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long it would take the divers to dig them out.
    Nick decided they should celebrate and suggested they have a meal. In one corner of the sphere was a small cupboard that pulled down to form a table, where Beau had stashed the day’s supply of sandwiches and flasks of hot coffee. Last night the cook had prepared fresh muffins, and right now this sounded like a welcome idea as the men were eager to have something to take their minds off their predicament.
    Five hours later, dried up, leftover sandwiches and cold coffee littered the small table and the sounds of scraping above them grew louder. Condensation from their hot breaths in the cold sphere clouded the fisheyes , yet perspiration glistened on every visible part of their bodies. The playing cards were scattered across the floor where Wolf had flung them. Now he sat with arms crossed, huddled as far from the others as the small space would allow. The elation they felt at their discovery had drained away as the clock ticked on with no sign of the divers breaking through.
    Nick fiddled with the air conditioner to keep the temperature at a tolerable level that would not drain the emergency batteries.
    ‘What d’you think their doing out there?’ Wolf asked nobody in particular.
    Beau slapped the communications mike. ‘What a time for the bloody radio to quit! If we just knew what they’re doing.’
    ‘The rocks are blocking the signal,’ Wolf said.  ‘They’re Basalt with a high presence of oxide minerals that increase their magnetic signature.’
    Beau’s mouth dropped. ‘Great. So your saying we have to wait till they move the rocks? Try that fancy computer of yours Jeremy.’
    ‘No good. The Satcom won’t work at this depth.’
    Communications in the year 2030 with the aid of Satcom had made giant leaps forward, to the point that every ship could be seen and pinpointed anywhere on the ocean at any time of day or night, except for submarines below thirty metres, who had to rely on the old fashioned radios.
    Although Jeremy did not complain Nick saw that he had removed his glasses and his eyes were glazed. Sweat oozed from his pale face and he gritted his teeth with each movement. Nick passed him some more aspirin. ‘Take it easy mate. Can’t be too much longer.’
    The internal temperature of five degrees Celsius was bearable for six hours, but it had been eleven hours since the first shock downed them, and due to the lack of mobility the men felt the cold beginning to penetrate their green bodysuits. These suits were made of a material that could insulate the wearer against cold or warmth, depending on the colour. Most of the world’s population wore clothes made of this material, which was very effective, but now the sustained cold atmosphere of the Bunyip forced them to don heavy jackets.
    On board Platypus a crane laboured over the side, lifting, dragging and dropping rocks away from the stricken Bunyip. Joe and Enrico had returned from their six-hour shift and two relief divers had replaced them. They worked this way non-stop through the night, changing shifts, moving rocks. Nature gave them a reprieve and the wind force had died down to a tolerable level. Ice glazed the deck and the ship rolled and dipped into the unforgiving sea, but it did not stop the crane crew who fought the battle non-stop.
    The reports from the divers were not encouraging. They worked in an area where they could see barely two metres in front of them, where every move reduced that to centimetres. They had no idea if they worked in the direction required to free the Bunyip. Sam had sent down a hydrostat, a sophisticated successor to the hydrophone, but at this depth until the divers could attach it to the hull of the Bunyip it had no use.
    Joe was on his second shift the next morning when they exposed a square metre of the hull. It rested two metres below the surface of the rocks. ‘Only twenty-odd feet to go, but which direction?’ He sighed, his voice flat and defeated. He