[pshrynk]

Harv brought the Goose in slowly, feathering back the props. It landed gracefully. Well, as gracefully as three tons of what is bascially an aluminum boat welded to an airplane can be. He taxied up to the submarine, which ironically was named Bluefish in Japanese. Thankfully, the ocean was calm, so there was little difficulty in mooring the plane to the deck.

Myatake stuck his head through the door. "You two stay here. We will take on the cargo andthen leave."

They listened as various thumps gave evidence to a weighty load being placed in the cargo hold.

"So, do you think the White Sox have a chance at the Series, this year?" asked Vivaldi.



Vera had had an unpleasant ride. First there was the unconscius form of Fujimora, who slowly came back to life. His moaning and complaining had been unbearable. Then, the squid was rather awful. It had crept out of Myatake's pocket and had made it half way up the bulkhead to the window before being retrieved and placed in a bucket of water. Now, it just glared at her over the rim with a look that said, "I really object to being treated like an object, you know. Even squid have feelings. If you had any compassion at all, you would have helped me jump out the window when I was making my bid for freedom. I could be halfway home, by now.*"

Vera felt vaguely guilty.

But worst of all had been the rustling coming from the emergency kit. The lid had snapped open at one point and she swore that a pair of comfy looking wool socks had scurried out. She'd have screamed, but the one sock without the safety pin had implored her with a look not to. She was beginning to doubt the sanity of a person who could read the expression of a wool sock.