"There are no true adults," Malcolm said. "Those animals we see are very large by our standards. But in fact, none of them has attained full adult size. I find that perplexing."
"Do you? It doesn't trouble me in the least," Levine said. "Unquestionably, it is simply because they haven't had enough time to reach maturity. I'm sure apatosaurs grow more slowly than the other dinosaurs. After all, large mammals like elephants grow more slowly than small ones.
Malcolm shook his head. "That's not the explanation," he said.
"Oh? Then what?"
"Keep looking," Malcolm said, pointing out over the plain. "It's really rather obvious."
The kids giggled.
Levine gave a little shiver of displeasure. "What is obvious to me," he said, "is that none of the species appear to have attained full adulthood. The triceratops, the apatosaurs, even the parasaurs are a bit smaller than one would expect. This argues for a consistent factor: some element of diet, the effects of confinement on a small island, perhaps even the way they were engineered. But I don't consider it particularly remarkable or worrisome."
"Maybe you're right," Malcolm said. "And then again, maybe you're not."
Puerto Cortes
"No flights?" Sarah Harding said. "What do you mean, there are no flights?" It was eleven o'clock in the morning. Harding had been flying for the last fifteen hours, much of it spent on a U.S. military transport that she'd caught from Nairobi to Dallas. She was exhausted. Her skin felt grimy; she needed a shower and a change of clothes. Instead she found herself arguing with this very stubborn official in a ratty little town on the west coast of Costa Rica. Outside, the fain had stopped, but the sky was still gray, with low-hanging clouds over the deserted airfield.
"I am sorry," Rodriguez said. "No flights can be arranged."
"But what about the helicopter that took the men earlier?"
"There is a helicopter, yes."
"Where is it?"
"The helicopter is not here."
"I can see that. But where is it?"
Rodriguez spread his hands. "It has gone to San Cristobal."
"When will it be back?"
"I do not know. I think tomorrow, or perhaps the day after."
"Senor Rodriguez," she said firmly, "I must get to that island today."
"I understand your wish," Rodriguez said. "But I cannot do anything to help this."
"What do you suggest?"
Rodriguez shrugged. "I could not make a suggestion."
"Is there a boat that will take me?"
"I do not know of a boat."
"This is a harbor," Harding said. She pointed out the window. "I see all sorts of boats out there."
"I know. But I do not believe one will go to the islands. The weather is not so favorable."
"But if I were to go down to - "
"Yes, of course." Rodriguez sighed. "Of course you may ask."
Which was how she found herself, shortly after eleven o'clock on a rainy morning, walking down the rickety wooden dock, with her backpack on her shoulder. Four boats were tied up to the dock, which smelled strongly of fish. But all the boats seemed to be deserted. All the activity was at the far end of the dock, where a much larger boat was tied up. Beside the boat, a red Jeep Wrangler was being strapped for loading, along with several large steel drums and wooden crates of supplies. She admired the car in passing; it had been specially modified, enlarged to the size of the Land Rover Defender, the most desirable of all field vehicles. Changing this Jeep must have been an expensive alteration, she thought: only for researchers with lots of money.
Standing on the dock, a pair of Americans in wide-brimmed sun hats were shouting and pointing as the Jeep lifted lopsidedly into the air, and was swung onto the deck of the boat with an ancient crane. She heard one of the men shout "Careful! Careful!" as the Jeep thudded down hard on the wooden deck. "Damn it, be careful!" Several workmen began to carry the boxes onto the ship. The crane swung back to pick up the steel drums.
Harding went over to the nearest man and said politely, "Excuse me, but I wonder if you could help me."
The man glanced at her. He was medium height, with reddish skin and bland features; he looked awkward in new khaki safari clothes. His manner was preoccupied and tense. "I'm busy now," he said, and turned away. "Manuel! Watch it, that's sensitive equipment!"
"I'm sorry to bother you," she continued, "but my name is Sarah Harding, and I'm trying - "
"I don't care if you're Sarah Bernhardt, the - Manuel! Damn it!" The man waved his arms. "You there! Yes, you! Hold that box upright!"
"I'm trying to get to Isla Sorna," she said, finishing.
At this, the man's entire demeanor changed. He turned back to her slowly. "Isla Sorna?" he said. "You're not associated with Dr. Levine by any chance, are you?"
"Yes, I am."