Part 12 (2/2)

”It's deserted,” Tane said, scanning the cove with binoculars. ”Let's park the sub up on the beach for a while and go for a swim.”

”Hauturu.” Fatboy shook his head, giving the island its Maori name. ”We're not allowed to land there. It's a wildlife sanctuary.”

”We're not allowed to break into science labs either,” Tane pointed out, ”but that's not stopping us. And what do the wild lives need sanctuary from anyway?”

Rebecca smiled but said softly, ”Us.”

They did go for a swim eventually, after Fatboy jury-rigged an anchor by tying a nylon rope to the bow and diving down to secure it around a heavy rock in shallow water near the northern tip of the small cove. It seemed strange that the Mobius Mobius did not have an anchor of her own, but maybe, as Rebecca surmised, n.o.body ever thought she would need one. did not have an anchor of her own, but maybe, as Rebecca surmised, n.o.body ever thought she would need one.

Once the boat was secure against the gradual draw of the tide, and with the sun a dusky memory on the horizon, they fooled around for a while, dive-bombing each other off the end of the boat, dunking each other, and generally acting like a bunch of lunatics until the light faded a little too far, and the water darkened a little too much, and they climbed back on board for the night.

They sealed the hatches, released the buoy, and with a whisper of bubbles, slowly sank to the bottom of the cove, landing gently in soft sand between a small underwater ridge and a few scattered boulders.

And there, in the tranquility of Little Barrier Island, they slept, serenaded only by the gentle sounds of the sea and the hum of the air hose from the buoy.

b.u.t.t M MOP Rebecca downloaded the next batch of BATSE data the next afternoon while Tane had his turn steering the sub. A few boats had been cruising the area, and the fine weather of the previous day had disappeared, replaced by squally showers, so they had taken the precaution of submerging and continuing the trip in the relative calm of the ocean depths. of BATSE data the next afternoon while Tane had his turn steering the sub. A few boats had been cruising the area, and the fine weather of the previous day had disappeared, replaced by squally showers, so they had taken the precaution of submerging and continuing the trip in the relative calm of the ocean depths.

”More of the same,” Rebecca said, peering at the characters on the screen of her laptop. ”Just more of the same.”

Since the ”Water Works” and the as-yet-indecipherable ”b.u.t.t Mop,” there had been nothing but numbers. Always a series of numbers, separated by commas, then a full stop, then another series. Not Lotto numbers; they didn't fit the pattern. Something else. Something with a lot lot of numbers! of numbers!

Every day it seemed there were more transmissions captured by the satellite and uploaded to the BATSE Web site. They had set both Tane's computer and Rebecca's s.h.i.+ny new laptop running Rebecca's program, day and night, and were working through the backlog of transmissions that had been coming in ever since they had visited Dr. Barnes at the university.

Rebecca had tried every combination and calculation she could think of to make some sense out of the numbers, but the answer still eluded her. She was convinced, and had said so many times, that the solution would be something not logical. Something lateral. Something that Tane's creative imagination would be needed to solve.

”Come on, Tane,” she said. ”We need you to think outside the box.”

Tane stared out at the monotonous sameness of the ocean. It was hard to think creatively when you had a splitting headache, and he had one now. He hadn't slept much the previous night but had lain awake worried about breaking into the lab. That was against the law. It was a criminal act. He had never broken the law before (unless you counted that packet of gum he had ”borrowed” from the corner store when he was seven). He had rolled over and over in his tiny bunk, and now his head throbbed with the pulse of the engines. Think outside the box. Think outside the box.

He wasn't the only one feeling the stress of the mission. He could see it on the faces of the others, especially Rebecca. She could not afford to go to jail. Could any of them? No. But especially not Rebecca. Yet it had to be done. What were the consequences if they did it? What would be the consequences if they didn't?

In the clear open water here, there was nothing much to look at. Just the occasional school of fish or curious shark. Ahead at Poor Knights Islands there was a world-famous diving spot, renowned for its clear waters, colorful marine life, and the wreck of the Rainbow Warrior. Rainbow Warrior. But that was a bit off course for them, so he had to be content with the blue-green infinity of the open water. But that was a bit off course for them, so he had to be content with the blue-green infinity of the open water.

Think outside the box. It was a well-worn phrase from an old puzzle that he had once seen. Nine dots that formed a three-by-three grid. Join all the dots using just four lines. It seemed impossible to most logical people, but creative thinkers quickly realized that it was easy, if you allowed your four lines to extend beyond the confines of the grid. Outside the box. It was a well-worn phrase from an old puzzle that he had once seen. Nine dots that formed a three-by-three grid. Join all the dots using just four lines. It seemed impossible to most logical people, but creative thinkers quickly realized that it was easy, if you allowed your four lines to extend beyond the confines of the grid. Outside the box.

He sketched the puzzle on a notepad, then completed the lines to make the answer.

Something struck him about that phrase. Think outside the box. Think outside the box. He stopped trying to solve it and let his mind drift idly, like the ocean around them. The dead fish in the beer rings came to mind, but he shook that away quickly. Quick flashes of many things, superimposed on each other-Fatboy's hand on Rebecca's shoulder, the nervous lawyer absentmindedly pulling at his mustache, the fantail family naively fearless in their flimsy nest, the chessboard he had bought Rebecca for Christmas. And as it usually did, the answer just floated into his mind and was there for quite a while before he realized it. He stopped trying to solve it and let his mind drift idly, like the ocean around them. The dead fish in the beer rings came to mind, but he shook that away quickly. Quick flashes of many things, superimposed on each other-Fatboy's hand on Rebecca's shoulder, the nervous lawyer absentmindedly pulling at his mustache, the fantail family naively fearless in their flimsy nest, the chessboard he had bought Rebecca for Christmas. And as it usually did, the answer just floated into his mind and was there for quite a while before he realized it.

The chessboard. Think outside the box. Think outside the box. Black and white chess pieces, black and white boxes on the chessboard. Boxes. Black and white chess pieces, black and white boxes on the chessboard. Boxes. Think outside the box. Think outside the box. The chessboard itself was a box, made up of smaller black and white boxes. Think The chessboard itself was a box, made up of smaller black and white boxes. Think inside inside the box! the box!

”The chessboard,” he finally said out loud.

Rebecca was in the main cabin, sitting on one of the bunks, working on her computer. She looked through the pressure door at him. ”What chessboard?”

”Any chessboard,” Tane said quickly.

Fatboy had been lying on one of the other bunks, but now he walked over and sat in the codriver's seat. ”Go on,” he said purposefully. He was wearing his cowboy hat, which seemed a little silly to Tane.

”A chessboard is made up of eight boxes by eight boxes, right? Some black, some white.”

”Yes.”

Rebecca was starting to get it, Tane thought.

”Suppose you had a chessboard that was made up of one thousand boxes by one thousand boxes. That would be one thousand squared.” He picked up the notepad and wrote it: 10002. ”In the first row, instead of alternating black and white, suppose the first, say, eighty were white, and the next-what was it...” He checked the printout.

BTMP1000:2.80,24,341,55,500.80,24,342,54,499,1.80,24

”...twenty-four were black. And so on and so on for all the rows. What would you have?”

”A b.l.o.o.d.y great, stupid-looking chessboard,” said Fatboy, who was cool and popular but wasn't really all that bright.

”A photograph,” said Rebecca, who was.

”Or a fax,” said Tane who, just at that moment, thought he was the brightest of them all. ”A fax is just a lot of rows of black and white dots, arranged in a particular pattern to form a picture.”

”Brilliant!” Rebecca cried. She put down her computer and rushed into the control room. She threw her arms around Fatboy's neck and gave him a huge hug from behind.

Hey, thought Tane, thought Tane, it was me who solved it! it was me who solved it!

”What should we do?” asked Fatboy. ”Get a big piece of paper and start to draw it up?”

Rebecca shook her head. ”It'd be easier to do on the computer. I'll do it in Photoshop. I'll just create an image one thousand dots by one thousand dots and save it as a...” She stopped, and then strangely, and rather tiredly, began to laugh again.

”What?” asked Tane, a little defensively, thinking she was laughing at him.

”Save it as a bitmap. bitmap.”

It took Rebecca nearly two hours to take the data they already had and convert it into dots on the bitmap. All the weeks of data they had received and it made up less than a third of the image. It was clear enough from that what the image was going to be, though.

”It's a diagram,” Rebecca announced from the main cabin, studying the image on the screen of her laptop. ”A schematic.”

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