"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, 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 qu
estion. "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."
"Aye, she was a fine ship," agreed Fawkes. "In my mind she still is. But time has passed her by. Your government sold her for scrap and the African Army of Revolution bought her for a very special undertaking."
"That's something else that rubs us wrong," said Dugan. "Busting our ass so's some bunch of nigger radicals can kill white people."
Fawkes laid down the pencil and fixed Dugan with a rigid stare. "I don't think you people quite realize the economics of the situation," he said. "What the AAR does with the ship once it leaves your shipyard needn't concern your racial philosophies. What counts is that they pay my wages the same as they pay yours and those of your men, who, if my memory serves me, number one hundred and seventy. However, if you insist, I'll be happy to convey your sentiments to the officials in charge of the AAR treasury.
I feel certain they can find another shipyard that will prove more cooperative. And that would be a pity, particularly since their contract is the only one on your books at present. Without it, all one hundred and seventy men on your crew would have to be laid off. I do not think their families will take it kindly when they find out your petty objections put their menfolk out of work."
Dugan and Metz exchanged angry, defeated looks. Metz avoided Fawkes's eyes and gazed down sullenly at the blueprints.
"Okay, Cap- ; tain, you're calling the shots."
There was a confidence born of long years of commanding men refleeted in Fawkes's tight smile. "Thank you, gentlemen. Now that we've cleared the air of any misunderstandings, shall we continue?"
An hour later the two shipyard men left the bridge and made their way down to the main deck of the ship. "I can't believe I heard right," Metz mumbled numbly. "Did that lead-brained Scotsman actually order us to remove half the superstructure, the funnels, and the fore and aft gun turrets and replace them all with plywood sheeting painted gray?"
"That's what the man said," Dugan replied. "I guess he figures by dumping all that weight he can lighten the ship by fifteen thousand tons."
"But why replace everything with dummy structures?"
"Beats me. Maybe he and his black buddies expect to bluff the South African Navy to death."
"And that's another thing," said Metz. "If you bought a ship like this to use in a foreign war, wouldn't you try and keep the deal under wraps? My guess is that they're going to blast Cape Town all to hell."
"With dummy guns, no less," grunted Dugan.
"I'd like to tell that overgrown bastard to take his contract and stuff it up his ass," Metz rasped.
"You can't deny he's got us by the balls." Dugan turned and stared up at the shadowy figure behind the bridge windows. "Do you think he's ripe for a straitjacket?"
"Nuts?"
"Yeah."