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Q just wanted a burger and some French fries on his lunch break. That’s all. A burger and fries and a half hour off his feet.
He had literally just sat down at a table when a commotion at the front of the park. A woman ran by, clutching a small child and screeching in terror. She wasn’t the only one, but for every freaked tourist there was another dumbass with a camera phone. Q’s own phone started buzzing and he looked down at it with a sigh. The message from Eve was short and sweet: He’s done it again.
Q sighed, shoved some fries into his mouth and grabbed his burger. He might as well handle the latest crisis with a half-full stomach. “Keep these for me, I’ll be back in a bit,” he shouted to the line cook, who raised a hand in acknowledgement.
“I’ll throw another burger on for you,” said the cook. “He’s going to eat yours.”
Q raised a hand in farewell and pushed out into the street.
There had been a lot of concern raised about a smaller, satellite Jurassic Adventures on the mainland. There was a reason the original Park had been on an island—theoretically, any escapes were easier to contain, and they could lock the place down if necessary. Alcatraz, but for dinosaurs. A mainland Jurassic Park, for all its security measures, did not have such a protection. At least they had mostly smaller dinos, just in case.
Handlers and security streamed by him, face shields and tranquilizer guns and a whole lot of highly unnecessary equipment.
He strolled through the front gates, taking bites of his burger and wishing he’d brought his fries with him. Alas. There were more screams from the parking lot, punctuated with a car horn and decidedly inhuman shrieking of rage and defiance. Very familiar inhuman shrieking. He walked towards the sound.
“Move, move, excuse me, piss off you lot.” Mouth half-full of burger, he elbowed his way through the crowd of tourists lacking self-preservation instincts and a whole team of wranglers. “I’ve got this,” he said.
The team backed off a few paces. This was, unfortunately, not anyone’s first rodeo. 007 escaped his enclosure with such clockwork regularity that everyone basically agreed that the fences were a formality. If Q was around, 007 could usually be found and coaxed back to where he belonged. Or at least, he would stubbornly keep with Q during Q’s rounds, strutting along with Q like a small, cantankerous shadow that bit people who tried to pet him. Velociraptors were highly intelligent, observant pack animals, and 007 had decided that Q—who’d hatched, raised, and good naturedly put up with 007’s frequent attempts to steal cars—was his pack.
“007, what are you doing?”
007 stopped shrieking and warbled an innocent greeting. As innocent as the velociraptor could look and sound while perched in the driver’s seat of a shiny silver Aston Martin convertible. Most people thought that velociraptors were horse-sized miniature t-rexes. In truth, they were the size of a common turkey, but possessed the fighting attitude of a chihuahua who believes it’s a pit bull. Accordingly, 007 had the heart of a t-rex and the tiny body of an oversized death-chicken.
“I have to give you credit, you do have beautiful taste in cars,” Q told him. “That’s four years of my salary that you’re trying to carjack.”
007 crooned. A clawed hand stroked the leather steering wheel.
“It is beautiful,” Q agreed. “But it’s not ours, so we can’t go for a joyride. We should be getting back before these nice men with tranq guns decide to cart us both back in.”
007 screeched and eyed the men beyond Q with an evil, challenging stare. It was impressive, and a testament to how ferocious the little dinosaur was that they all backed up another step. Q rolled his eyes.
“I know,” Q said. “It is a gorgeous day to drive with the top down. But come on, we have work to do. Look, I’ll even share my burger.”
Bond eyed the burger. Q waved it tantalizingly to waft the scent of grilled meat. “There’s some French fries in it for you, too. I couldn’t bring those with me.”
007 sniffed the air, crouching as Q approached him. “That’s a good boy,” Q said. He tucked the turkey-sized dino under his arm like an American football and surrendered the remaining half of his burger. Absently petting the dino, he strolled back through the gates into the park. 007 started to fidget after a few moments, so Q let him down.
“Come along, 007. Fries await.”
The ferocious dino stalked along behind him, snapping at anyone he thought was crowding a little too close to himself or Q. The restaurant’s head line cook met him at the door with a Styrofoam takeout container, a small paper bag, and Q’s soda.
“All figured out?” he asked.
“Quite.” Q said. “Thank you.”
“I included a couple boneless chicken wings for 007. They were dropped on the floor, but I don’t think he’d mind. Where is he, then?”
“He’s right behind…oh, shit.” Q sighed. “Well, I’ll just follow the screams and explosions, then.”
Q found 007 hissing on the hood of one of the Park’s jeeps. Everyone stayed well clear of the vehicle, even Eve Moneypenny who stood off to the side, arms crossed. She was smiling.
“Eve,” Q said. “I’m sorry. He’s a firecracker today.”
“I’d say.”
“Do you want help on your rounds?” Q asked.
“I don’t think I have a choice,” she said. “I have to do the mid-day check of the range, that might keep him happy for a bit. And honestly, he’s kind of like having an ill-tempered guard dog along. Things think twice about trying to eat me if I have to get out of the car whenever he’s around.”
“True enough,” Q said. He’d noticed the same whenever 007 accompanied him on his rounds.
Q tossed 007 a chicken wing. The dino snatched it out of the air.
“We’ll help with rounds and then go back to your enclosure,” said Q. The dino blinked big reptilian eyes at Q and warbled sweetly. Manipulative bastard.
“Come on, then,” Moneypenny jangled her keys. She slid into the driver’s seat, with Q riding shotgun and 007 crouched on the console between them. Q offered him a French fry. A deal was a deal, after all. The vet was going to kill Q for feeding him junk food, but you only live twice: once when you’re born, and once when you face toothy death for denying 007 a French fry. And it had to be a crispy French fry. Soft, soggy French fries only elicited Gordon Ramsey levels of drama and birdlike rage-tweets.
On the range, Moneypenny four-wheeled through mud and uneven terrain, while 007 emitted trills of approval and filched half of Q’s lunch again, before curling up around Q’s feet for a snooze. Velociraptors were mainly nocturnal, so at least his daytime shenanigans happened between naps.
Q gathered up the napping dino once they got back to 007’s enclosure. The rest of the velociraptors (00s 1-9) were gathered around the gate, perhaps wondering what adventures had befallen their comrade. Q always thought it a bit strange that 007 usually escaped alone, rarely bringing the others with him. Sometimes 006 was a partner in crime. Small mercies, he guessed. The last thing he needed was a mass jailbreak of scarily competent, snapping, angry little monsters.
“All right, in you go, 007. You’ve had enough secret agent shenanigans and car-jackings for one day, I think. Maybe take a staycation for a bit, hm?”
007 made a rude noise. Q sighed. “Yeah, I didn’t think so, either.”