Every three months or so, the Beagle docked at an island in the Pacific—the same island every time. I didn’t know its location; no one except the bridge crew did. But I knew it was west of Hawaii, south of the equator, and that it had been uninhabited when it had first come into the Citium’s possession. Everything was new here: the buildings, the port, the roads. There was no government save for the Citium, and no crime. No fear. Perhaps for that reason alone, the Beagle sailed for the island right after Rio. The entire crew was shaken, not just Sylvia, Lin, and Yuri.

Yuri and Lin had grown up in near-constant danger; he in Stalingrad during the German invasion, she in Hong Kong during the Japanese occupation. But I think they hadn’t experienced real life-threatening danger in twenty years—since their childhood. It scared them, though Yuri was stoic as usual. On the sub, Lin told me how he had fought them. He had been brave, but it was a useless fight. All the same, I liked him even more for it.

I don’t know the island’s official designation, but aboard the Beagle we called it the Isle of Citium, or simply the Isle. It had a deep-water harbor on its south side, with a massive seaport that was way too large for such a small landmass. Every time we docked, there was a cargo ship unloading supplies—building materials mostly, and some heavy equipment. The cost of building on the island was enormous, but I saw the logic in it. This place was completely off the grid and extremely hard to find. Most people don’t realize how vast the Pacific is. Every continent and landmass on the planet could fit within the Pacific. It’s larger than the Atlantic and Indian Oceans combined.

The Isle was the perfect place for the Citium to hide, and in August of 1967, it was the perfect place for our crew to recuperate. We unloaded at the port, rode the electric golf carts to the residential building, and retired to our rooms. The place wasn’t fancy, but it was clean and offered privacy: every bedroom had its own bathroom and a small living room. After three months on the Beagle, it felt like a vast penthouse apartment. Being able to shower in privacy was a luxury. Sleeping without a person above and below you, and three more across from you, was refreshing—and quiet.

In my time in the field, I have found that a brush with death always changes a person. Some not permanently, but everyone temporarily. That was true for Yuri and Lin. Yuri turned inward. On the Isle, he poured himself into his work. He was more convinced than ever of its importance.

Lin changed in the opposite direction. She stopped working herself to the bone. In the cafeteria, she laughed more, stayed longer at the lunch table.