Amy nodded, thinking about it, then said, "So if rescuing manatees and dolphins got you into the field, why didn't you do something more active to help the animals? Veterinary medicine or something."

"I always wonder. I've thought about the people at Greenpeace and Sea Shepherd, putting themselves in harm's way, ramming whaling ships, running Zodiacs in front of harpoon guns to try to protect the animals. I've wondered if that was the way to go."

"And you thought you could do more as a scientist, studying them?"

"No, I thought that being a scientist was something that I could do. There's a path to becoming a biologist — an educational process. There isn't for being a pirate."

"No, you're wrong, there is a school for that. I saw it on a matchbook when I was in Maui. I'm sure it said you could learn to be a pirate if you passed a simple test."

"That's learn to draw a pirate."

"Whatever. So you compromised?"

"Did I? I think what we — what I do has value."

"So do I. I'm not saying that. I'm just wondering, you know, now that you're dead, do you feel your life was wasted?"

"I'm not dead, Amy. Jeez, that's an awful thing to say."

"You know, effectively dead, I mean. Your life being over. Jeepers, does that make me a necrophiliac? When we get out of here, maybe I'll have to go to a meeting or something. Do they have those?"

"Amy, I'm wondering if maybe I don't want to get out of here." He'd been thinking about it a lot. Life here really wasn't bad, and since he'd been looking for a way out on their daily excursions (only to be reminded that he'd have to go through the miles of pressure locks only to emerge six hundred feet below the sea), maybe he and Amy could make a future together. The whole Gooville ecosystem would certainly keep him interested.

"Hi, my name's Amy, and I hump the dead."

"Maybe, if I can talk the Colonel out of his plan, I can stay here with you. You know, adapt."

"I can't imagine that they'd get up at a meeting and say, 'Hi, my name's so-and-so, and I like to bone the dead. It's sort of crude. Although strangely appropriate."

"You're not listening to me, Amy."

"Yes I am. We're not staying here. I'll find a way out, but we can't stay. You have to convince the Colonel not to try to hurt the Goo, but then we're leaving. As soon as possible."

Nate was a little shocked at how adamant she was. She seemed to be staring at nothing, concentrating, thinking about something she didn't want to share, and she didn't seem happy about. But then she brightened. "Hey, you're going to get to meet my mother."

A week later it happened.

"Well, you always said that the jazz of what you do was knowing something that no one else in the world knows," Amy said. "You jazzed?" She took his arm and draped it around her neck as they walked.

They had just left the Gooville apartment of Amelia Earhart.

"She looks good, doesn't she?" Amy asked.

Amelia was a beautiful, gracious woman, and after sixty-seven years in Gooville, the aviatrix didn't look a day over fifty. She'd been just under forty when she disappeared in 1937. In her presence Nate had felt as if he were fifteen again, out on his first date, stuttering and stumbling and blushing — blushing, for Christ's sake — when Amy mentioned that she'd been spending nights at his place. Amelia made Nate sit next to her on the couch and took his hand as she spoke to him.

"Nathan, I hope what I'm about to say to you doesn't sound racist, because it's not, but I want to put your mind at ease. I have had a very long time to get used to the idea of my daughter's being a sexually active adult, and, frankly, if after all these years you are the one that she has chosen to fall in love with, which appears to be the case, I can only tell you how relieved I am that you are of the human species. So please relax."

Nate had shot a look to Amy.

She shrugged. "Every girl has her adventurous period."

"Thank you," Nate said to Amelia Earhart.

Now, out on the street, to Amy he said, "I shouldn't have asked how the flight was."

"She's still a little sensitive about that. Even after all these years. My dad was her navigator. He didn't survive the crash."

"But you said you were born in 1940. How could that be if your father died in 1937?"

"Robust sperms?"

"Three years? That's really robust."

She punched his arm. "I was rounding up. Give me a break, Nate, I'm old. You never grilled the Old Broad for accuracy like this."

"I wasn't sleeping with the Old Broad."

"But you wanted to, didn't you? Admit it? You were hot to get into her muumuu."

"Stop." Nate glanced at some whaley-boy males who were hanging out in front of the bakery (they always seemed to be there) doing a synchronized display wave with their willies, and he was about to defend himself with a comment about Amy's past, but then he decided that there was just no need to watch that little brain movie, let alone use it as some kind of weapon against what was essentially just Amy-style teasing — one of the things he found he adored about her as soon as he'd allowed himself to admit that he could adore someone again.

The whaley boys snickered at him as they passed.

"You guys are all just big, squeaky bath toys," Nate said under his breath, knowing they could hear him anyway. Nate had been insulting them every time he and Amy went by for a week or so, just to irritate them. Maybe Amy was rubbing off on him.

The whaley boys blew a collective sputtering raspberry.

"Sentient? You guys can't even spell sentient," Nate whispered.

And then the reward. He loved watching creatures with four digits try to flip him the middle finger.

"Yeah, I'm the immature one," Amy said.

Life is good, Nate thought. For the first time in as long as he could remember, he was happy. Kinda.

In the morning a brace of whaley boys came to take him to the Colonel. Amy wasn't even there to kiss him good-bye.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

Yeah, but You

Can't Dance to It

The Colonel was standing in the middle of the mother-of-pearl amphitheater when the whaley boys led Nate in.

"You two go on now," the Colonel said to the whaley boys. "Nate can find his way back."

"You came out of your lair," Nate said.

The Colonel looked older, more drawn than when Nate had seen him before.

"I don't want to be in contact with the Goo for what I'm going to tell you."

"I thought it didn't get information that way," Nate said.

The Colonel ignored him. "I was hoping you would have had a brainstorm to solve my problem, Nate, but you haven't, have you?"

"I'm working on it. It's more complex —»

"You've been distracted. I'm disappointed, but I understand. She's a piece of work, isn't she? And I mean that in the best sense of the word. Never forget that I chose to send her to you."

Nate wondered how much the Colonel knew about them and how he knew it. Reports from the whaley boys? From the Goo itself, through osmosis or some extended nervous system? "Distraction has nothing to do with it. I've thought a lot about your problem, and I'm not sure I agree with you. What makes you think the Goo is going to destroy humanity?"

"It's a matter of time. That's all. I need you to carry a message for me, Nate. You'll be responsible for saving the human race. That should go some measure toward consoling you."

"Colonel, is there any chance you can be more direct, less cryptic, and tell me for once what the hell you're talking about?"

"I want you to go to the U.S. Navy. They need to know about the threat of the Goo. One well-placed nuclear torpedo should do it. It's deep enough that they shouldn't have any problem justifying it to other countries. There won't be any fallout. They're just going to need someone credible to convince them of the threat. You."