They continued down the corridor.
"You see," Malcolm said, "visitors to Hammond's park at Isla Nublar were shown a very impressive genetics lab, with computers and gene sequencers, and all sorts of facilities for hatching and growing young dinosaurs. Visitors were told that the dinosaurs were created right there at the park. And the laboratory tour was entirely convincing.
"But actually, Hammond's tour skipped several steps in the process In one room, he showed you dinosaur DNA being extracted. In the next room, he showed you eggs about to hatch. It was very dramatic, but how had he gotten from DNA to a viable embryo? You never saw that critical step. It was just presented as having happened, between rooms.
"The fact was, Hammond's whole show was too good to be true. For example, he had a hatchery where the little dinosaurs pecked their way out of the eggs, while you watched in amazement. But there were never any problems in the hatchery. No stillbirths, no deformities, no difficulties of any sort. In Hammond's presentation, this dazzling technology was carried off without a hitch.
"And if you think about it, it couldn't possibly be true. Hammond was claiming to manufacture extinct animals using cutting-edge technology. But with any new manufacturing technology, initial yields are low: on the order of one percent or less. So in fact, Hammond must have been growing thousands of dinosaur embryos to get a single live birth. That implied a giant industrial operation, not the spotless little laboratory we were shown."
"You mean this place," Thorne said.
"Yes. Here, on another island, in secret, away from public scrutiny, Hammond was free to do his research, and deal with the unpleasant truth behind his beautiful little park. Hammond's little genetic zoo was a showcase. But this island was the real thing. This is where the dinosaurs were made."
"If the animals at the zoo were destroyed," Eddie said, "how come they weren't destroyed on this island, too?"
"A critical question," Malcolm said. "We should know the answer in a few minutes." He shone his light down the tunnel; it glinted off glass walls. "Because, if I am not mistaken," he said, "the first of the manufacturing bays is just ahead."
Arby
Arby awoke, sitting upright in bed, blinking his eyes in the Morning light that streamed in through the trailer windows. In the next bunk, Kelly was still asleep, snoring loudly.
He looked out the window at the entrance to the big building, and s aw that the adults were gone. The Explorer was standing by the entrance, but there was no one inside the car. Their trailer sat isolated 'n the clearing of tall grass. Arby felt entirely alone - frighteningly alone and a sudden sense of panic made his heart pound. He never should have come here, he thought. The whole idea was stupid. And Worst Of all, it had been his plan. The way they had huddled together in the trailer, and then had gone back to Thorne's office. And Kelly had talked to Thorne, so that Arby could steal the key. The way he had set up a delayed radio message to be transmitted to Thorne so that Thorne would think they were still in Woodside. Arby had felt very clever at the time, but now he regretted it all. He decided that he had to call Thorne immediately. He had to turn himself in. He was filled with an overwhelming desire to confess.
He needed to hear somebody's voice. That was the truth.
He walked from the back of the trailer, where Kelly was sleeping, to the front, and turned on the ignition key in the dashboard. He picked up the radio handset and said, "This is Arby. Is anybody there? Over. This is Arby."
But nobody answered. After a moment, he looked at the dashboard systems monitor, which registered all the systems that were operative. He didn't see anything about communications. It occurred to him that the communications system was probably hooked into the computer. He decided to turn the computer on.
So he went back to the middle of the trailer, unstrapped the keyboard, plugged it in, and turned the computer on. There was a menu screen that said "Thorne Field Systems" and underneath that a listing of subsystems inside the trailer. One of them was radio communications. So he clicked on that, and turned it on.
The computer screen showed a scrambled hash of static. At the bottom was a command line that read: "Multiple Frequency Inputs Received. Do you want to Autotune?"
Arby didn't know what that meant, but he was fearless around computers. Autotune sounded interesting. Without hesitation, he typed "Yes."
The static scramble remained on the screen, while numbers rolled at the bottom. He guessed he was seeing frequencies in megahertz. But he didn't really know.
And then, suddenly, the screen went blank, except for a single flashing word in the upper-left corner:
LOGIN:
He paused, frowning. That was odd. Apparently he was required to log into the trailer's computer system. That meant he would need a password. He tried: THORNE.
Nothing happened.
He waited a moment, then tried Thorne's initials: JT.
Nothing.