“All right, people,” Jacky said, glancing at her gold wristwatch, “why don’t we move this fascinating conversation to the queue. The flight’s boarding in half an hour, and we want to be on it.”

∆∆∆

A bus drove the dozen or so passengers across the runway to a small single-engine turboprop with a purple and white livery. The sun was now high in the sky, brightening the morning. Marty followed Jacky and Rad up a small set of aluminum stairs into the hatch of the aircraft. A smiling flight attendant checked their boarding passes and waved them down the cramped fuselage.

“I’m right here,” Rad said, stopping in the aisle. “2B.”

“I’m 2A,” Marty said, slightly stooped to avoid brushing his head on the ceiling.

“I’m 8D,” said Jacky.

“Why wouldn’t they put us all together? We checked in together, and the flight’s not full.”

“It’s Sri Lanka, Marty. Your British standards are set too high.”

A mustachioed man behind Marty cleared his throat impatiently.

“I guess we’ll see you when we land,” Marty said, shuffling sideways to his window seat.

Rad settled into the seat next to him, resting her beach bag on her lap. The toy dog—Marty couldn’t bring himself to think of it as his namesake—was looking at him with its beady black eyes, its tongue lolling out of the side of its mouth.

“Has it flown before?” he asked.

She nodded. “He flies with me all the time.”

“He doesn’t bark?”

“Marty never barks.”

“Do you have to call him that?”

“It’s his name.”

“I know, but… Can’t you call him M or something, at least for today?”

“How about I call you Em? How would you like that? It’s a girl’s name, for heaven’s sake.”

“And that dog oozes masculinity,” he mumbled, lifting his butt to retrieve the ends of his seatbelt. He fastened the buckles, leaned back in the seat, and closed his eyes.

“What are you doing?” Rad asked him.

“Wake me when we land,” he said.

“I thought you’d be too excited to sleep. This skull is like the holy grail for you.”

“I didn’t get much sleep last night.”

“I didn’t either, but I’m not taking a nap.”

“Why didn’t you get much sleep?”

“I stayed up watching your documentary. It’s on YouTube these days. Did you know that?”

Marty scowled. “Why the hell did you watch that?”

“I’m still trying to get my head around you being The Merdoc. I wanted to see what all the hype was about.”

“Please stop calling me The Merdoc. It’s pejorative.”

“I think it’s a good nickname. Reminds me of The Horse Whisperer, and The Merdoc is way better than The Mermaid Whisperer. By the way, it’s really good. The documentary. You’re really good. I don’t know why you’re so embarrassed by it.”

He opened his eyes. “Because it was a lie, Rad, all of it!”

“No, it wasn’t, Marty. The video of the…” She lowered her voice. “The mermaid might have been a fake. But what you talked about, all that stuff about historical sightings of merfolk and their physiologies and social structures, that was based on research and honest speculation. You should be proud.”