Free Island in the Sea of Time by S. M. Stirling Page A

for the tourist trade.
    Brand spoke: “Chief, get me seed and tools and people and I can produce grain. But I’d have to have the seed soon , for spring planting—it looks like the growing season’s longer here, but even so, it’ll be tight. We could use more animal breeding stock as well. There’s some poultry, and those will reproduce fast. It’s the larger stock that are the problem. We have a small herd of sheep, good dualpurpose Corriedales; and four stallions, forty-two mares, twenty-one geldings; and some cows, several of them in calf, thank God, so we should get a bull calf or two, but not a pig on the island. Pigs would be ideal—they breed so quickly and eat anything—and we could use ewes, mares and cows as well. They’re the limiting factor.”
    Cofflin looked at Alston. She spread her hands. “I can take the Eagle across the Atlantic easily enough,” she said. “Assumin’ the winds and currents are basically similar, in about two weeks on the northern route, with a little more to get back. Plus whatever time it takes to dicker with the locals and to load. The Eagle wasn’t designed to carry cargo. My only real problem is the stars, now that we’re back to celestial navigation as our only means of finding where we are. Everything’s slightly off. We can compensate, but it’ll take time to figure out how.”
    Rosenthal spoke: “I can get you a new set of data, complete tables. I’ll have the printout to you in a couple of days.”
    The chief gnawed at his lip, wishing he’d been able to get more sleep. Risking the Eagle was not something he wanted to do, not at all. It was a priceless asset . . . but an asset had to be used.
    “Let’s see if we can get some figures here,” he said.
    They consulted, punched calculators— oh, those are going to be missed when the batteries run out— argued. In the end the results showed that there might be enough to keep them through winter from what they could grow and catch with the resources already on the island . . . if their assumptions weren’t wrong, and everyone pitched in.
    “No margin,” he said. “That settles it, we need more food.” He turned to the Coast Guard officer. “When were you planning on going whaling?” he said.
    “We’re rigging for it now, and Mr. Leaton has done a fine job, a harpoon gun that ought to work. Tomorrow we start, and we don’t think it’ll take more than a few days to get all the dead whales you can handle, using a plane for spotting. Some of your people are getting the rending tubs and whatever out of the Whaling Museum right now. Lookin’ like they’ll be functional.”
    Cofflin nodded. “Where can we get bulk salt? Anyone know?”
    Arnstein cleared his throat. “The Bahamas—Inagua island, down at the southern tip. There are big salt lagoons there, or at least there were in our time. You can scoop it up around the edges with shovels.”
    Cofflin chuckled. “Damn, but that education of yours is turning out useful.”
    “Actually I honeymooned there with my late wife. The tour guide told me.”
    Alston spoke: “That’s shoal water. I’d hate to take the Eagle in close there.”
    Cofflin nodded. “What’s that two-master sailing yacht called . . .”
    “The Yare,” Alston said. “Wooden-hulled topmast schooner, about a hundred tons burden, Canadian-built, old but still sound. Small auxiliary engine. It’s a replica—the original design was a revenue cutter. There’s another tied up, the Bentley , seventy-foot schooner, about three-quarters her displacement, but the masts and rigging need work. The Yare can leave anytime. I’ll put one of my officers in command.”
    “All right, we’ll send the Yare to Inagua. We send the Eagle east for grain. Everyone draw up your wish lists of things to get that might be there.” He paused and thought. “Professor, what should we take for trade goods?”
    “Almost anything,” Arnstein said. “Cloth, ornaments—with the number of jewelry stores on