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And Atlas Srugged--Part Two
By Mango
Ian fingered the plastic coil, absently stretching it and releasing it a little to snap back again in its little spirals. He had just hung up after talking to Grant. He didn’t want to jinx himself, but he had the nasty feeling that he was going to go through with this. Like an obedient cow going docilely to the slaughterhouse. Is that how Scallor would think of him when they heard he had accepted the offer?
He briefly considered that he might be too paranoid. Maybe, except for the fact that he could teach a class in paranoia and he was almost always right—excluding the time that he thought the taxi driver would mug him, and the guy just crashed into a streetlamp instead when Ian wouldn’t pay him extra for time lost at red lights. No, Hunter was just a little too eager to make sure that Ian would follow along like a small puppy. When someone wanted something, they almost always said anything it would take to get it.
Ian sighed and rubbed his temples. He glanced into a mirror that decorated part of the wall across from the kitchen, and saw prickly stubble creeping up his cheeks. His hair was unkempt and scraggly; he figured that he should probably get a haircut. The little clock on the counter ticked the seconds by. It said 4:00. Had he really been on the phone with Grant that long? They had gone over everything that each of them had heard about Scallor’s expeditions and the proposition that Hunter had presented to Ian. Every little scrap of information was picked clean, every detail put in its place in the puzzle. And yet, something was still wrong.
How am I going to tell Kelly and Sarah? They’d protest, he knew. They’d say that someone else could handle the dinosaurs. They’d say that he’d done enough. And he had. More than enough. But enough wasn’t ever enough. Every time they managed to accomplish something, another threat would come along and demand their attention. It never stopped.
Ian sighed and went upstairs to pack. Five hours later, the blaring sound of a car honking could be heard outside his window.
“Hi, Dad!” Kelly said brightly as she bounced into the kitchen, waving good-bye to her friend and giving Ian a quick peck on the cheek.
“Hey, princess,” Ian answered as he buttered toast. “How was the sleepover?”
“Great.” Kelly set her bag down on the floor and grabbed some orange juice and began pouring into a glass. “We stayed up and ate popcorn watching horror movies.”
“Nothing too scary, I hope.”
Kelly’s smile faded slightly. “Movies don’t scare me anymore,” she said quietly. Ian stopped and looked at her, a little sadly.
“Right. Sorry.” He set down his toast and looked at Kelly seriously. “Kelly, um,” he started uncomfortably, “uh, sit down. I need to talk to you.”
“Am I in trouble?” Kelly asked nervously.
Ian gave her a reassuring smile. “The Queen, Goddess, my Inspiration, in trouble? No,” he said, and Kelly relaxed. “Um, I’ve…gotten a temporary promotion at work.”
Kelly laughed. “That’s great!”
“Not exactly.” At this point, Ian couldn’t really look into his adopted thirteen-year-old daughter’s eyes. “I’m going to have to go away for a while.” Kelly frowned.
“For how long?”
“A while. I was approached by James Hunter—you know who he is? Yes?—earlier, and he offered me a position on a project of his. I sort of have to take it, or else—or else there might be some trouble.”
Kelly gazed at him in confusion. Some hurt registered in her eyes that her father would leave her—would he make her stay with her mother? She didn’t want that. She was about to ask, but stopped as she caught the look on his face. Something was wrong. Something was really, really wrong. “Dad,” she said slowly, “Mr. Hunter’s company, Scallor…don’t they do genetics stuff? Weren’t they rivals with InGen once?” Her eyes searched Ian’s. He swallowed and stopped avoiding her look.
“Yes. Yes, they still are.”
Kelly said nothing. Her chocolate-brown eyes glistened as tears started fighting their way down her cheeks, and her lower lip trembled. She swallowed several times, trying to keep the salty tears from showing and failing. Kelly looked up at Ian, not her real father, but the father that she loved more, her face pleading, asking silently, begging silently, that he wasn’t saying what she desperately hoped he wasn’t. But although she was only thirteen, she was not stupid. Deep down, she knew. She knew.
Ian took firm hold of her shoulders. “I won’t go if you tell me not to.” Kelly stopped trying to push against the tidal wave of tears and buried her head in her father’s shoulder, crying and not caring that she was getting his nice shirt all soggy. Ian held her and smoothed her back comfortingly, rocking back and forth holding her like he had always done when she was so little, coming to him when she had nightmares. For a minute he felt like Kelly was five years old again, laughing and giggling and clutching her little Barney doll, holding his hand when they went to the store so she wouldn’t get lost. Then all that vanished, the small girl gone, and the young teenager was back in his arms.
“If you tell me not to…” Ian said again, breaking off. Kelly raised her head and choked back another sob that welled up in her throat.
“You won’t go.” Kelly finished his sentence trembling. “But something will happen. Something always does. But what if it happens to you?” She knew that he had to go. Unspoken agreement flickered in their expressions. That was one reason she thought he was the coolest dad in the world—he didn’t need to do those stupid parent-child relationship exercises; he always knew what she was thinking, because he knew her. That was one ability that her mother and her mother’s dorky boyfriends would never have.
“Me? I’m indestructible,” Ian laughed forcedly. The way he said it, Kelly almost believed him. But there had been a time when John Hammond had said that about his new park. We have taken every precaution. Nothing was indestructible. And no-one.
Ian realized that he hadn’t fooled Kelly; it was obvious from the way her face fell and the manner in which she pulled away. She adjusted her position and folded her hands in her lap uneasily. “Will you write to me?”
Ian’s face broke out in a smile that Kelly had to feel better at seeing; the kind that told her that her father was incredibly proud of her. “Have I ever told you how amazingly cool you are for a pipsqueak?” he asked, ruffling her hair. Kelly beamed, and it burned like the hottest fires in hell. Each muscle in her face screamed in pain for this action that was not heart-felt. It was a lie, one that she had perfected whenever she had had to politely greet her mother’s boyfriend of the week. She had never used it before on her adopted father, because she couldn’t bear the thought of lying so blatantly to him.
“What about Sarah?” she asked tentatively, and doubt crossed Ian’s face for a second.
“I still have to tell her,” he mumbled. Kelly could tell from the way that he fidgeted that the confrontation with his girlfriend was not an anticipated one. That gave Kelly a small measure of pride that her father could confide to her like he could with no-one else.
She picked up the cordless and handed it to him. “Here,” she said. “Go call Sarah. I’ll go in the backyard so you don’t have to worry about me listening in.” Ian accepted the phone.
“I trust you.”
“I’ll go anyway.” With a last peck on the cheek, Kelly went out the sliding porch doors into the backyard, her bare feet tickling the dewy grass, to the tiny wooden bench in the shade of a few welcoming willow trees, careful to keep her back to the house so her father couldn’t see her cry.
It was quickly approaching six o’clock. Too quickly, it seemed. Malcolm had hung up the phone for the second time that day, considerably for the worse. Sarah had not taken Ian’s decision as well as Kelly had. She insisted that she go with him, and Ian had quickly quashed the suggestion.
“No, Sarah,” he said. “I’m not going to leave Kelly with her alcoholic mother anymore. She needs you right now. I need you to take care of her.”
In the end, Sarah had relented after hearing about the possible ‘accidents’ that might occur if Ian didn’t accept the offer, which was now beginning to look like a threat. Still, it wasn’t a pleasant conversation. Sarah was careful from letting the tremor in her voice from bleeding through the phone line. Ian was grateful for that; somehow, it made him feel better that she was trying to be strong for him.
Now his canvas bag was stowed in the corner, along with a knapsack to take with him. It contained a first-aid kit (supplied with an ample amount of morphine, something Ian always claimed was very important), a notebook for recording data, a small satellite phone that Dr. Thorne had given him, a little tape recorder, and a photo of him with Sarah and Kelly at a convention. They had given it to him in a nice frame for his birthday and scribbled “To our favorite rock star, love Kelly and Sarah” on the back. He had taken it out of its frame when he packed, and put in a clear plastic protective cover.
He clapped his hands together and blew lightly on them, a habit he had picked up from Sarah. It was close to leaving time. He would have to be at the airport by six o’clock or the deal was off.
Kelly sat morosely across from him at the kitchen table, spooning her ice cream around her bowl. She kept blinking her eyes to fight back the tears that welled up constantly. She was determined to spend as much time with her father as possible before he left. Silently, her mind added, hopefully not for the last time. Kelly tried not to think about that. Her father was going to come back, and no-one, not even herself, was going to say otherwise.
The radio was playing. A rock station was set on the radio. The song ended and another one came on. Pearl Jam. It wasn’t really a rock group, but they were playing it anyway. In an annoyingly piteous voice, the lead singer rasped out, “Where, oh where can my baby be? The Lord took her away from me…” Kelly switched the station.
Ian noticed Kelly’s discomfort. “I’m going to come back,” he said simply.
Kelly nodded. “Yeah.”
Ian sighed and stood up reluctantly. Like it or not, he had to go. “I’ll see you,” he said quietly. Gently, he kissed Kelly’s forehead, picked up his bag and rucksack, and headed out the door, where his car was waiting in the driveway. He piled his luggage in the backseat and was starting to get into the car when, abruptly, a pair of arms encircled him firmly. He turned and saw Kelly, her tears no longer hidden, flowing freely down her cheeks and past her chin. She made no attempt to wipe them, just hugged her father tightly.
“I changed my mind,” she sobbed. “It’s not okay. Don’t go. Don’t leave me.” She clutched at his jacket and held onto him, as though afraid he would break off and run. Instead, Ian kneeled down before her and tenderly raised her chin to meet his eyes.
“You know how much I love you. I would do anything for you. Even though I’m not your birth-father, I still love you like I were. You’re the daughter I always dreamed of.” When Kelly didn’t say anything, Ian took a deep breath and went on. “There are people where I’m going that love their daughters too, and want to protect them. If I don’t go on this job, they might not be able to do that.”
Kelly nodded, choking her sobs down. “I understand,” she said, although she didn’t. She didn’t understand why he had to go, and not anybody else. He didn’t do anything to deserve this. She didn’t understand why her father was always the one to be put in the front wave of the front line in the first battle, where he would almost surely die. No, she didn’t understand. But she smiled.
Ian watched the rush of feelings on her face, and realized what she felt. “It’s okay, princess. You don’t have to understand. I don’t either. Just be strong, all right? For me?” he asked. Kelly nodded. Ian hugged her again. “Sarah will be here soon. You can always talk to her, okay? When you see her, give her this.” He handed Kelly a little package wrapped in plain brown paper. “Tell her to open it tonight.” Kelly took the box and stepped back to allow her father to get in the car. This still felt wrong, that he had to leave, but there was nothing she could do.
“’Bye,” she said. Ian squeezed her hand and got in the car. He started the ignition and the engine hummed. The car pulled slowly out of the driveway, and with a last wave and a honk, Ian drove away.
“You think he’ll show up?”
“Of course he will,” snapped Hunter, lighting an expensive cigar. An airport receptionist looked like she was considering reminding him that this was a non-smoking facility, but wisely decided not to when he glared at her. She quickly busied herself at her desk.
It was five ‘till six, and Malcolm had still not shown up. Coward. He was probably in some corner of the men’s room, trying to compose himself before he had to face Hunter. Typical. It happened all the time with easily intimidated men.
Hunter puffed on his cigar and tapped his foot impatiently. Four minutes passed and the clock on the lobby wall read 6:00. Hunter grumbled. He didn’t like being proved wrong. And the man accompanying him was careful to not look smug. The two men turned to head to their gate.
“What, leaving without me?” came a voice from behind them. They turned again to see Malcolm, dressed in his normal black shirt, with khaki slacks. Hunter’s cheeks flushed ever so slightly with anger, as he realized the doctor had done that on purpose to make him look antsy. He quickly reined in his annoyance, and resumed his usual gracious air.
“Why, Doctor,” began Hunter, “you’re out of character. I was told that black was your usual…charismatic wear.”
“Gotta dress up for meeting with big shots,” smiled Malcolm, not at all perturbed by Hunter’s superior remark. “First impressions, right?” He thumbed his nose. Hunter frowned. Malcolm was not acting intimidated. In fact, he looked like a poker player with an extra ace up his sleeve.
“Yes, yes, very well, that’s good and fine,” said Hunter impatiently. “But we really must depart for the gate.”
“I never said I was going,” said Malcolm easily. Hunter looked at him in confusion, and so did his subordinate.
“Er…then might I ask what you are doing here?”
“Well, I might go. It just depends.” Malcolm stuck his hands casually into his pocket. Hunter arched one elegant eyebrow curiously.
“On what?”
“On whether you let a fellow colleague accompany me or not.” Malcolm looked at Hunter, who was struggling to not show his disbelief at the incredulous man demanding something of him, the most powerful man in his industry. He quickly recovered and narrowed his eyes.
“And what if I refuse?” he asked coldly.
Malcolm shifted his weight on his good leg, the one that had not been damaged during his first expedition to the dinosaur islands. “Then you will find yourself in need of a new director.”
“And you will find yourself in need of a new job.”
“It won’t be too hard to find another one.” As he talked, Malcolm kept eye contact with Hunter. It was a trick he had learned when dealing with stuffy professors and theorists that didn’t agree with his calculations. Stare ‘em down, and they’ll stop stuttering.
“Well, let’s see your colleague.” Hunter glared at Malcolm, who turned and waved to a man standing next to a trash can. The man came walking over, and Hunter hissed slightly through his teeth as he realized who it was. It was Alan Grant, with his usual wide-brimmed hat and plaid shirt. Grant came up to where they were standing, with his jacket and a sports bag thrown over his shoulder. He nodded politely at Hunter and his assistant.
Malcolm glanced at the head of Scallor. “Well? It’s both or neither.”
Hunter heard the finality in his voice and spat, “Fine. Just make sure he doesn’t track mud on my carpet.” With that, he spun on his heel and stalked down the hallway. Malcolm and Grant looked at each other and shrugged, and followed.
A cheerful voice sounded over the intercom. “Passengers for Flight 27 to Ponta Delgada, Portugal, please enter Gate 13. The flight will be taking off in twenty minutes. Again, all Passengers for Flight 27 to Ponta Delgada, Portugal, please enter Gate 13.”
Under his breath, Ian muttered to himself.
“The Azores.”
In a sudden flash, he realized that somehow, this was all going to fall apart. The park would shatter, and mistakes would be made. People would die.
And Atlas would shrug.
3/13/2002 4:18:48 PM
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