminal in the corner of the room. "This damn computer has always been a headache."

"We're getting there," Nedry said.

"If you had done it right in the first place," Hammond began, but Arnold put a restraining band on his arm. Arnold knew there was no point in antagonizing Nedry while he was working.

"It's a large system," Arnold said. "There are bound to be glitches."

In fact, the bug list now ran to more than 130 items, and included many odd aspects. For example:

The animal-feeding program reset itself every twelve hours, not every twenty-four hours, and would not record feedings on Sundays. As a result, the staff could not accurately measure how much the animals were eating.

The security system, which controlled all the security-card-operated doors, cut out whenever main power was lost, and did not come back on with auxiliary power. The security Program only ran with main power.

The physical conservation program, intended to dim lights after 10:00 p.m., only worked on alternate days of the week.

The automated fecal analysis (called Auto Poop), designed to check for parasites in the animal stools, invariably recorded all specimens as having the parasite Phagostomum venulosum, although none did. The program then automatically dispensed medication into the animals' food. If the handlers dumped the medicine out of the hoppers to prevent its being dispensed, an alarm sounded which could not be turned off.

And so it went, page after page of errors.

When he had arrived, Dennis Nedry had been under the impression that he could make all the fixes himself over the weekend. He had paled when he saw the full listing. Now he was calling his office in Cambridge, telling his staff programmers they were going to have to cancel their weekend plans and work overtime until Monday. And he had told John Arnold that he would need to use every telephone link between Isla Nublar and the mainland just to transfer program data back and forth to his programmers.

While Nedry worked, Arnold punched up a new window in his own monitor. It allowed him to see what Nedry was doing at the corner console. Not that he didn't trust Nedry. But Arnold just liked to know what was going on.

He looked at the graphics display on his right-hand console, which showed the progress of the electric Land Cruisers. They were following the river, just north of the aviary, and the ornithischian paddock.

"If you look to your left," said the voice, "you will see the dome of the Jurassic Park aviary, which is not yet finished for visitors." Tim saw sunlight glinting off aluminum struts in the distance. "And directly below is our Mesozoic jungle river-where, if you are lucky, you just may catch a glimpse of a very rare carnivore. Keep your eyes peeled, everyone!"

Inside the Land Cruiser, the screens showed a bird-like head topped with a flaming red crest. But everyone in Tim's car was looking out the windows. The car was driving along a high ridge, overlooking a fast-moving river below. The river was almost enclosed by dense foliage on both sides.

"There they are now," said the voice. "The animals you see are called dilophosaurs."

Despite what the recording said, Tim saw only one. The dilophosaur crouched on its hind legs by the river, drinking. It was built on the basic carnivore pattern, with a heavy tail, strong hind limbs, and a long neck. Its ten-foot-tall body was spotted yellow and black, like a leopard.