The Evolution of Claire (Jurassic World)

by Tess Sharpe

  “How are you enjoying your internship?” Beverly asks, folding her hands in front of her. She’s wearing an enormous amber ring, which shines against all the white.

  “I’m loving it,” I say. “I’m learning so much.”

  “I’m glad,” Beverly says. “I like to check in with everyone at about the four-week mark, which we’ve just passed. See how they’re feeling.”

  “I’m feeling great,” I say.

  “And you’re doing great,” she assures me. “Every person you’ve worked with has reported how pleased they are with your performance.”

  “That’s nice to hear.”

  I’m frustrating her, with my non-answers to her non-questions. She wants me to reveal something. But I’m not going to. Not unless she reveals something first.

  “You’ve been quite the standout from the start, Claire,” she says, picking her words carefully. “Mr. Masrani himself was very taken with your personal essay, and I was pleased to see your goals. We need more women in politics. It’s nice to see a young woman who knows what she wants so early.”

  “Thank you,” I say.

  “I’m sure you know that Masrani Corporation has a very far reach,” Beverly goes on. “Jurassic World is just the tip of a very large iceberg. Mr. Masrani has interests in thousands of companies in hundreds of industries. And he has the ear of the men and women who run those companies and industries. The ones who do things like fund political campaigns and form super PACs.”

  “Mr. Masrani is a man of varied interests,” I say, keeping my voice level.

  “And he is a friend to many,” Beverly says. “He could be a friend to you, Claire. A valuable friend, to someone with your political ambitions.”

  There it is: an oh-so-subtle dig and threat.

  “But friends help each other,” Beverly continues. “They protect each other.”

  I straighten, because Beverly’s just confirmed something without realizing it: the Masrani Corporation needs protection from something.

  “I’m sure you believe in protecting your friends,” Beverly says, that snake-oil-salesman smile on her face. “And staying out of friends’ private business. Because if you don’t believe in that, opportunities—incredible, life-changing opportunities—could be lost. Do you understand?”

  “I do,” I say.

  “Excellent,” Beverly says, getting up smoothly, her amber ring catching the light. “I’m glad. We’ll just forget all about this, won’t we? No more questions about the past. The past should stay in the past. This place, this park, our people…we are all about the future.”

  It’s such an obvious and dismissive sales line, it makes my skin crawl, like I’ve just flipped a log and revealed the slugs and bugs beneath it.

  “I won’t take up any more of your time,” Beverly says. “I’m so glad we had this little talk about your future. With Mr. Masrani’s help, it’ll be a great one.”

  “I hope so,” I say with a smile, and she escorts me out of her office and I walk numbly down the hall, struggling to keep the smile on my face, just in case. I don’t let it fall from my lips until I get to the elevator and the doors shut.

  Beverly thinks she’s warned me off, but what she’s actually done is give me the bread crumbs I need. Tim must have gone straight to her as soon as I asked him about Izzie. And for her to threaten my entire future…whatever I’ve stumbled on by finding Izzie’s journal must be big. Very big. Does Mr. Masrani know Beverly brought me in? Did he tell her to talk to me…to threaten me?

  Sickness churns in my stomach as the elevator climbs to the main lobby. There’s a lot I don’t know, and I have even more questions now than I did when I found the notebook. But there is one thing I do know: I can’t let this go. Not until I find out what happened to her—and why everyone freaks out when I bring up her name.

  The elevator doors open, and I adjust the strap of my bag as I step out, catching sight of a blond buzz-cut just ahead of me.

  Wyatt.

  “Hey!” I call out. I slip my hand inside my bag and turn on my tablet’s recorder, leaving the flap open so the speaker can catch the sound.

  When he sees it’s me, he turns around and keeps walking. I hurry to catch up with him.

  “Wait,” I say. “I want to talk to you.”

  Wyatt’s mouth twitches. “Going to lecture me about breathing wrong near the eggs, like Tanya did yesterday?” he asks.

  “I want to know how you found out about the first round of interns,” I say, because beating around the bush has never been a talent of mine.

  He shrugs nonchalantly. “Like I said, there have always been rumors.”

  “Please,” I say. “You’ve done nothing but brag about your connections since you got on the island. So where did you hear the real dirt from…not the stuff from the conspiracy websites?”

  He doesn’t say anything for a moment, then jerks his chin toward a corner of the lobby with chairs grouped around a small table. I take a seat across from him, setting my bag on the floor, close enough to keep recording our conversation. I don’t know if Tanya has come up from lab duty yet, so I’ve got to make him spill fast.

  “Come on, Wyatt,” I say. “I know you’ve got inside information. Is it from your dad? Did you overhear something?”

  “Why are you so curious all of a sudden?” he asks. “You totally dismissed me the last time I brought it up.”

  “Maybe I found something that confirms your story has some truth to it,” I say.

  His eyes widen and he leans forward in his seat, startling me a little. I flinch backward, and luckily, he doesn’t get any closer to invading my space. “What did you find?” he asks, his voice suddenly urgent and interested.

  “That’s my business,” I say. “Or at least, it is until you tell me what you know.”

  “That’s completely unfair,” he complains.

  I shrug. “You’ve got info, I’ve got info. Someone has to share first. And it’s not going to be me.”

  He presses his lips together, and I can practically see the wheels in his head turning, wondering if he can outwait me in what boils down to a game of chicken.

  “Fine,” he says, caving just as I hoped he would. “Last year, around Christmas, my dad was taking a lot of meetings. One day I was in his office and I saw a list of names—names of interns for Jurassic World. I asked him about it because I wanted to apply, and he got all pissed and told me I was imagining stuff. I hate it when he does things like that, so I waited until he was out of the country on a business trip and I broke into his office and took photos of the list,” he says, and I can’t stop my eyebrows from rising.

  “You have their names?” I ask.

  “Yep,” he says with pride. “I contacted a few of them when the rumors about the storm and the evacuation hit online.”

  “What did they say when you asked about the internship?” I ask.

  “Every one of them gave me similar lines,” Wyatt says, smiling in that superior way of his. “ ‘I’ve never been to Isla Nublar. During that time I was interning at…,’ and then they’d give me a company name. Well, I kept track of all the companies they supposedly interned at. You trace the money, and they’re all under the Masrani Global umbrella.”

  A cover-up. I look at Wyatt. “You really don’t like your dad, do you?” I ask. Does this guy like anybody? Everyone seems to just be a means to an end with him.

  Wyatt snorts. “What tipped you off?”

  I shake my head and change the subject. “So where’s the list?” I ask. “Were you able to track them all down?”

  “Nah, I lost interest after a while,” Wyatt says. “I got on the crew team and didn’t think about it much until I applied to Bright Minds.”

  Typical. Or is Wyatt just leaning into his lazy image to throw me off the scent of something bigger? He seemed very interes
ted when I mentioned having information of my own. Sure enough, he leans back in his chair, going for casual as he says, “So, I showed you mine, time to show me yours.”

  My lip curls at the innuendo. “Cut out the misogynistic grossness,” I say.

  “I see someone’s taken a women’s studies class.” Wyatt grins meanly. “Come on, we had a deal.”

  “Yeah, about that,” I say. “I think I’m going to keep my information to myself. My women’s studies class taught me the worth of my own work—and how guys like to take credit for it.” I smile, and I put a sharp edge to it, just like he did. “And you’re going to show me that list of intern names.”

  His eyes narrow to slits. “Why would I do that?”

  “Oh, because I recorded you,” I say, gesturing to the tablet in my bag between us. He lunges for it, but it’s too late. It’s automatically uploaded to my personal databank, and I tell him so. His fingers curl around the tablet, his eyes glowing furiously at me, but I hold my ground.

  “I don’t think your dad or Mr. Masrani would appreciate your admission that you took photos of private company documents,” I say. “Why don’t we find out for sure?”

  “You’re blackmailing me?” he demands, incredulous.

  “That’s not the nicest way of putting it, but I guess so,” I say. “I mean, you’re not doing anything with the list…are you?”

  He’s fuming. He leans forward menacingly, trying to use his size to psych me out. “You’ll regret this,” he says.

  “List, please,” I say, trying to look bored.

  “Fine,” he snarls. He grabs his own tablet from his bag, pulls up a file, and thrusts it at me.

  I take a screenshot with my tablet and back it up instantly. I don’t have time to glance at the dozen or so names, not when his nostrils are flaring with anger like that. People don’t get the better of him often, I take it. He’d better get used to it.

  “Happy?” he demands.

  “Now I am,” I say. “Don’t worry, I got what I wanted. Your dad doesn’t have to know you’re a snoop and plotting—probably badly—against him, for whatever reason.”

  “You underhanded little—”

  “Careful,” I warn, just before the elevator doors open, and Dr. Wu comes sweeping out—followed by Mr. Masrani.

  Instantly, Wyatt’s entire demeanor changes. His cheeks lose their red flush as a smile replaces his glare. “Mr. Masrani—hello, sir!” He doesn’t even bother to greet Dr. Wu.

  “Hi, Dr. Wu, Mr. Masrani,” I say.

  “Wyatt, Claire.” Mr. Masrani smiles. I feel a flash of nervousness because I don’t know how much Mr. Masrani knows. Was Beverly acting on her own steam when she pulled me into her office, or under his orders? Can I trust him, or is he part of all this?

  “Where were you today, Claire?” Dr. Wu demands.

  “I’m sorry, Dr. Wu,” I say. “Ms. Jamison needed to talk to me.” I watch Mr. Masrani carefully as I say this, but there’s no ripple of recognition in his face at my words.

  Dr. Wu sighs, shooting a disapproving look at Mr. Masrani. “Tell your intern director to stop taking my interns!” he says.

  “Oh, so now you like having the interns around,” Mr. Masrani says, needling Dr. Wu. I get the idea he likes to do that.

  “They have performed adequately,” Dr. Wu acknowledges, and Mr. Masrani chuckles.

  “You’re too hard on them, Doctor!”

  “It gives them something to strive for,” Dr. Wu says dryly. “You want to be the best, don’t you, Claire?”

  “I do,” I say. And I mean it.

  “See? My way of teaching works better than yours,” Dr. Wu says triumphantly. “It fosters ambition.”

  “And mine fosters inspiration,” Mr. Masrani shoots back, amused. “Come now, Doctor, let’s not argue. We have a lot to prepare for in the next week.”

  My ears prick up, and I can see Wyatt standing to attention as well.

  “Is a new dinosaur finally getting delivered?” Wyatt asks. For the last week, the rumor has been flying around the island.

  “It’s a little more complicated than that,” Mr. Masrani says, which is not really a no or a yes. With about eight months before the park opens, they need to be moving the rest of the Sorna dinosaurs in pretty soon if they follow the same adjustment time line the transported herbivores do. But maybe it’s a carnivore, and most of the carnivores aren’t herd animals, so the protocol could be different. I want desperately to ask, but will I be crossing a line?

  I’ll never know if I don’t try.

  “Are there many dinosaurs left on Isla Sorna?” I ask.

  “There are enough,” Mr. Masrani says. “Sadly, one of the greatest threats posed to the dinosaurs on Nublar and Sorna after Dr. Hammond’s death weren’t each other, but the poachers who might be bold enough to seek the islands out now that their existence is known. After the islands were purchased, we of course put measures into place to prevent this. And once the park opens and the public sees all the park has to offer, there will be no question of the importance of the dinosaurs’ place in the world.”

  “And the dinosaur you’re bringing over, is it another herbivore?”

  Mr. Masrani smiles and shakes his head, and a frisson of electricity goes through me.

  “So it’s a carnivore?” Wyatt asks. “Which one?”

  Dr. Wu rolls his eyes when Mr. Masrani doesn’t answer. “Why be so mysterious, Simon?” he asks. “They’ll be asked to stay in their rooms the night we transport the asset into the quarantine habitat anyway. You keep telling me how smart they are—surely they’ll figure it out.”

  “It’s happening soon?” Wyatt asks eagerly—a little too eagerly. What is he up to? I’m on to him now. Beneath the lazy jerk act, there’s someone calculating, someone who holds grudges and makes plans.

  “Next week,” Mr. Masrani says, his eyes sparkling like he can’t stand to keep the secret either. Considering how much enjoyment he takes in our awe over the park, it’s kind of amazing he’s kept his plans for Jurassic World under wraps for so long. He likes to share his joy. “The first Velociraptor will be transported from Sorna to Nublar.”

  “There’s more than one Raptor?” I ask.

  “There are,” Mr. Masrani says. “But transporting them together…would not be wise.” He chooses his words carefully, like there might be a story behind them. “Moving the Sorna carnivores to their permanent habitats on the island here can be a slow, challenging process. There are territories established by our Nublar carnivores, and while for obvious reasons the carnivores aren’t in the Gyrosphere Valley, the herbivores’ presence still affects things.”

  “The smell,” Wyatt says. “The carnivores can smell them.”

  “When the wind’s right,” Mr. Masrani says. “A hungry Raptor who’s disoriented from a boat trip gets a whiff of a Gallimimus and they’ll spend the night trying to find a way through their quarantine paddock to get to it.”

  “There isn’t a way out, right?” I ask, and Mr. Masrani laughs.

  “Of course not,” he says. “The concern here isn’t so much that the carnivores will break through all the safeguards keeping them from the herbivores, it’s more about the Velociraptors adjusting well to their new habitat and not harming themselves by trying to claw through or scale a wall they haven’t yet learned is impossible to breach. Transport from Sorna is stressful on the dinosaurs. The vets have found that it’s best to keep them very quiet and isolated the first few days in the quarantine habitat so they can adjust in peace. That means that after transport and delivery, they’re left alone for a few days, but monitored via sensors and cameras.”

  Dr. Wu’s pocket beeps, and he takes his phone out. “I will answer your Raptor questions tomorrow,” he says. “I really must get back to my work, which is why I was escorting Mr. Masrani out.”

 
“He’s always kicking me out before the fun stuff happens,” Mr. Masrani complains with an exaggerated sigh.

  “Yes, making the fusion bandages is so much fun,” Dr. Wu drawls. “Go! All of you! I have delicate chemicals to combine.”

  Dismissed, we follow Mr. Masrani out of the lobby, the blue-and-gray jeep I drove over this morning sitting there in the parking lot like a temptation.

  Everything in me is screaming impatiently that I need to get somewhere alone so I can start going through the intern list. Is Izzie on it? If I have her full name, I can at least search for her online, figure out where she went—and what happened to her after she left the island.

  “Sir, I’d love to talk to you about some future plans,” Wyatt says. “Would you mind if I drive with you?”

  “Not at all,” Mr. Masrani says. “Claire?”

  “I promised Bertie I’d come help paint the first set of play Gyrospheres for Pearl,” I say, which is true, but I still have a good two hours before she expects me.

  “I heard about your project,” Mr. Masrani says. “Well done for taking the initiative.”

  My cheeks redden. “Thank you, sir,” I say. “I’ll leave you and Wyatt to your discussion.”

  “Good luck with the spheres,” Mr. Masrani calls as he walks away. “I look forward to watching the trainers try them out on Pearl.”

  I gulp, praying that our idea will actually work. Otherwise we’ve wasted a bunch of other people’s time.

  Wyatt hangs behind while Mr. Masrani gets in his SUV. “I’ll be right there, sir,” he says in that cheerful voice that’s all kinds of fake. Then he turns back to me, his volume lowering to a hiss. “You think you can threaten me?”

  “Well, I don’t think I can. I know I can. Because I just did,” I say, refusing to be cowed. That’s how guys like him work. They steamroll over everyone by using their connections or their size or the fact that older men in charge might see them as their younger selves. But when a guy like this meets someone who plays the game even better? And it’s a woman? He can’t handle it.