"Ah…" Leaton frowned. "Well, I've got a 1956-type Bridgeport milling machine, with digital controls added on, an old Atlas twelve-by-thirty-six engine lathe, an Atlas horizontal milling machine, a seven-inch Ammco shaper, and I just got in a Schaublin eight-by-eighteen precision tool-making lathe, a real beauty-Swiss. All light-to-medium stuff. There may be more on-island. I'll start looking."

The head of the Nantucket Electric Company cut in: "You made those flanges for us, and some other fairly heavy work. The turbocharger, for instance."

"Yup, but I sort of cheated-used the Bridgeport as a vertical lathe with a rotary table." He looked around. "Forty-eight inches by twenty-nine, machined out of solid five-eighths plate-"

Cofflin cleared his throat. Leaton flushed and continued:

"Bottom line, Chief, is that I could make just about anything, including more tools; a lathe is one of the few tools that can make a copy of itself. It'll be a little awkward without a foundry, but I could make a round bar bed lathe, the Unimat type; it'll work perfectly well, just not as durable as a cast or forged bed. I'm making a tool cutter of my own right now, or was before this all happened."

"Excuse me," Arnstein cut in. "You're saying that eventually you could duplicate your operation, and then duplicate it again, and so forth? And that you can do pretty well any metal shape?"

"Yup," Leaton said, obviously puzzled. "Give me the metal, and yes. Wasn't that what I was saying?"

"You could make, for example, a steam engine?"

"Well, I do that all the time-little ones, and they're working scale models. I've got machinery that can work to ten-thousandths of an inch, and Watt did it with tolerances of an eighth of an inch. I've got a nice set of Weber measuring-gauge blocks, after all. I could turn out, say, a twenty-five-horsepower model in a week, maybe convert an old VW flat-type engine. Need a welder to help me with the boiler… maybe use a propane tank… but hell, we've got half a dozen top-notch welders and some heavy bending rolls. Bit difficult to make really big cylinders without a foundry or casting plant, but I could if you gave me a month or two to tool up. Up to a couple of hundred horsepower. But we don't have the fuel for many of those. Hell, we can't keep the town power plant running for more than six months, no matter how we ration, right, Fred?"

The head of the Electric Company nodded, abstracted; he was making frantic notes.

Cofflin let out a long sigh. "Well, you'll need more space than that basement, and more people. Look up anyone with experience, and, hmm, you and Joseph here scout for a building that'll give you room to expand."

He noticed Lisketter scowling. "Ms. Lisketter, what about your artisans?"

She tapped the edges of the papers in front of her. What are we going to do when we run out of paper? he thought.

"There are dozens of weavers," she said. "And…"

Cofflin was surprised at the cogent, well-organized list that followed. He nodded at the end of it. "Good work, Ms. Lisketter. So we'll be well enough off for clothing when our current stores run out?"

They'd also have a large surplus of silversmiths and graphic artists. And, thank God, a number of metalworkers, farriers, three genuine blacksmiths; one who specialized in blades, a visitor caught here. Plenty of pottery makers, and there was even a glassblower who'd just moved his studio to the island last year.

She shook her head. "We don't have the raw materials.

We need flax and wool-cotton if you can get it. I know it's not our top priority, but…"

Arnstein cleared his throat. "Cotton might be available in the Caribbean or Mexico," he said. "Flax and wool certainly from Europe."

"We could grow flax here-the climate's right. It's a useful oilseed as well. We could get the flax seed along with grain from Europe," Brand said thoughtfully. "Grinding grain might be a problem-"

"Ayup," Cofflin said. "Remember the Old Mill? We'll finally get some use out of the damned tourist trap."

There was a chuckle around the table, particularly from the native islanders. The Old Mill was a shingled windmill, kept functional 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 dual-purpose 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?"