Fluke, Or, I Know Why the Winged Whale Sings by Christopher Moore Page B

crawled out of the truck.
    "That's not very professional," Nate said, "that snorting-laugh thing you do." But Amy had already walked off toward the lecture hall, a carousel of slides under her arm.
    Nate counted more than thirty researchers in the crowd as he walked up. And those were just the ones he was acquainted with. New people would be coming back and forth from the mainland all season — grad students, film crews, reporters, National Fisheries people, patrons — all hitchhiking on the very few research permits that were issued for the sanctuary.
    For some reason Amy made a beeline for Cliff Hyland and his navy watchdog, Tarwater, who was out of uniform in Dockers and a Tommy Bahama shirt, but still out of place because his clothes were ironed to razor creases — his Topsiders had been spit-shined, and he stood as if there were a cold length of rebar wired to his spine.
    "Hey, Amy," Cliff said. "Sorry to hear about the break-in. Bad?"
    "We'll be all right," Amy said.
    Nate strolled up behind Amy. "Hey, Cliff. Captain." He nodded to each.
    "Sorry to hear about the break-in, Nate," Cliff said again. "Hope you guys didn't lose anything important."
    "We're fucked," Nate said.
    And Tarwater smiled — for the first time ever, Nate thought.
    "We're fine." Amy grinned and brandished her carousel of slides like a talisman of power.
    "I'm thinking about getting a job at Starbucks," Nate said.
    "Hey, Cliff, what are you guys working on?" Amy asked, having somehow moved close enough into Cliff Hyland's personal space to have to look up at him with big, girly-blue eyes and the aspect of a fascinated child.
    Nate cringed. It was… well, it was just not done. You didn't ask, not outright like that.
    "Just some stuff for the navy," Cliff said, obviously wanting to back away from Amy, but knowing that if he did, somehow he'd lose face.
    Nate watched while Amy grated his friend's middle-aged irrelevance against his male ego merely by stepping a foot closer. There, too, was a reaction from Tarwater, as the younger man seemed to be irritated by the fact that Amy was paying attention to Cliff. Or maybe he was just irritated with Amy because she was irritating. Sometimes Nate had to remind himself not to think like a biologist.
    "You know, Cliff," Amy said, "I was looking at a map the other day — and I want you to brace yourself, because this may come as a shock — but there's no coastline in Iowa. I mean, doesn't that get in the way of studying marine mammals?"
    "Sure, now you bring that up," Cliff said. "Where were you ten years ago when I accepted the position?"
    "Middle school," Amy said. "What's in the big case on your boat? Sonar array? You guys doing another LFA study?"
    Tarwater coughed.
    "Amy," Nate interrupted, "we'd better get set up."
    "Right," Amy said. "Nice seeing you guys."
    She moved on. Nate grinned, just for a second. "Sorry, you know how it is?"
    "Yeah." Cliff Hyland smiled. "We've got two grad students working with us this season."
    "But
we
left our grommets at home, to analyze data," Tarwater added.
    Nate and Cliff looked at each other like two old broken-toothed lions long driven from the pride — tired, but secure in the knowledge that if they teamed up, they could eat the younger male alive. Cliff shrugged, almost imperceptibly, that small gesture communicating,
Sorry, Nate, I know he's an asshole, but what am I going to do? It's funding.
    "I'd better go in," Nate said, patting the notes in his shirt pocket. He passed a couple more acquaintances, saying hello as he went by, then inside the door ran right into a minor nightmare: Amy talking to his ex-wife, Libby, and her partner, Margaret.
    It had been like this: They'd met ten years ago, summer in Alaska, a remote lodge on Baranof Island on the Chatham Strait, where scientists were given access to a couple of rigid-hulled Zodiacs and all the canned beans, smoked salmon, and Russian vodka they could consume. Nate had come to observe the feeding behavior of his