More silence.

"Maybe it's trivial," Samshow finally said. "But I'd like to discuss this oxygen increase and decrease in mean sea level . . . what are the figures?"

"Oxygen level up one percent, mean sea level decreased by one centimeter. What if they're related?"

"I'm sure we've all been thinking about that," Arthur said. "Something might be dissociating seawater into hydrogen and oxygen, on a huge scale."

"So?" Sand prompted. "Where's the hydrogen?"

"I haven't the slightest idea," Samshow said. "Just thought I'd mention it."

Post's frown intensified. "Very interesting," he said.

"Has anybody got any good news?" Arthur asked. "Something to cheer us up before we go to dinner?"

Nobody did.

Chapter 37

37

November 24

On a rare, dangerous but necessary outing to the town, Edward sat in the café, a plate with the remnants of a large hamburger and fries pushed to one side, and looked over the papers sent by his department head in Austin. Chits for release of back pay, amended W-2 forms, suggested teaching schedules for the next semester. A liability waiver from the school's attorneys, asking that the school be released from whatever slight responsibility it might have had for their being in Death Valley. The implication was, of course, that signing all these papers— especially the last—would mean his reinstatement and the resumption of his career.

Minelli entered the café and sat down quietly beside him. "You going to sign?"

"I don't see why not," Edward said. "You?"

"Sure. Back to normal." He grinned wanly and lifted a thumb, then looked at the thumb intently. "Hitchhiking back into life. The old school's acting as if they're afraid of us."

The waitress, young and plump and bright-faced, came out of the kitchen with a keypad. "You want to order something?" she asked.

"How's the meat loaf?" Minelli asked.

The waitress lifted her eyes heavenward. "Not recommended," she said. "We don't have any, actually."

"Nan, nothing for me."

"Anything else?" she asked Shaw. He declined. She issued a printed bill from the front of the keypad and he handed her his charge card.

"We should cut our book deals soon," Minelli said.

"There haven't been any offers," Edward reminded him.

"They're ..." Minelli seemed to lose his train of thought. "Reslaw thinks we're just lying too low to get any offers. We should talk to that Air Force attorney, or maybe to Mrs. Morgan's lawyer."

"You really want to write a book now?" Edward asked softly. "Go back over all we've been through, when nobody really knows what's going on yet?"

"You mean, why try anything until it's all over ..."

Edward nodded. "We can stay here for another couple of days, spend some time out in the desert—"

"Away from Death Valley."

"Right. And then get back to Austin and hope the reporters have forgotten about us."

"Fat chance," Minelli said.