"It seems she's gaining on us, sir."

"Eh?" said Kirk. He was standing in the bows of the Albatross with captain Craw at his side. They were both watching the yellowish sail about a mile in front of the cog. When Craw made his observation, Kirk had been cursing the Fort Baker glass maker for failing to deliver a telescope for the cog's maiden voyage.

"I don't have the right tools to grind a lens," the glass maker had told Kirk. "Yes, I could probably have a telescope ready. But the view you'd get would be very poor. Everything would be distorted."

Kirk had subsequently paid a stormy visit to Fort Baker's toolmaker, but there wasn't much that could be done. Making precision tools required precision. Precision was something hard to come by at the current level of the settlement's economic development. Progress was being made, but all too often it resembled the progress made by a very tired, weak snail.

"That boat there," said Craw. "I said that she's gaining on us. She's faster than we are."

"Can't we go any faster?"

Craw turned around to glance at the sail, then looked at Kirk and said:

"Yes, we can go a little faster. A ship this size needs time to gain speed. But I don't think we'll be able to catch that boat."

"What kind of a boat is it?"

"I don't know. I can't see the hull. Probably some kind of big canoe. Very light, very fast. Our ship was built to be sturdy, and to carry large loads of various cargo. It's no contest. It's like chasing a ghost. There's something I'm wondering about, however."

"What is that?"

"That sail. It's definitely not a mat. Of course it could be made of leather, but it would take a lot of finely worked leather to make a sail like that. I'm thinking it might be made of fabric."

"Fabric? As in cotton or linen or whatever?"

"That's right."

Kirk snorted.

"That's ridiculous," he said. "It took us a full year to set up a textile industry, if you can call it that. I mean, it's just a bunch of fucking weavers. It took them forever to make that sail here. And Fort Baker is a colonial capital! It's got over half a thousand inhabitants! This, this whole colonization business has only been open to the public for seven days. Yes, I remember that a single week equals over two months in the New World. But weaving enough cloth for a sail in that time just isn't possible. Getting enough yarn to weave anything within two months isn't possible!"

"They could be illegals," said Craw.

"Illegals? You mean that boat could belong to an illegal colony?"

"It's probably been made legal, by now. But the owner of that boat there has definitely made an early start. Either that or - have you been in touch with the governors of the districts around the bay?"

"Some of them," Kirk said gruffly. "It's not really my responsibility. But I'm sure the governor of North California has talked to everyone?around here. Why?"

"Well, one of them might have built a vessel."

"I know that a few have built boats."

"There we go. It might be one of them. But then I don't understand why it seems to be running from us. It should be actually seeking contact if it belongs to the colonial administration."

"The governor's likely not aboard," Kirk said. "Governors have plenty to keep them busy, many things to do that are more important than sailing around on a boat. And who knows what the moron in command of that boat thinks."

Kirk glanced at Craw, and saw that the captain seemed to be taking his words very personally. He added hastily:

"You're a professional with a handpicked crew. But my guess is, many governors don't have anyone who is so highly qualified. And you know what Einstein said."

"Einstein? The scientific genius? The guy who discovered that time was something relative?"

"Yes, that guy. He said there's only one thing bigger than the universe, and that thing is human stupidity. The guy in command of that boat could be a moron running to report to his governor that he has seen a ship."

"I see what you mean," said Craw. He raised his hand to shield his eyes from the sun, and resumed watching the faraway sail.

Kirk followed suit. Yes, the sail was definitely getting smaller; soon it would disappear from view. The hell with it! He felt much better than he had just half an hour earlier. He was getting his sea legs.

A mile east of Kirk, Arturo Morales was also shielding his eyes from the sun, and watching the ship pursuing his pirogue. It was becoming obvious that it had no chance of catching her. Another couple of hours, and it would disappear from sight.

The captain of the pirogue was convinced that the mysterious ship belonged to the colonial administration.

"It's built like the Roman trading ships in ancient times," he'd said. "Single square sail, a rounded hull. It's meant to carry a lot of cargo. It must be a government ship."

"I'm glad to hear that," lied Morales. Of course it was good to hear that no other colonizer had built that ship. That would be disastrous. But the thought that the colonial government had a vessel capable of sailing anywhere didn't make him happy at all.

A single visit to his colony would instantly convince even the dimmest, least observant governor that Arturo Morales had established it well before the official date. He wasn't worried about his own district governor; he had him in his pocket. But the district governor he'd bought had a superior: the governor of North California. And that governor in turn had another superior: governor of the state territory.

Morales had heard that both posts were occupied by the Landers: members of a prominent, wealthy Californian family. He'd never met Kirk or any other Lander. He'd seen Kirk's picture and seen his signature on documents that passed through his desk. Just the previous year, he'd gotten a letter signed by Kirk demanding that he cut toxic emissions from his recycling plant by 25% within the next twelve months, or face the loss of state subsidies and a potential fine.

King Morales did not like Kirk, although he'd never met him. He wasn't pleased to find out Kirk had become the governor of all California. He had been counting on the other California senator, Libby Placek, to fill that post. California was well known for its progressive attitudes, and Libby Placek embodied those attitudes. Morales had been convinced she was a shoo-in.

She wasn't. Carlton Brock, governor of the USA territory, appointed Kirk as governor of California. He'd have never dared to do that in the old days, when he was still the President and at the mercy of the voters. But now the only authority Brock answered to was the newly formed Colonial Council, where Brock himself held an important seat.

And so, much to Morales' surprise, Kirk Lander became the Californian governor. Morales wasn't that much worried about Kirk. From what he'd seen and heard, Brock was the typical American politician who got by thanks to a buddy network. He wouldn't be a dangerous adversary in the wild, harsh realities of the New World. Still, a single visit by his ship...

The captain of the pirogue said:

"What's the plan now, senor? Are we sailing home?"

"Let me think for moment," said Morales. He frowned; the thoughts that came weren't pleasant. They'd failed to accomplish the objectives set out at the beginning of the trip. At the very minimum, they were to explore Angel Island and get a good idea of the number of colonies there, along with the availability of iron ore.

"Do you think we'll lose the ship that's following us before we reach Angel Island?" he asked the captain.

"Oh, easily. We've most likely lost it already. I mean we can still see that ship, but the people aboard might not be able to see us. We're much smaller."

Morales nodded.

"All right then," he said. Set course for Angel Island. I want a good look at the western shore. If we see any signs of human presence, we'll land to investigate."

"It might be getting dark by the time we land to investigate," said the captain. Morales laughed.

"It will be just like yesterday, yes?" he said. "We make landfall and set up camp and within a few moments the beggars come, asking for food."

"Could be," the captain agreed. He glanced up at the sun, licked his finger and held it up to gauge the wind. He said:

"Which end of the island do we start with? North or south?"

"Your preference?"

"South. We could sail north along the western shore, and then around the northern tip of the island. We haven't been there yet."

"Then south it is. Do you need to adjust the course?"

"Yes, but not yet. I'll wait until that ship disappears from sight. I hope they don't have a telescope."

"You think they might?"

The captain shrugged.

"I have no idea," he said.

"What if they do?"

"They'll see we are headed for Angel Island. Once we're sailing along its western shore, it will be easy for them to catch us. If they want to."

"Hmm," said Morales. He rubbed his chin with his thumb. No, he wouldn't be running home with his tail between his legs just because a ship popped up. They hadn't achieved any of the objectives of their mission.

"Proceed with the plan," he told the captain. "Change course for the southern tip of Angel Island when you're ready."

"Yes, senor."

NOTICE

This work is available to read online exclusively at Webnovel.com.

https:///book/15767933905886705

If you are reading it at a different site, it has been copied and reproduced without the author's consent. The owner of that site is a thief.