Dubinin would do the same. Pulling in a lot of old professional debts, and leaning heavily on the yard's Master Shipwright, he'd performed miracles during the refit. Bedding had all been replaced. The ship had been scrubbed surgically clean, and repainted with bright, airy colors. Dubinin had worked with the local supply officers and obtained the best food he could find. A well-fed crew was a happy crew, and men responded to a commander who worked hard for them. That was the whole point of the new professional spirit in the Soviet Navy. Valentin Borissovich Dubinin had learned his trade from the best teacher his navy had ever had, and he was determined that he would be the new Marko Ramius. He had the best ship, had the best crew, and he would on this cruise set the standard for the Soviet Pacific Fleet. He would also have to be lucky, of course.

"That's the hardware," Fromm said. "From now on "

"Yes, from now on we are assembling the actual device. I see you've changed the design somewhat ?"

"Yes. Two tritium reservoirs. I prefer the shorter injection piping. Mechanically, it is no different. The timing is not critical, and the pressurization ensures that it will function properly."

"Also makes loading the tritium easier," Ghosn observed. "That's why you did it."

"Correct."

The inside of the device made Ghosn think of the half-assembled body of some alien airplane. There was the delicacy and precision of aircraft parts, but the almost baffling configuration in which they were placed. Something from a science-fiction movie, Ghosn thought, whimsical for a brief moment but then this was science-fiction, or had been until recently. The first public discussion of nuclear weapons had been in H. G. Wells, hadn't it? That hadn't been so long ago.

"Commander, I saw your doctor," Achmed said in the far corner.

"And - you still look ill, my friend." Qati noted. "What is the problem?"

"He wants me to see another doctor in Damascus."

Qati instantly did not like that. Did not like it at all. But Achmed was a comrade who had served the movement for years. How could he say no to someone who had twice saved his life, once stopping a bullet himself to do so?

"You know that what goes on here "

"Commander, I will die before I speak of this place.

Even though I know nothing of this - this project. I will die first."

There was no doubting the man, and Qati knew what it was to be seriously ill at a young and healthy age. He could not deny the man medical care while he himself regularly visited a physician. How could his men respect him if he did such a thing?

"Two men will go with you. I will select them."

"Thank you, Commander. Please forgive my weakness."

"Weakness?" Qati grabbed the man by the shoulder. "You are the strongest among us! We need you back, and we need you healthy! Go tomorrow."