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.

“Virgil,” I say, “do you still have that simulator app on your phone, the one that makes whale songs?”

He stares at me in surprise. “I—Yeah!”

“Will it work without an internet connection?”

“Of course.” He sounds mildly offended. “I downloaded the whole library of whale songs.”

This doesn’t surprise me. I have spent years teasing Virgil about the number of useless apps on his phone. Now I owe him a huge apology.

“Virgil, you’re amazing,” I say. “Gem, go with him to open the lockbox. Just make sure that phone stays offline.”

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

Gem nods, and off they go.

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

Lee-Ann runs computations for a new encryption base. We can’t simply send back the same whale-song 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.

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

Virgil and Gem return with the phone. Virgil starts playing whale songs, which isn’t annoying at all. Gem 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.

After an hour and a half, my eyesight is starting to blur. A line of sweat trickles down my back and sticks my shirt to my skin like superglue. We put the finishing touches on our transmission, coding the phonetic components into the sweeps and pitches of whale song, as if blue whales sang in Bundeli.

The message says VARUNA FROM HP. DO NOT FIRE. EMERGENCY SITUATION. ANA DAKKAR ON BOARD.

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