Epilogue

Consequences

...

Truth is incontrovertible.

Ignorance can deride it,
panic may resent it,
malice may destroy it,
but there it is.

Sir Winston Churchill

...

Jenny Lewis and Adrian Bettany took their positions on the stage. Standing and sitting before them were one hundred reporters and cameramen, who immediately jostled to get close to the stage as soon as the speakers appeared. Jenny and Adrian were alone on stage with no one to support them. They stood facing the crowd, two feet apart from each other. They both had a microphone stand in front of them. Jenny's was a few inches too high for her.

"Here, I'll get that," Adrian offered. He repositioned it so that it leaned towards her mouth.

"Thank you," she said. They then turned towards the reporters, who were already throwing varied questions in their direction.

Before they took any questions, they were going to explain what had 'happened' that fateful week.

"Could I have a little quiet for a second?" Adrian asked. He was a tall man, maybe six foot three or four, and had short, strawberry-blonde hair. He was the man who the US government had hired to help Jenny formulate the story. The reporters calmed down just enough to satisfy him. "Thank you. I would like to begin by explaining what actually happened. I believe it's quickly becoming known as the 'BioSyn Incident'. Around thirty years ago, a company called InGen was doing experiments, trying to… well, bring back dinosaurs, to put it simply. Of course, it never worked. The DNA they were trying to clone from was too decomposed, and they couldn't make it work. But the rumour persisted that they'd succeeded, and soon enough, another company called BioSyn tried to repeat the achievement. They soon found that it was impossible, but by then they'd already poured millions of dollars into creating a park to house the creatures. So, they decided to trick people into thinking that they had succeeded. They created some very lifelike models of prehistoric creatures, and filled the park with them. Then they sourced out a highly volatile hallucinogenic substance from an illegal producer with connections to terrorist activity." Jenny held up a vial of water, tinted blue. "They pumped this hallucinogen into the air, the water, even the food. It made people think the dinosaurs were real. But the hallucinogen was too strong; it drove the visitors insane. Soon they became violent, and during the night a riot erupted, resulting in the deaths of many of the staff-members, the visitors themselves, and the management, including Howard Rossiter himself. The National Guard had to be called in to restore order. Meanwhile, some of the visitors attacked the lab, resulting in the spillage of a large quantity of hallucinogen, which contaminated the local water supply, giving part of the population of Miami the same effect. Hence the myth of a 'battle of Miami beach'. Eventually, order was restored, but not until great destruction and devastation had been caused to Miami. For most of the victims of the hallucinogen, its effects proved fatal within twenty-four hours. Any questions?"

Noise erupted once again, and several questions were fired at Adrian and Jenny. Adrian eventually pinpointed one. "Yes you, in the blue tie."

The short, stout, balding man in a pinstripe suit and blue tie held his microphone towards Adrian. "How could you know all about the history of BioSyn? Do you have an informant?"

"Several, actually," Adrian answered. "Although only one of them stepped forward before the incident, a few others, whose identities are highly confidential, stepped forward afterwards."

Another reporter butted in. She was short, thin, and black-haired. "Surely they're facing criminal prosecution for their part in the disaster?"

"Their legal status is still being worked out at current." Adrian smiled. "Another question?"

A tall man with red hair was chosen. "How do you explain the video evidence for actual prehistoric and futuristic creatures? The hallucinogen wouldn't explain that."

Adrian fielded the question. "Several of BioSyn's models were animatronic, and remote-controlled. Once the hallucinating victims seized the controls from the staff, many of them used the animatronics to spread fear and panic. Hence, some evidence came up on camera."

Another reporter. "Who was this terrorist organization?"

"Their name was BlackSun. They were a part-time mercenary group, whose services were employed by BioSyn as security. They had access to illegal weapon concepts, some of which landed in BioSyn's hands. The body has been disbanded."

Another reporter. This one was looking to Jenny. "What sort of compensation are the victims' families going to receive?"

Adrian jumped in. "A compensation scheme is-"

The reporter interrupted. "Actually, I was asking Miss Lewis."

Adrian stood his ground. "Miss Lewis will-"

"It's OK Mister Bettany," Jenny said, "I'll take this one." She looked back to the crowd. "A compensation scheme is being set up in aid of the families of those who lost their lives, whether the family member was a visitor, or… in the armed forces. BioSyn has been disbanded, and its funds were put directly into the scheme."

...

Once the press conference was over, Adrian and Jenny disappeared through a curtain and into a side corridor. As they put their coats on, Adrian spoke up. "I think we did alright."

"Mm," Jenny replied. She didn't look back to him.

"So, what's now, back to dinosaur-hunting for you?"

Jenny buttoned up her coat. "Yes. Of course." She walked away and didn't look back.

XXXX

Douglas Ketterman took a seat on the comfortable armchair, and waited for the reporter to arrive. It was midday, and the sun shone brightly in through the large windows. The interview centre was in a high-rise block in the middle of Orlando. The day was hot and humid. Ketterman had shaved that morning, and wore a casual outfit of a light shirt and jeans.

The reporter finally entered the room. "Sorry about that, it's been hectic recently." He took his seat in an armchair opposite. He had dark brown hair with a fringe that spiked slightly at the front. He wore horn-rimmed glasses, and a casual outfit similar to Ketterman's. "Hi, I'm Theodore Ingvarsson." He outstretched a hand.

Ketterman prepared his best Glaswegian accent. "David McDonald," Ketterman replied with a smile, outstretching his hand.

Ingvarsson took out a tape-recorder, a notepad and a pen from his bag. He placed the recorder on the chair-side glass table, and set it playing. The pressure was on now. Ketterman loved it. Ingvarsson put his notepad on his lap, and started the interview. "Reporter Theodore Ingvarsson with BioSyn Incident survivor David McDonald. I'd like to start, Mister McDonald, by asking how you came to be in the park."

"Well, a friend and I were staying in Tallahassee. The friend was in WalMart one day, and got the ticket. Now, he knew that I'd taken a shine to the park, so he gave me it. I couldn'e get to the park t'e near bedtime, so I didn'e get a full dose of the… hallucinogenic substance, aye." This had to be offensive to someone. "I was in me bed when everything was going wrong, and the Guard rescued me. I was one of the few survivors."

Ingvarsson had been writing all this down. "So, did you see the creatures, then?"

"Aye. It was dark, but I could still make them out. Wi'out the drugs, I could see they weren't real. Never believed it. And I suppose I was right."

...

After the interview, Ketterman was escorted to a military base just outside Orlando. He was locked in handcuffs for the duration of the journey. He was taken on foot to a small room, underground, below the base. Here, he was greeted by a tall, bald man in his late forties, wearing the standard apparel for a high-ranking officer in the US army. This was Colonel Hopper, the man Ketterman had spied on just over a week earlier. He was flanked by two security guards on either side, and behind him was another officer whom Ketterman didn't recognise.

"How did he take it?" Hopper asked.

"Well," Ketterman replied. "He didn't seem incredulous anyway, but I guess that's how all reporters are. So, I held up my side of the deal. Now it's your turn."

Hopper stared at him. The other officer stepped forward, into view. His hair was light and short. He wore less stripes on his arm, so he was presumably of lower rank. "As we agreed, all charges against you have been dropped. It may be necessary for you to be called upon again to back up your story, so-"

"I ain't signing no more agreements," Ketterman told him.

"Very well." The officer stepped forward to undo Ketterman's handcuffs.

Hopper spoke. "Congratulations, Ketterman. You just lied and cheated your way out of prison. You're a free man." He never even came close to smiling.

The handcuffs came loose and were taken away. "And don't it feel great?" Ketterman smiled and walked away.

XXXX

Jackson was dressed up in denim jeans and a Miami Dolphins t-shirt. He didn't shave the past week, so the stubble on his face grew a little thicker.

He was the first in Hopper's office. Engineers had taken a break from fixing up the damages done by BlackSun, so Hopper could conduct a small award ceremony of sorts.

Next to him was Levine, who looked like the living dead.

Next to Levine was Stone, all cut up along his once youthful face. Shadows became more recognizable around his eyes. His left eye was blood shot. He looked like he'd been on an all night alcohol binge.

Hopper finally came in to his office, he looked rushed.

"Right gentlemen, I'm going to have to speed this up. I've got loads of crap coming at me and I need to sort it out." He grabbed three small boxes from his desk, each had a name on it.

"Jackson this is yours." He handed one to Jackson.

"Levine. You've been awarded the Presidential Medal of Freedom." Levine took the small box from Hopper's hands. He looked at it, confused.

Hopper handed the last box to Stone, who looked mildly pleased.

"Okay gentlemen, you're dismissed, except for you, Jackson."

Stone and Levine left the office. Levine closed the door behind him.

"The Army Commendation Medal, eh?" Jackson smiled.

"No need to write that report, by the way."

"Really?"

"Major Johansson and myself will take care of it."

"Oh? Powers' replacement, right?"

"Yeah, he'll be leading the team while you're away."

"US Marine, right?"

"You bet." Hopper nodded, "Oh, your Captain rank pips won't be arriving until the end of October."

"So," Jackson looked passed Hopper's shoulder and through his window. "Army Engineers are also building up more accommodation?"

"After the incident in Miami Beach, the President felt that situations like these should be met with a much larger task force."

"Quite a team we've got here." Jackson smiled. "What's going to happen once the problem is dealt with?"

"That really wasn't expanded on." Hopper said quietly, he quickly changed the subject. "Well, I need to bid farewell to our British visitors. Good luck with your tour, Jackson." Hopper patted the captain on his shoulder.

"Thank you, sir." Jackson said quietly.

XXXX

Corporal Stone was a little brought down by the fact that when Jackson told the team their tour started at thirteen-hundred hours. He didn't think that the first two hours of their tour would be a briefing, then a have half hour to call their families, fifteen minutes for combat-role assignment and then finally be able to board the damn airplane.

All I need to do is sleep. Stone thought as he read through a Tom Clancy book.

Opposite Stone was Staff Dillon, the team's designated sniper, had already fallen asleep, along with the Sergeant next to him.

Stone looked around the Hercules' cargo hold.

If you can't go to sleep at least try. Stone closed his book and placed it in his backpack. He folded his arms and closed his eyes.

XXXX

"OK, I think we're good to go." It was a comparatively warm day in the Alaskan tundra, as Abby Maitland readied the Woolly Mammoth herd for their release. For the last week, the single bull and six females had been contained within a chain-link-bordered compound. It wasn't very large, but it was all that could be mustered at short notice. In the meantime, a more permanent residence had been prepared.

Abby was stood on a raised, iron walkway that ran around the fence of the entire enclosure, and linked to the nearby buildings. She was wearing a parka coat to protect herself from the occasionally biting wind. Together with the other, similarly-dressed specialists, she approached the iron gates and, from her safely elevated position, she hauled the gates open.

The spiral-tusked male led the way out of the pen, and charged out into the open. The immediate surroundings of their small pen were composed of a patchwork of conifer forest and open, intermittently snow-coated grassland. The perfect environment. Their habitat was bordered by extra-reinforced, iron fencing – basically, what BioSyn had used on the tyrannosaur paddock, except without the electric shock. Their habitat stretched across rivers, lakes, forests, and wide open plains. It was roughly 800 hectares in total size.

The plan was to leave the herd largely to its own devices. The mammoths would be protected by regular patrols, and monitored by rangers. Hopefully, within a few years, they may start to breed. Perhaps, within the decade, the scientific community would have uncovered enough DNA from dead mammoths to supplement this tiny gene pool, and a breeding group would have been well established.

Once the herd outgrew its confines, the borders would be extended, and eventually done away with altogether. Once the local population discovered these mammoths, they would be hailed as the last survivors of the species, rather than survivors of the BioSyn disaster.

These weren't the only survivors from Land of Time. The Delta Force soldiers also rescued the park's single Indricothere, a young male, and Rossiter's pet Microraptor. Most of the other animals had escaped the park before the bombing, and were now roaming around the Everglades to their own devices. They could also potentially go further afield quite quickly. How far the pterosaurs could fly was anyone's guess.

As for Abby, she would remain at the Alaskan base for a few more days to help settle the mammoths in. Lester had insisted that after that, she was straight back to work.

XXXX

Doctor Grant wiped sweat from his brow as the hot Montanan sun bore down on him.

Returning to the dig site was a relief. Due to the recent events in Florida, he had received a few uncomfortable stares from his co-workers upon arrival, but that didn't matter. He was back where he belonged.

The team's excavations on the Dromaeosaurus nesting ground revealed something remarkable. A few feet away from the nest containing the hatchlings, a second bowl was unearthed. It too contained fragments of shell. However, these shells did not come from dinosaur eggs. Their structure indicated that they belonged to some sort of freshwater clam. Also discovered in the bowl were the partial remains of conifer cones, along with the skulls of small shrew-like mammals and an assortment of polished stones. The shape of the stones indicated that they were gizzard stones, most likely from a titanosaurian sauropod such as Alamosaurus.

Doctor Grant speculated that perhaps this had been some kind of ornamental nest, used by male Dromaeosaurus to attract females, in a way similar to that of the modern day bower bird. The male bower bird collects brightly coloured objects and places them in a mock nest known as a bower, which the female then inspects. If she is pleased with what she sees, she allows the male to mate with her. The more unusual the objects in the collection, the more likely the female is to be interested.

As he brushed the dirt off another stone, something caught Grant's eye. Something dark red lay beneath the sand. As he removed more sand from the mystery object, he realized something.

The object was rectangular, with perfect ninety degree angles.

Oh my God…

His stomach lurched uncomfortably as he realized what he was looking at.

"Hey, Doctor Grant!"

Grant was interrupted. He looked up, and saw a young female palaeontology student with short brown hair standing over him.

"What can I do for you, Miss van Tinteren?" he said, sliding the object out of view.

"Nothing much. There's just something I meant to ask you." She said.

"Okay. Shoot."

"How did we get the money to keep the site going?" she asked him.

"Well…" Grant began. The dig site's financial troubles were over. Thanks to Levine's ties in the US military, Grant's site had been awarded a healthy budget. Enough to sustain it for several more years. He thought of something, "…well, as you know I was asked to inspect that big theme park of BioSyn's, that then later turned out to be a hoax. As you may have heard on the news, there was a scandal that ended in a serious disaster, which sadly cost a lot of people their lives. After that, the United States government gave this site, and all the other people who suffered because of this disaster, a fair amount of money directly from BioSyn's funds, as compensation for what happened."

Miss van Tinteren gave the palaeontologist a strange look for a second, but then shrugged.

"Okay. Thanks." She said, and then walked over to her co-workers.

That was a relief.

Grant knew what the mysterious object was. It was the number plate from the jeep that he, Abby and Connor had taken back into the past.

At some point after their visit, a male Dromaeosaurus must have torn the plate off the car, and used it to decorate his bower. And judging by the hatchlings in the adjacent nest, the dinosaur's gimmick had worked.

Grant stared at the rusty piece of metal in his hand.

If anyone else found out about this, the consequences would be disastrous.

After making sure no-one was looking, Doctor Grant inconspicuously tossed the number plate down the hill, where it shattered on the rocks below.

It wasn't exactly the neatest scientific procedure, but it had to be done.

Sometimes the past is best forgotten.

XXXX

It was another hot day in San Diego.

11:37. Coffee break at the university.

Dr. Malcolm sat in his office, and fiddled with a pen he found on his desk. He had also poured himself a glass of water, which lay yet untouched on the table.

This had been one hell of a week.

Dinosaurs. An international conspiracy. Time travel. A John Hammond wannabe. A disaster waiting to happen, which ultimately it did.

Inevitably so. And all predicted by Chaos Theory.

"Ian, I've seen it all happen."

Helen Cutter. A rogue time traveller. Number one most wanted by the British government.

A madwoman. And seemingly unpredictable.

Her words echoed through Doctor Malcolm's head.

"You stood by me. You, like me, didn't want to cause irreversible extinctions."

What did she mean by that? Irreversible extinctions? Something had happened. Something of significant importance had happened at some point in time, most likely in the future, that inspired her – or scared her – to travel back to the present day to try and avert it.

But what was it?

Helen Cutter, for the short time Doctor Malcolm had known her, didn't seem like the kind of person who would easily be spooked, so whatever had happened to her, it was something serious.

And how was he involved in all of this?

"I've got more perspective than anyone else in the world. I have the key to time."

The key to time. The ability to visit any point in time, past, present or future, and become part of history.

Malcolm himself had travelled in time. He had been to the Late Cretaceous era, and seen long-lost moments in the Earth's history for himself. And yet his presence there did not seem to have had any discernable effect on the present.

It was remarkable. According to Chaos Theory, he should have come back to an entirely different world, because even the tiniest event should have had massive consequences further down the line.

There was only one way he could properly get his head around this. He needed to test it.

He eyed the glass of water on his desk.

Using one finger, he took a drop and placed it on the back of his left hand. The drop trickled down of the side of his hand and landed on the desk.

He took another drop from the glass, and repeated his last action.

A naïve person would assume the drop would go the same way as the last one, but in reality, there was more to it than that.

Malcolm placed the second drop in the exact same spot where he had put the first one. Due to a tiny difference in tension between the hairs on his hand, the drop changed course very slightly. Exactly as predicted.

He tried a third drop.

Another small difference.

"This… what happens here, will be a blip on the radar of geological time if what I'm doing works."

A blip on the radar.

A blip.

A drop!

Malcolm froze.

Why hadn't he thought of that!

He took a fourth drop from the glass. But instead of placing it on his hand, he let it fall back into the glass.

Simulating travelling backwards in time.

The drop landed on the water's surface. As expected, it produced a series of ripples. But within seconds, the ripples had died down, and the surface was still again, as if nothing had happened.

Of course!

If the change to the original timeline was small enough, then perhaps it was possible to travel to the distant past without changing the future.

Oh, Ian, you and your chaos theories…

XXXX

Danny raised his Glock at the steel door. He held his thumb on the safety, ready to push it down and fire.

Danny shouted at the top of his voice, "You have ten seconds to open this door, or I'm kicking it down!"

Quinn started the countdown.

"Ten!"

"Nine!"

He heard some sort of odd scratching sound just on the other side of the door. Then a snuffling sound. It was almost as if his quarry weren't actually human.

He noticed he'd missed a second. "Eight!" Then, not quite a second after that, "Seven!" He'd lost the rhythm.

"Six!"

"Five!" He was back on track.

"Four!"

He heard nothing but silence beyond the steel door now. What had he heard earlier? Was his mind playing tricks on him? "Three!" Was he just seeing animal enemies everywhere now, thanks to the Miami disaster?

"Two…" He heard a shotgun click.

The door crashed to the floor. A heavy-set man, maybe five eleven and at least fourteen stone, and dressed all in black, including a balaclava, stepped through and swung the shotgun barrel across Quinn's face. Danny was thrown to the ground. His pistol was tossed into the darkness between street-lamps. He felt a sharp, almost unbearable pain across his chest. The psittaco scars. They'd been stitched up well by a surgeon in Orlando, but they were still healing. He'd been assigned several weeks of rest. Meanwhile, the ARC had let him off free this time. But just this time.

He pushed up and used the pain as a source of strength. With a grunt, he headbutted the balaclava man in his bulging stomach, and grabbed hold of the shotgun with his right hand. He pulled the barrel towards himself, stretching the balacava'd man's right arm around. In the same motion, Danny swung a left hook into the man's cheek, but couldn't put much force into it.

Balaclava right-elbowed Quinn in the face, hard. As Quinn has knocked backwards, his grip on the shotgun loosened. Within half a second, he found it breaking across his face a second time. He regained his footing, and leaned up against the wall. The throbbing in his torso was now constant. Its regular pulsing acted like a metronome. In time with a beat, Danny kicked out and struck the aggressor between the legs. Balaclava grunted and stepped back. Danny pushed his advantage. He kicked again, this time knocking the shotgun out of the opponent's hand. It flew through the air, eventually landing on the concrete. Balaclava ran to regain it. Danny raced after him. Quinn simultaneously rammed into the man's side, and jammed one foot in front of Balaclava's stride. The criminal fell, but kept reaching for the gun. It was just three feet from the grip.

Danny stepped on Balaclava's hand. He let out a cry of pain, and Quinn swiped the shotgun. The ex-cop held it towards the criminal. "Not one more inch."

Balaclava grabbed hold of Quinn's ankle and pulled him flat to the ground. His chest pain was excruciating now. Quinn managed to keep hold of the weapon, and rammed it into Balaclava's neck. With as much force as he could muster, he pushed it into where he guessed the Adam's apple was – what with the folds of Balaclava's skin, it was pretty impossible to tell for sure – until Balaclava withdrew, choking and spluttering. Danny stood back up. This time, he stood a good five feet back. Then he cocked the gun, and held it towards Balaclava. "Anything else?

The alarm clock rang.

Opening his eyes, and looking around his bedroom, Danny realised it had all been a dream.

Danny Quinn had good dreams now.

XXXX

Sarah scratched another piece of dirt off the surface of the Artefact. She had the feeling that she was finally getting somewhere. There looked to be some sort of inscription on the surface. It was only partly visible yet, but she'd already made considerable progress in the past day alone.

If nothing else, Sarah was glad to be back in her element. For the time being at least, she would content herself at her workstation.

XXXX

"Of course Mister President. Yes, and you two. OK. Goodbye."

The President hung up, leaving Lester and Becker alone in silence. Both men were back in Lester's office. Becker was standing in front of the door, Lester sitting behind his desk. Becker hadn't mentioned a word during the lengthy phone-call, which hadn't been on speakerphone, in any case.

Several of the ARC's usual personnel were elsewhere: Abby was in Alaska, all of the surviving soldiers had been given the day off – Becker had stayed behind for an hour to have a final discussion with Lester – and Jenny had taken the day off herself.

Lester filled Becker in on the state of events. "From what the President tells me, the Army and Homeland Security are making excellent progress gathering the remaining animals. Most of the carnivores have been found, and rehabilitated in a secure facility. Inevitably, some of the smaller animals may escape the net."

Becker asked, "What if the public discover the remaining animals?"

"We were discussing the possibility of a cover-up operation. Perhaps a rehabilitation front. Some sort of RSPCA organisation."

"The James Lester Animal Foundation?" Becker suggested.

"Something like that." Lester's face remained straight. "And another thing: the post-mortem examination on the Jane Doe corpse is complete. The DNA result is conclusive. It's Helen's body."

A charred corpse, marked out as 'Jane Doe', was discovered by the US forces amongst the bombed wreckage of Land of Time. The only other corpses found there were of Helen's mindless Cleaner clones.

"What does that mean?" Becker asked.

"If Connor's testimony is to be believed, then Helen was alive and well long after the bombing of the park. Clearly Helen replicated herself, and then sent her own clone into the bomb site, in the hope that when her body was discovered and analysed, we would believe she was dead. She hadn't counted on Connor surviving their encounter."

"Of course."

There was silence for a minute. The general atmosphere gave the sense that both men were tired of the whole incident, of the speculation, the history, and Helen Cutter.

Lester had just one more thing to say on the matter. "Helen told Connor her motivation. Her reasoning. Something along the lines of: 'to save the world'. Correct?"

Becker replied, "From what I heard, yes. I think she said BioSyn technology was used in some… experiments. She wanted to eliminate BioSyn, and stop the experiments."

Lester sat back in his chair. "Well if she's right, and it's worked, at least some good has come of this."

XXXX

Charlotte Davis, agent of Christine Johnson, pulled herself up onto the ladder that led out of the sewer. She looked towards the manhole above. If her maps were accurate, then this would lead out onto the plaza of the park, or somewhere nearby.

She climbed the ladder and lifted the manhole cover. She raised her eyes to ground level.

There it was. Right in front of her was the management complex of the park. The once majestic glass panes were shattered and broken on the concrete in front of the building.

She climbed out of the sewer, and crouched on the ground. She closed the manhole behind herself, and stood up. The light was fading. She checked her watch. It was 5:39 on Wednesday evening. The park was probably crawling with creatures by now. She would have to move swiftly.

Dressed all in black, she nimbly raced, almost on her tip-toes, up to the complex, and jumped inside, avoiding crunching down on the glass fragments. She'd made barely a sound, and in the darkened interior, her black clothes would not show up well. But she knew that sight and sound were not the only senses the park's menagerie could claim.

Davis raced into a side-corridor, and made for the park laboratories. She knew that most of the BioSyn technology was at the facility. She would go there next, if it wasn't already destroyed. For now, she'd check out the research housed at the park itself.

Davis reached the first lab. Her black gloves tightly fitted, she trawled the cabinets, drawers and shelves for documents, files, lists, anything she could fit into her backpack. Once that was finished, she took out her camera, and photographed anything she couldn't fit into the bag. Then she left the lab, closed the door behind herself, and repeated the process in the next lab, then the one after.

When she was finished, her backpack was almost ripping at the seams, and her camera nearly out of memory. She repositioned the pack more comfortably, and made for the exit of the complex.

As she emerged in the lobby, she found herself confronted by an unexpected figure. Helen Cutter.

Davis froze. Cutter was similarly dressed all in black, and she was facing away from Davis. Perhaps she hadn't noticed Charlotte's presence?

Then Cutter turned towards the agent. Her face was oddly expressionless. As Cutter faced Davis, she seemed to take notice of the agent, but only for the briefest of moments. Then Cutter looked beyond Davis, and started walking in her direction.

Davis drew her light pistol and aimed it towards Cutter defensively. Sternly, she warned, "Don't come any closer!" Cutter took no notice, and simply brushed past Davis and continued walking into the complex. Davis watched her walk away, and disappear around the next corner. Davis was relieved, but also very confused.

Davis made her way back out onto the plaza, where she heard a distant buzzing sound. It sounded like the far-off roar of an aircraft engine. Davis looked up and saw a plane, high in the sky, flying towards her.

Army, she thought. She hastened her exit. As she approached the manhole, she checked her watch. 5:54. All done in fifteen minutes.

The plane engine was getting louder, and closer. Davis looked up to see it was only about half a mile away from her now. Then she saw something fall from its underside.

A bomb.

As she heard the sound of the explosion, she was already lifting the manhole cover. She backed onto the ladder.

A second explosion. Closer. It shook the ground, and she was almost shaken from the ladder.

Quickly, she reached up for the manhole cover. She looked back for just a moment.

A burst of flames erupted in the nearby foliage, accompanied by a horrific shockwave. The plane was almost overhead now.

She lowered the cover, and jumped down into the sewer waters.

"Interesting… very interesting…"

Johnson was thumbing through the BioSyn documents in her office, in her newly-repaired headquarters. She was sat behind her desk, and Davis was standing to attention in front of her. The new desk was unadorned except for a single ornament, an ancient Roman helmet Christine had recently acquired.

"You've done very well Agent Davis. Even in spite of your inability to get to the facility before its destruction. That was rather unfortunate."

"Sorry Ma'am."

"No matter." Christine put the documents down on her desk. "Dismissed."

Davis left the office, and Christine was left alone. This research would be invaluable for Christine's plans. One could even say that they opened up whole new possibilities.

XXXX

And so it was that Connor's adventure ended back at his workstation at the anomaly console. He'd put Sid and Nancy to bed a few minutes earlier. He was now back to work on the locker. He was checking the mechanics and connections one last time to make sure everything was in perfect working order.

The ARC was quite empty. Several of the technicians, including Nigel, had been given the day off. Most of the soldiers – including Briggs, Rogers, Hawkins and Doody – were at home too. Connor had been offered a day off work too, but he'd insisted on staying at the ARC. Hopefully, the management had not yet figured out that someone was occupying the dorm-room full-time.

Connor decided to take a breather for a second, and sat down at the chair in front of the ADD. Rotating reticules hovered over the aerial view of the city. All was silent again. The film-set anomaly was locked in place, and a perimeter established around it. The production company had been politely asked to relocate their set.

The final repairs to the ARC had now been completed. Still, a yellow plastic-tape perimeter had been erected around a blank stretch of wall. That was the position Lester had chosen for the memorial plaque, dedicated to the ARC personnel who had perished in the BioSyn disaster. Captain Jake Hemple's name was to be at the top, followed by Lieutenants Lucas Redfern, Samuel Mason, Vernon Murdoch, Michael Garney and Owen Clarke, followed by about a dozen other soldiers' names.

A copy of News of the World lay on the counter to Connor's left. He picked it up and leafed through. Opposite an article involving some financial scandal and the president of Dregovia, Connor found an article detailing the bankruptcy of BioSyn. Its shareholders had all pulled out. Rumour had it that the issue of leadership had descended into vicious and spiteful infighting. In any case, the corporation was now due to be disbanded following a government order.

"Mister Temple!" Connor looked up to see one of the newer technicians, called Andrew, approaching him at a quick pace.

"Yeah?" Connor replied, putting the newspaper away and standing off the chair. He noticed that the technician was holding a slightly charred piece of paper in his hands.

"This was found by the workmen in Professor Cutter's office," Andrew explained. He came to a stop once he was beside Connor, and looked over the sheet. "It's a set of DNA test results. It was originally stapled to some other sheets, but they were destroyed. It's hard to tell without the full picture, but it seems to be relating to the dead raptor a few weeks ago."

Connor remembered that anomaly. One of his last missions with Cutter. He recalled that Cutter had sent a skin sample through to the lab to get it tested. Something had been different about it. The way it acted. And its appearance. It had…

…It had no feathers.

And as Andrew handed over the sheet and returned to his own workstation, Connor remembered something else too. Back in that BioSyn facility, when he, Abby and Doctor Grant were trying to lure the tyrannosaur back to its own time, something else had gone through the anomaly.

At that moment, five featherless raptors ran from their corridor, and raced straight past Connor. They ran down towards the anomaly, and went through.

Five featherless raptors.

He'd forgotten all about them in the ensuing madness.

And as if to prove his point, the lab sheet gave the following results:

86% Dromaeosaur

12% African Reed Frog

2% Chicken

According to the Jurassic Park rumours, and verified by Doctor Grant, InGen had used frog DNA to fill in the genetic gaps of their dinosaurs.

Connor grinned in spite of himself. InGen's raptors had actually made it into the past, the end of the Cretaceous, and on their way to encountering him and Cutter in the present. Or perhaps they'd even bred, and he'd encountered some second or third generation raptor. Connor had actually had a minor effect on evolutionary history. Like he'd made his mark.

It was a few minutes later, after Connor had resumed work on the locker, that he remembered something else. Rossiter had told them all that the InGen dinosaurs had been infected by a prion disease called DX. Later, Becker had told them that one of the facility's functions had been to find a remedy for DX, and cure the creatures which had been rescued. There were dozens of DX-infected creatures locked in cages in the facility. Including raptors.

Connor started to panic. Could it be that he'd let DX-infected creatures into the past? And could they then have passed it on? He frantically searched out the lab results, hoping for something that would prove that the raptor was clean. But there was nothing on that sheet. The answer Connor was looking for must have been destroyed in the catastrophic explosion.

Connor tried to calm himself down. They'd probably carried dozens of pathogens into the past before, and nothing noticeable had gone wrong those times. This time would obviously be no different.

I mean, what was the worst thing that could have happened?

THE END