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escapefromrealitySimon makes Dr San an offer he can't refuse.
"Ah!" Simon's secretary Pamela whimpered as Snow beat his wings and rose up from his perch. "Don’t let it claw me, Mr Masrani!"
"He won't! He's just exercising his wings. Come on, settle down, there's a good boy."
He held out a piece of chicken breast and felt a helpless grin as it was seized. Snow held the meat down with one small clawed foot as if it were prey he had caught and tore at it eagerly. Pamela averted her eyes.
"Don't you think it's dangerous to have that in your office?" she said, sliding a handful of papers onto the desk while standing as far away as humanly possible.
"He's so small!" Simon said. "He can't hurt you!"
"He must be almost four feet from nose to tail tip! And those teeth are sharp, Mr Masrani."
She made her escape to the dragon-free outer office. Simon held out another piece of chicken and beamed as it was torn from his grasp. John had promised that Snow would become habituated to handling. When at last the meat was refused, Simon carefully stroked the little dragon's head. He made a half-hearted hiss of protest, then all at once just shut his eyes and seemed to fall asleep. He was so cute.
He looked through the Berkeley Integrative Biology department website, trying to make head or tail of Dr San’s apparent research interests. There were other palaeontologists who seemed to be interested in fish or plants. Some wrote incomprehensibly about their research on ancient mammals in a way that he assumed would attract graduates like a trail of breadcrumbs. With the aid of a dictionary he decided that Dr San was particularly interested in the shape of dinosaur skulls, although no doubt the man earned his bread and butter by looking at the rest of the creatures too. If he managed to tempt this academic to the park, then surely he could convince his famous colleagues that another visit would be worth their while? Doctors Grant, Sattler and Malcolm would at the very least get closure, and would remain publicly safe and uneaten.
And then no one would ever be able to hold the regrettable early mistakes against him and the new animals.
He picked up his desk phone.
"Pamela, have the car ready for ten, please. I need to go back to school."
*
Dr San was not, it transpired, in his office. It was perhaps stupid to think he might be; it was a big campus. After some undignified and even unprincipled begging, one fi the administrators reluctantly admitted that they had heard him say he’d be in the Museum of Palaeontology all day.
"Whoa," he said in the atrium, looking up at the skeleton of a T. Rex. It was awesome – even with a live one in the park, it was awesome. There was another T. Rex skull on display by the foot of the stairs and Simon felt dwarfed by the age and size of the bones. He’d only ever seen film footage of the park’s specimen and while she was hugely impressive, she wasn’t millions of years old.
"Can I help you?" a man said, coming up behind him. "The museum isn't actually open for public viewing –"
"I'm here to meet one of the Palaeontology staff," Simon said quickly, "Dr Kenneth San."
"Is he expecting you?" the man, clearly a security guard, said dubiously. "Mondays, Dr San doesn't like to be disturbed."
"He'll know what it's about," Simon said. "He'll see me."
The man retreated to a desk and made a call. "He's not answering. Maybe if you come back later?"
"Are you sure he isn't there?"
"Hey, Angel, which of our beardoes and wierdoes are you looking for?"
"Ken," the man said. "This gentleman's here to see him; he's not answering."
The young woman approaching the desk was in her twenties and seemed to be doing her best to fit some sort of template for a grad student's appearance. She should grow her hair out, he thought; not that he'd ever make a comment on a lady's appearance, but he did prefer young ladies with longer hair. And while Claire Dearing took things too far in the other direction sometimes, surely it wasn't necessary to dress as if one were about to be airdropped into a quarry with a chisel and trowel? He felt a little embarrassed as she raised an eyebrow at his appraisal of her and gave him a calm once-over in return as if she knew exactly what he was thinking.
"He's upstairs," she said, turning back to the security guard. "With Gabe. They're probably so far into an argument they wouldn't hear the phone ring if you glued it to their faces. I can bring his visitor up."
"Would you?"
"Sure. This way."
Simon hurried after her and trotted up the stairs. "Dr San's arguing with someone?"
"Not a fight-argument. A data-argument." She looked sidelong at him. "You're Simon Masrani."
"Ahaha, yes. Guilty as charged."
"What's it like, having a vanity project full of fake dinosaurs?"
He leaned in conspiratorially. "They're not fake. No matter what your professors say."
She led him down a corridor and pointed to a door. "In there. Beware of drama and raised voices. You should make a donation to the study of real dinosaurs; it could improve your fakes."
"Maybe I will," he said with a grin. "Think of how sour your professors will look."
"Mine will just look jealous, they specialise in plants, not animals," she said. "So if you want to feed your fakes properly –" she waved and headed back for the stairs.
Simon laughed a little and then took a deep breath, made sure his hair was neat and knocked on the door. There was no answer, so he just opened it, and found himself in the middle of a discussion he didn't understand at all. It wasn't just the numbers that were being tossed around, or the Latin terms, but the fact that Dr San had some data showing on a computer screen that was clearly annotated in Chinese and he and his student – his son – kept slipping out of English whenever they looked at it.
"Hello?" Simon said.
"What the hell?" Dr San's son – presumably Gabe – said. The scowl sat unfortunately on his good-looking features. The bleached hair wasn't something Simon would have ever tried as a younger man; his aunties would have killed him. The San household was clearly less interested in a conventional appearance.
"Mr Masrani, I wasn't aware – how can I help you?" Dr San said.
"You can tell him to fuck off."
It wasn't even said quietly. Simon blinked. He could not remember the last time someone had been that openly hostile to him.
"Gabriel," Dr San said mildly. "That's not nice. Mr Masrani?"
"I wanted to follow up with you," Simon said, looking around. There were pieces of fossil bone lying on the table between them, surely what they'd been discussing. He wondered if he could pick a piece up and play with it. "Come to my park – both of you! See the animals in their natural habitat." He recoiled slightly at the noise that Gabriel made at that, and at the very slight disapproval he detected in Dr San's expression. How could someone so mild-mannered make him feel so much like a naughty child – or have produced such a rude offspring? "A natural habitat," he corrected himself.
Dr San was going to politely, mildly refuse. Gabriel San was about to tell him to fuck off to his face and was clearly going to enjoy it. Simon leapt in before either of them could speak, with the low down dirty card he'd had in his hand all along.
"There can't be many jobs in academic palaeontology," he said. "Dr San, I'm afraid I looked you up – you're quite popular as a PhD advisor, which means that all your students are in competition with each other. They're in competition with your son –"
"Fuck off, you don't know anything."
"- will he ever get a position in this career he's already spent years of his life to reach? He's twenty-three you said – he must have many years more before his degree is finished. Will there be anything at all for him?"
Gabriel shoved himself up from his chair, looking annoyed. He had plenty of time to change course, but at his age he must have felt he had spent an eternity in the field already. He had to have sped from his undergraduate years through a masters and only started his doctorate. He wouldn't take kindly to the suggestion he was wasting his time.
"The major American universities all seem to have quite young and healthy faculty," Simon said relentlessly. "I suppose he has time to wait for people to start to retire –"
Dr San wasn't looking so mild, although he didn’t say anything. What could he say? That he'd pull as many strings as he could to find his son something?
"The park's much safer than under John Hammond," Simon said. "Come and tell the world that! Tell than I can show the Indominus Rex and the other new hybrids that Henry Wu and John Ni have produced. Just a short visit and an article in a popular magazine with some quotes we can use, that's all."
"I don't think – " Dr San said.
"I'll guarantee a position for Gabriel on staff in the park from the moment he graduates in the educational division, with pay equal to whatever a full professor makes here. Or I'll fund a number of junior positions in the universities of your choice and he can fight it out with your other students. At least there'd be jobs to fight over."
"Get out," Gabriel said, as Dr San said,
"He's more than good enough to get a job on his own merits when the time comes." The expression on his face said all too clearly that he knew just what the job market on their field was like.
"He could walk into one the day after he finishes. You'd never need to worry, Gabriel."
"Do you think we're for fucking sale?" Gabriel said, his young face tight and angry.
Dr San looked like a father who had just been told his child would be safe and fed for ever. It must be hard to think that your example had condemned your child to an unemployable discipline. Time to bring up the other weapon.
"I'll pay your other son's way through whatever university he wants," Simon said. "Undergraduate and graduate programs."
"Don't offer us your fucking charity!"
"And I'll guarantee him a job after as well. I have many different concerns – one of them will be suitable to employ him I'm sure."
"You really don't play fair," Dr San said, sounding stunned.
"Dad! You can't be considering this bullshit! They're nothing but oversized fucking komodos!"
"Gabriel, a moment – if you offered him a job it would have to be real work, on real animals. Not on the poor creatures your people construct."
"He could do all the research he's ever want. You'd be able to run off and be a monk at last," Simon said jovially.
He blinked as Gabriel moved in fluid fury and Dr San moved faster. Gabriel's raised fist was held in his father's grip, seemingly gently, but the blow had stopped mid-air. Gabriel had absolute murder in his eyes.
"No," Dr San said quietly. "Apologise."
"He was laughing at you."
"I'm used to it. Mr Masrani is our guest."
"Sorry," Gabriel said with bad grace. "Don't laugh at him."
He turned away, his face thunderous, as his hand was released, and Simon recognised just how young he really was. Dr San gave Simon a disturbingly level look.
"You don't have children," he said. "You don't understand what it feels like to have them offered security as if it's nothing. I'd work my whole life through for them if it meant sweeping the streets. It'd be more honest work than complimenting your poor living toys."
Simon cleared his throat. "I also apologise. I didn't mean to offend you, young man."
Gabriel made some sort of response that Simon decided he was probably better off not interpreting.
"I'll visit your park," Dr San said, sounding weary. "I'll see your unfortunate dinosaurs."
"You will?" Simon couldn’t believe his luck. He'd been sure the man had been about to turn him down. He really would make a donation to the university's program. Maybe he should assure Dr San he wasn't interested in getting Gabriel in trouble for the attempted blow. Thank God for the hot heads and bad decisions of the young. "Bring your son – both sons! You'll see how safe it is, people bring their small children all the time."
"I'm not assessing your animals amongst hordes of holidaymakers," Dr San said in alarm. "The potential for disaster – I don't know how you can operate using a safari park model at all, Mr Masrani."
"That's all right," Simon said. "We'll have a rest day for the animals – I'll shut the whole island for a day. Just for you." He beamed at the Sans, father and son.
It would be perfect.
"Ah!" Simon's secretary Pamela whimpered as Snow beat his wings and rose up from his perch. "Don’t let it claw me, Mr Masrani!"
"He won't! He's just exercising his wings. Come on, settle down, there's a good boy."
He held out a piece of chicken breast and felt a helpless grin as it was seized. Snow held the meat down with one small clawed foot as if it were prey he had caught and tore at it eagerly. Pamela averted her eyes.
"Don't you think it's dangerous to have that in your office?" she said, sliding a handful of papers onto the desk while standing as far away as humanly possible.
"He's so small!" Simon said. "He can't hurt you!"
"He must be almost four feet from nose to tail tip! And those teeth are sharp, Mr Masrani."
She made her escape to the dragon-free outer office. Simon held out another piece of chicken and beamed as it was torn from his grasp. John had promised that Snow would become habituated to handling. When at last the meat was refused, Simon carefully stroked the little dragon's head. He made a half-hearted hiss of protest, then all at once just shut his eyes and seemed to fall asleep. He was so cute.
He looked through the Berkeley Integrative Biology department website, trying to make head or tail of Dr San’s apparent research interests. There were other palaeontologists who seemed to be interested in fish or plants. Some wrote incomprehensibly about their research on ancient mammals in a way that he assumed would attract graduates like a trail of breadcrumbs. With the aid of a dictionary he decided that Dr San was particularly interested in the shape of dinosaur skulls, although no doubt the man earned his bread and butter by looking at the rest of the creatures too. If he managed to tempt this academic to the park, then surely he could convince his famous colleagues that another visit would be worth their while? Doctors Grant, Sattler and Malcolm would at the very least get closure, and would remain publicly safe and uneaten.
And then no one would ever be able to hold the regrettable early mistakes against him and the new animals.
He picked up his desk phone.
"Pamela, have the car ready for ten, please. I need to go back to school."
Dr San was not, it transpired, in his office. It was perhaps stupid to think he might be; it was a big campus. After some undignified and even unprincipled begging, one fi the administrators reluctantly admitted that they had heard him say he’d be in the Museum of Palaeontology all day.
"Whoa," he said in the atrium, looking up at the skeleton of a T. Rex. It was awesome – even with a live one in the park, it was awesome. There was another T. Rex skull on display by the foot of the stairs and Simon felt dwarfed by the age and size of the bones. He’d only ever seen film footage of the park’s specimen and while she was hugely impressive, she wasn’t millions of years old.
"Can I help you?" a man said, coming up behind him. "The museum isn't actually open for public viewing –"
"I'm here to meet one of the Palaeontology staff," Simon said quickly, "Dr Kenneth San."
"Is he expecting you?" the man, clearly a security guard, said dubiously. "Mondays, Dr San doesn't like to be disturbed."
"He'll know what it's about," Simon said. "He'll see me."
The man retreated to a desk and made a call. "He's not answering. Maybe if you come back later?"
"Are you sure he isn't there?"
"Hey, Angel, which of our beardoes and wierdoes are you looking for?"
"Ken," the man said. "This gentleman's here to see him; he's not answering."
The young woman approaching the desk was in her twenties and seemed to be doing her best to fit some sort of template for a grad student's appearance. She should grow her hair out, he thought; not that he'd ever make a comment on a lady's appearance, but he did prefer young ladies with longer hair. And while Claire Dearing took things too far in the other direction sometimes, surely it wasn't necessary to dress as if one were about to be airdropped into a quarry with a chisel and trowel? He felt a little embarrassed as she raised an eyebrow at his appraisal of her and gave him a calm once-over in return as if she knew exactly what he was thinking.
"He's upstairs," she said, turning back to the security guard. "With Gabe. They're probably so far into an argument they wouldn't hear the phone ring if you glued it to their faces. I can bring his visitor up."
"Would you?"
"Sure. This way."
Simon hurried after her and trotted up the stairs. "Dr San's arguing with someone?"
"Not a fight-argument. A data-argument." She looked sidelong at him. "You're Simon Masrani."
"Ahaha, yes. Guilty as charged."
"What's it like, having a vanity project full of fake dinosaurs?"
He leaned in conspiratorially. "They're not fake. No matter what your professors say."
She led him down a corridor and pointed to a door. "In there. Beware of drama and raised voices. You should make a donation to the study of real dinosaurs; it could improve your fakes."
"Maybe I will," he said with a grin. "Think of how sour your professors will look."
"Mine will just look jealous, they specialise in plants, not animals," she said. "So if you want to feed your fakes properly –" she waved and headed back for the stairs.
Simon laughed a little and then took a deep breath, made sure his hair was neat and knocked on the door. There was no answer, so he just opened it, and found himself in the middle of a discussion he didn't understand at all. It wasn't just the numbers that were being tossed around, or the Latin terms, but the fact that Dr San had some data showing on a computer screen that was clearly annotated in Chinese and he and his student – his son – kept slipping out of English whenever they looked at it.
"Hello?" Simon said.
"What the hell?" Dr San's son – presumably Gabe – said. The scowl sat unfortunately on his good-looking features. The bleached hair wasn't something Simon would have ever tried as a younger man; his aunties would have killed him. The San household was clearly less interested in a conventional appearance.
"Mr Masrani, I wasn't aware – how can I help you?" Dr San said.
"You can tell him to fuck off."
It wasn't even said quietly. Simon blinked. He could not remember the last time someone had been that openly hostile to him.
"Gabriel," Dr San said mildly. "That's not nice. Mr Masrani?"
"I wanted to follow up with you," Simon said, looking around. There were pieces of fossil bone lying on the table between them, surely what they'd been discussing. He wondered if he could pick a piece up and play with it. "Come to my park – both of you! See the animals in their natural habitat." He recoiled slightly at the noise that Gabriel made at that, and at the very slight disapproval he detected in Dr San's expression. How could someone so mild-mannered make him feel so much like a naughty child – or have produced such a rude offspring? "A natural habitat," he corrected himself.
Dr San was going to politely, mildly refuse. Gabriel San was about to tell him to fuck off to his face and was clearly going to enjoy it. Simon leapt in before either of them could speak, with the low down dirty card he'd had in his hand all along.
"There can't be many jobs in academic palaeontology," he said. "Dr San, I'm afraid I looked you up – you're quite popular as a PhD advisor, which means that all your students are in competition with each other. They're in competition with your son –"
"Fuck off, you don't know anything."
"- will he ever get a position in this career he's already spent years of his life to reach? He's twenty-three you said – he must have many years more before his degree is finished. Will there be anything at all for him?"
Gabriel shoved himself up from his chair, looking annoyed. He had plenty of time to change course, but at his age he must have felt he had spent an eternity in the field already. He had to have sped from his undergraduate years through a masters and only started his doctorate. He wouldn't take kindly to the suggestion he was wasting his time.
"The major American universities all seem to have quite young and healthy faculty," Simon said relentlessly. "I suppose he has time to wait for people to start to retire –"
Dr San wasn't looking so mild, although he didn’t say anything. What could he say? That he'd pull as many strings as he could to find his son something?
"The park's much safer than under John Hammond," Simon said. "Come and tell the world that! Tell than I can show the Indominus Rex and the other new hybrids that Henry Wu and John Ni have produced. Just a short visit and an article in a popular magazine with some quotes we can use, that's all."
"I don't think – " Dr San said.
"I'll guarantee a position for Gabriel on staff in the park from the moment he graduates in the educational division, with pay equal to whatever a full professor makes here. Or I'll fund a number of junior positions in the universities of your choice and he can fight it out with your other students. At least there'd be jobs to fight over."
"Get out," Gabriel said, as Dr San said,
"He's more than good enough to get a job on his own merits when the time comes." The expression on his face said all too clearly that he knew just what the job market on their field was like.
"He could walk into one the day after he finishes. You'd never need to worry, Gabriel."
"Do you think we're for fucking sale?" Gabriel said, his young face tight and angry.
Dr San looked like a father who had just been told his child would be safe and fed for ever. It must be hard to think that your example had condemned your child to an unemployable discipline. Time to bring up the other weapon.
"I'll pay your other son's way through whatever university he wants," Simon said. "Undergraduate and graduate programs."
"Don't offer us your fucking charity!"
"And I'll guarantee him a job after as well. I have many different concerns – one of them will be suitable to employ him I'm sure."
"You really don't play fair," Dr San said, sounding stunned.
"Dad! You can't be considering this bullshit! They're nothing but oversized fucking komodos!"
"Gabriel, a moment – if you offered him a job it would have to be real work, on real animals. Not on the poor creatures your people construct."
"He could do all the research he's ever want. You'd be able to run off and be a monk at last," Simon said jovially.
He blinked as Gabriel moved in fluid fury and Dr San moved faster. Gabriel's raised fist was held in his father's grip, seemingly gently, but the blow had stopped mid-air. Gabriel had absolute murder in his eyes.
"No," Dr San said quietly. "Apologise."
"He was laughing at you."
"I'm used to it. Mr Masrani is our guest."
"Sorry," Gabriel said with bad grace. "Don't laugh at him."
He turned away, his face thunderous, as his hand was released, and Simon recognised just how young he really was. Dr San gave Simon a disturbingly level look.
"You don't have children," he said. "You don't understand what it feels like to have them offered security as if it's nothing. I'd work my whole life through for them if it meant sweeping the streets. It'd be more honest work than complimenting your poor living toys."
Simon cleared his throat. "I also apologise. I didn't mean to offend you, young man."
Gabriel made some sort of response that Simon decided he was probably better off not interpreting.
"I'll visit your park," Dr San said, sounding weary. "I'll see your unfortunate dinosaurs."
"You will?" Simon couldn’t believe his luck. He'd been sure the man had been about to turn him down. He really would make a donation to the university's program. Maybe he should assure Dr San he wasn't interested in getting Gabriel in trouble for the attempted blow. Thank God for the hot heads and bad decisions of the young. "Bring your son – both sons! You'll see how safe it is, people bring their small children all the time."
"I'm not assessing your animals amongst hordes of holidaymakers," Dr San said in alarm. "The potential for disaster – I don't know how you can operate using a safari park model at all, Mr Masrani."
"That's all right," Simon said. "We'll have a rest day for the animals – I'll shut the whole island for a day. Just for you." He beamed at the Sans, father and son.
It would be perfect.
