Lisa pov

But no pressure.

It's one thing to decrypt a message. It's much harder to figure out the correct answer and say it back in the same code. And we have less than two hours to do it.

Maybe Lincoln Base – if it really is Lincoln Base – has a machine that generates messages in blue whale/five by five/Bundeli. We do not. Nor do we have access to that superweapon of information, the internet, which might help us put together the pieces.

We have to trust our own training and best guesses.

That's terrifying.

'Rosie,' I hum, 'do you still have that simulator app on your phone, the one that makes whale songs?'

She stares at me in surprise. 'I – Yeah I do'

'Will it work without an internet connection?'

'Of course.' She sounds mildly offended. 'I downloaded the whole library of whale songs.'

This doesn't surprise me. I have spent years teasing Rosie about the number of useless apps on her phone. Now I owe her a huge apology.

'Roseanne, you're amazing,' I say.

I've been feeling the need to tell her that a lot, just so maybe one day she'll believe it. When she opened up to me about her past, I could feel my heart slowly breaking with every word she said. When the tears finally came out, it wasn't with pity. It was with guilt. Roseanne went through all the shit her company and boyfriend threw at her, and all I could think about was why I wasn't there for her. Why I didn't notice how Roseanne was hurting so much.

 'Hwasa, go with Wheein to open the lockbox. Get Roseanne's phone. Just make sure that phone stays offline.'

I doubt they could get a signal anyway, and neither Hwasa nor Wheein seems like the type to try sneaking a look at TikTok in the middle of the Pacific. But I feel I should remind them.

Meanwhile, Jisoo runs to get Jennie. Once the two of them are back, they start puzzling out how to use the LOCUS to send messages rather than just receive.

Mina runs computations for a new encryption base. We can't simply send back the same whalesong algorithm. That would be too easy. If it is an HP base we're talking to, they'll expect us to keep the format but change the register, like modulating to a new key in the middle of a song.

Jisoo and I brainstorm expressions in Bundeli that we might want to send. We start with DO NOT FIRE. We figure that will be important. 

Hwasa and Wheein return with the phone. Wheein starts playing whale songs, which isn't annoying at all. Hwasa serves as our timekeeper, periodically letting us know how much longer we have until we are blown to bits. Again, not the least bit annoying.

The message says VARUNA FROM HP. DO NOT FIRE. EMERGENCY SITUATION. THE DAKKARS ON   BOARD. 

At least, I hope that's what it says. At this point, my brain is so mushy the message could say ROSEANNE IS MY FAVOURITE MAMMAL and I wouldn't know the difference.

I feel self-conscious about using our name as part of the response. The other Dolphins have convinced me it's necessary. They figure that if we're really so valuable, my presence on board might keep anyone –friends or enemies – from torpedoing us with alt-tech death weapons.

'Unless we're talking to an automated relay,' Roseanne muses. 'If it's looking for a specific codeword, and we don't send it –'

'Then we've come a long way just to get killed,' Solar says.

'There's that can-do Dolphin spirit I love,' I say.

It's a long-running joke among us. Combined, we're fluent in, like, two dozen languages, but we have no word for optimism.

 Nobody smiles. The stakes are too high.

I turn to Jennie. 'Are we good to transmit?'

'As far as I can tell.' She sounds cheerful. She's chosen a festive red shade of lip gloss and eyeshadow to go with her black leggings and red hoodie. I swear her go-bag must be an extradimensional space to accommodate all her outfits. 'Of course, the transmitter might not work. Or we might give away our position to the Aronnax. But we have to try new things, right?'

Hwasa coughs. She's wearing her usual commando green and black, standing next to Jennie, so together the two of them look like a Christmas tree. 

'Twenty minutes until the reply deadline,' she adds helpfully.

'Permission to send?' Roseanne asks.

Jisoo hesitates. 'Not yet. Gather the crew. They deserve to know what's happening.'

 The afternoon sun beats down on the main deck. Jisoo tells the assembled crew about the challenge, the response we've prepared and the 273 things that could possibly go wrong.

'When we send this signal,' I add, 'we'll be revealing our location. We have to gamble that this isn't a trap, and that we've evaded our enemies.' It still feels strange referring to Land Institute as our enemies, but there's nothing else to call them. We're way past toilet-papering each other's school buses now. 

'Also, if we send the message and it's not correct, we could be under attack in fifteen minutes.'  Jisoo says.

'Eleven,' Wheein says.

'Thank you, Prefect Whee,' I say dryly. 

Some of our classmates crack a smile. I guess nervous humour is good.

'If, however,' Roseanne continues, 'we are communicating with an HP base, then we could be among friends by this evening.'

An anxious murmur goes through the group. After three days at sea, our old lives seem far away. It's starting to feel unbelievable that anyone who's not on this boat could exist, much less be a friend. Nevertheless, no one protests. No one asks questions. At this point, in the middle of the ocean with almost no supplies left, what choice do we have?

'Prefect Yuna?' I say.

'Captain.'

 I blink. This is the first time anyone has called me captain. That's Jisoo's title. I'm not sure how I feel about that. 'All hands for general quarters. Jisoo?'

'Yes, babycakes?'

That gets some laughter. I silently thank my sister for having an insubordinate sense of humour. It's been a long time since any of us had a good laugh. Besides, babycakes doesn't sound any more ridiculous to me than captain.

'Let's send the message,' I tell her. 'If anyone needs to use the head, now would be a good time.'

The crew disperses. All things considered, their spirits seem high. I hope I haven't led them astray. I hit the bathroom. I change maxi-pads, take a couple of painkillers and throw up. Today is a great day.

 I get back to the bridge just as Jisoo sends the message.

Roseanne and Hank have joined us for the big moment.  I take Roseanne's hand and stuff a brownie in it. She makes a face at the sugar square but pops it in her mouth when she thinks I'm not looking.

Hwasa fidgets like she's got a jellyfish in her shirt. Like Solar, she's one of those people who think on time means thirty minutes early. It must be killing her that we're cutting things so close to the deadline.

We wait for a response.

 I remind Jisoo to breathe. She looks as if she's just swallowed a fish.

I imagine ballistic missiles hurtling over the horizon, zeroing in on our position. I remember the trident-shaped wake lines of the torpedoes that destroyed our school. I picture a full complement of alt-tech sonic fish burrowing through the water towards our hull.

 Nothing happens.

Then, suddenly ... still nothing happens.

Five more minutes pass. More nothing

The minutes turn into an hour. Funny how that happens when you put sixty of them together.

The afternoon sun slants through the forward windows. This turns the bridge into an Easy-bake oven. Sweat trickles down my neck. Jisoo's face is the colour of a boiled crab. Even Jennie'sperfect make-up is starting to melt. Roseanne and I take turns fanning each other with a newspaper. Hank finishes his second bowl of water and continues panting like crazy. (I don't think he understands water rationing.) 

Outside, Hwasa and Wheein man the Leyden cannon. They look miserable in their life vests and tactical gear. 

The sea ahead remains flat and empty, except for Socrates, who leads the way like a pilot fish. Occasionally he leaps out of the water, turning as he breaches. He looks back at us with his sideways smile. I imagine him thinking, Come on, guys! If you get blown up or whatever, it's fine! I'll be safe!

'We're still alive,' Jennie notes, handing Jisoo a bottle of water. 'That's good. Maybe we passed the test.' 

I hope she's right. I was sort of hoping for confirmation, though. A giant glowing smiley face on theLOCUS display would've been sufficient. Or confetti. The silence is unnerving.

The sun is just touching the horizon when I order engines to a full stop.

The weather is clear. If there was an island anywhere close to us, we should be able to see it. This was supposed to be our destination. There's nothing here.

The sun is just touching the horizon when I order engines to a full stop.

 The weather is clear. If there was an island anywhere close to us, we should be able to see it. This was supposed to be our destination. There's nothing here.

My mouth feels like rice paper.

 'Send the message again,' I tell Jisoo.

This time, she doesn't call me babycakes. Everyone on the bridge wears a grim expression.

 The second transmission has no obvious effect.

We float in the calm of the sunset. Out on the foredeck, Wheein and Hwasa stare to the west, their cannon forgotten. Moonbyul hovers around, occasionally throwing a lude comment to the two. The scene is almost enough to lift my spirits.

I curse myself for believing in Dr Hewett's pseudoscience map. I actually thought we could safely captain a 120-foot training yacht with a crew of freshmen into the middle of the Pacific and find a place that doesn't exist on any nautical chart.

I think about what to tell the crew. With no food or water, how long can we last? If we put out an SOS, will anyone hear us? Will anybody reach us in time?

 I mentally kick myself for not preparing a Plan B. As a Dolphin, plans were supposed to by my department. I've sentenced us all to death.

'Guys ...' I'm not sure what to say to my bridge crew. How do you apologize for such a massive failure?

I'm about to start my speech when I'm interrupted by Jisoo.

' What is that?' Jisoo frowns, heading for the edge of the boat.

Directly off our bow, the air ripples. It's as if a mile-wide curtain of mirrors has been reflecting the sea. Now the curtain shatters.

The island takes my breath away.

The central volcanic peak rises three hundred feet, jagged and crumbly like a heap of burnt brown sugar. Surrounding it is a turquoise lagoon, ringed by an atoll maybe a mile in diameter, with sandy white beaches hugging a spine of thick vegetation. Off our starboard side, a break in the atoll forms a natural gateway into the lagoon. 

A woman's voice crackles over our intercom. 'Varuna, this is Lincoln Base.'

She sounds a bit cranky. 'Your visit was not scheduled. Stand by for harbour drone guidance. Make any sign of aggressive intent, and you will be destroyed. If we do not see the Dakkars aboard, safe and unharmed, you will be destroyed.' 

Okay. Maybe she sounds a lot cranky. I exchange a look with Jennie.

A garbled noise comes over the feed, as if someone else is speaking to her in the background. I catch the words polite, fuck and dinner.

'Fine,' the woman growls slightly off-mic. Then to us: 'You will advise the drone how many will be joining us for dinner. Jupiter is baking lasagne. Lincoln Base out.'

~~~~