175 Sail Ahoy (1/2)

When he'd finished retching and coughing, Kirk wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his leather jacket, and wiped the sleeve on the handrail. He looked astern, and saw that the shore wasn't that far away: he could clearly make out the people standing at the end of the wooden pier. That meant they likely saw him throw up; fuck! He shouldn't have drank all that ale before stepping aboard.

But it was hard to resist the ale. It had been brewed especially for the ceremony preceding the maiden voyage of the first ship built in Fort Baker, Kirk's capital in the New World. Then there was also the roast duck - seven ducks! They had been brought in by the settlement's hunters along with several hares and half a dozen squirrels. Game was visibly becoming more abundant in the New World.

It was even harer to resist the roast duck - such a treat did not come often. And now, it was the fish that were feasting on Kirk's largely undigested meal. What a waste!

”Is everything all right, sir?”

Kirk straightened up and turned to face David Craw, captain of the Albatross and commander of Kirk's colonial navy. Back on good old Earth, David Craw was a former naval officer and a renowned sailor, winner of many yachting trophies. He was also very interested in historical sailing ships, and had at one point built an exact replica of an eighteenth-century schooner.

He was the perfect man to take command of the Albatross. Well, maybe not perfect, but definitely the best man available. Kirk smiled at Craw, and said:

”Yes, I'm fine now, thank you. How's the ship? You like her?”

”Oh, she's fine, she's fine so far. Of course, a few things are bound to come up by the time we dock back in port. I think we should have taken more ballast. She rolls a little strongly.”

”Rolls?”

”Sways. Like, a sideways motion.” Craw illustrated the discussed motion by wagging and tilting his hand.

”Is this something normal?”

”Pretty much, yes. Only she rolls and yaws a little too strongly for my liking.”

Kirk finally realized Craw was offering him an excuse for being sick earlier on. What a gentleman! He said:

”David, given your leadership I'm sure this ship is capable of sailing all the way to Asia.”

”I don't know, sir. Well, maybe if I went north along the coast, all the way up to Bering Strait. She's a solid ship, but she won't be able to sail twenty thousand sea miles without landfall.”

”Twenty thousand?”

”Or more. Remember, sir, the distance is going to be ten times greater.”

”You wanted to have a look at Angel Island, sir. Because of the settlement you ordered set up there. We're carrying some supplies for them. With this wind, we should be there before nightfall.”

Kirk looked up at the enormous square sail above his head. It wasn't even half-full. His doubt must have showed on his face, because Craw said:

”We'll be turning east in an hour or so, once we get clear of Point Caballo. We'll pick up speed then. It's a good westerly breeze, should stay that way for a while.”

”I see.”

”Would you like to go up to the bows? Or maybe up on the poop deck? You'll have a better view.”

Going up anywhere was out of the question. The only direction Kirk wanted to move was down, as in lying down. He said:

”I think I'll just stay here awhile. Get my sea legs.” He smiled at Craw.

”As you wish, sir.”

Craw left, and Kirk turned and put both of his hands on the railing. He felt it going up and down, up and down in a relentless rhythm. Perhaps the swaying would be gentler if he moved towards the center of the ship? No, he was going to stay where he was, and absorb the view.

It was stunning. It was amazing. There was no Golden Gate Bridge, and Golden Gate was miles and miles wide - Kirk could barely make out the coast on the southern side of the strait. Sunlight sparkled on the water; above, several seagulls swooped and circled, looking for prey. It was an almost cloudless day; solitary, fleecy clouds moved majestically across the vivid blue sky. It would be a perfect day, everything would be perfect if it wasn't for the bad taste in Kirk's mouth.

He glanced to his left, then to his right. The ship seemed to be sailing itself: he could see no crew except for the two lookouts: one in the bows, and another in the deep crow's nest high above the deck. His head was little more than a dark dot in the sky. The water hissed softly as the ship's hull cut through the sparkling surface of the bay.

For a moment, Kirk considered climbing the steps to the poop deck: the helmsman and Craw were there. But then the low door to the crew's quarters under the foredeck banged open, and several crewmen emerged. The last in line was wiping his mouth and Kirk realized they'd all been having a hurried meal. Craw had told him earlier that everyone was up an hour before dawn, and that the entire morning had been filled with frenzied preparations for the ship's first journey.