“Visually, nothing had changed,” said Bass, his voice barely audible. “The white sand of the beach, the few palms, all was as it had been. The test animals we had placed on the island were all dead, of course. I insisted on a waiting period of two weeks to give any residual effects a chance to dissipate before permitting the scientists to examine the results firsthand. Dr. Vetterly and three of his assistants landed on the beach wearing full protective clothing and breathing apparatus. Seventeen minutes later, all were dead.”

Pitt fought to preserve his balance. “How was it possible?”

“Dr. Vetterly had vastly underestimated his discovery. The potency of other lethal agents wears off after a time. Conversely, QD gains in strength. By what method it penetrated the scientists’ protective gear we were never able to determine.”

“Did you retrieve the bodies?”

“They still lie there,” said Bass with sadness in his eyes. “You see, Mr. Pitt, the terrible power of QD is only half its malignity. QD’s most frightening quality is its refusal to die. We later found that its bacillus forms superresistant spores, which are able to penetrate the ground-in Rongelo Island’s case, the coral-and live out an astonishing lifespan.”

“I find it incredible that after thirty-four years no one can safely go in and carry out Vetterly’s remains.”

There was a sickness in Bass’s voice. “There is no way of pinpointing the exact date,” he murmured, “but our best estimate indicated that man won’t be able to step foot on Rongelo Island for another three hundred years.”

34

Fawkes leaned over the ship’s chart table, studying a set of blueprints, his hand making notations with a pencil. Two large men, well muscled,

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the faces beneath their hard hats tanned and thoughtful, stood on either side of him. “I want her gutted, every compartment, every scrap of unnecessary tubing and electrical conduits, even her bulkheads.”

The man on Fawkes’s left snorted derisively. “You’ve lost your gourd, Captain. Tear out the bulkheads and she’ll break up in any sea rougher than a millpond.”

“Dugan is right,” said the other man. “You can’t gut a vessel this size without losing her structural resistance to stress.”

“Your objections are duly noted, gentlemen,” Fawkes replied. “But in order for her to ride high, her draft must be cut by forty percent.”

“I’ve never heard of gutting a sound ship just to raise her waterline,” said Dugan. “What’s the purpose of it all?”

“You can scrap the armor as well as the auxiliary machinery,” Fawkes said, ignoring Dugan’s question. “While you’re about it, you can see to the removal of the turret masts.”

“Come off it, Captain,” snapped Lou Metz, the shipyard superintendent. “You’re asking us to ruin what was once a damned fine ship.”