The Lost World by Michael Crichton Page B

survived with very little damage. The computer program had been developed by the auto companies, and then discarded. Thorne acquired it, and modified it. "Of course the auto companies discarded it - it's a good idea. Don't want any good ideas coming out of a big company. Might lead to a good product!" He sighed. "Using this computer, we've crashed these vehicles ten thousand times: designing, crashing, modeling, crashing again. No theories, just actual testing. The way it ought to be."
    Thorne's dislike of theory was legendary. In his view' a theory was nothing more than a substitute for experience put forth by someone who didn't know what he was talking about. "And now look. Jerry? Jerry! Why'd we do all these simulations, if you guys aren't going to follow the plans? Is everybody brain-dead around here?"
    "Sorry, Doc…"
    "Don't be sorry! Be right!"
    "Well, we're massively overbuilt anyway-"
    "Oh? Is that your decision? You're the designer now? Just follow the plans!"
    Arby trotted alongside Thorne. "I'm worried about Dr. Levine," he said.
    'Really? I'm not."
    "But he's always been reliable. And very well organized."
    "That's true," Thorne said. "He's also completely impulsive and does whatever he feels like."
    "Maybe so," Arby said, "but I don't think he'd be missing without a good reason. I'm afraid he might be in trouble. Only last week, he had us go with him to visit Professor Malcolm in Berkeley, who had this map of the world in his office, and it showed - "
    "Malcolm!" Thorne snorted. "Spare me! Peas in a pod, those two. Each more impractical than the other. But I'd better get hold of Levine now." He turned on his heel, and walked toward his office.
    Arby said, "You going to use the satphone?"
    Thorne paused. "The what?"
    "The satphone," Arby said. "Didn't Dr. Levine take a satphone with him?"
    "How could he?" Thorne said. "You know the smallest satellite phones are the size of a suitcase."
    "Yeah, but they don't have to be," Arby said. "You could have made one very small."
    "Could I? How?" Despite himself, Thorne was amused by this kid. You had to like him.
    "With that VLSI com board that we picked up," Arby said. "The triangular one. It had two Motorola BSN-23 chip arrays, and they're restricted technology developed for the CIA because they allow you to make a - "
    Thorne said, interrupting him. "Where did you learn all this? I've warned you about hacking systems - "
    "Don't worry, I'm careful," Arby said. "But it's true about the com board, isn't it? You could use it to make a one-pound satphone. So: did you?"
    Thorne stared at him for a long time.
    "Maybe," he said finally. "What of it?"
    Arby grinned. "Cool," he said.
    Thorne's small office was located in a corner of the shed. Inside the walls were plastered with blueprints, order forms on clipboards, and three-dimensional cutaway computer drawings, Electronic components, equipment catalogs, and stacks of faxes were scattered across his desk. Thorne rummaged through them, and finally came up with a small gray handheld telephone. "Here we are." He held it up for Arby to see. "Pretty good, huh? Designed it myself."
    Kelly said, "It looks just like a cellular phone."
    "Yes, but it's not. A cellular phone uses a grid in place. A satellite phone links directly to communication satellites in space. With one of these I can talk anywhere in the world." He dialed swiftly. "Used to be, they needed a three-foot dish. Then it was a one-foot dish. Now no dish at all - just the handset. Not bad, if I say so myself. Let's see if he's answering." He pushed the speakerphone. They heard the call dial through, hissing static.
    "Knowing Richard," Thorne said, "he probably just missed his plane, or forgot that he was supposed to be back here today for final approvals. And we're pretty much finished here. When you see we're down to the exterior struts and the upholstery, the fact is, we're done. He's going to hold us up. It's very inconsiderate of him." The phone rang, repeated