Hal Clement - Noise

This reminded Mike of something he knew, but hadn’t really considered carefully. Cities didn’t stay put on Kainui. They floated, and it didn’t much matter where, except for avoiding the tropical precipitation belt where the ocean was most dilute and things didn’t float so high. It was understood that he would eventually be brought back to Muamoku if Malolo survived, and he had been told this might take an unpredictably long time, but he hadn’t really grasped the fact that Wanaka really didn’t care at all where, or very much when, she disposed of her cargo. Presumably she and Keokolo expected to get back to their child eventually, but it was not obvious just how intense an emotion was involved.

Mike might be going to learn a great deal more about Kainui languages, customs, and history than he had expected or really hoped.

He thought more of this now, but was not yet really worried. It was almost another day before he became so.

They hove to at sunset this time, Wanaka being no longer concerned about followers. When daylight returned, Mike was left at the tiller and all three of the crew went overboard, the adults to work on the object clinging to the port hull, and ’Ao to make another and most minute check for impact scratches or nicks. All were out of sight for more than an hour.

Keo appeared first, and paused to tell the passenger what was going on.

“We still don’t know whether it’s really a scent tracer or something else,” he explained, “but we’d better get it off anyway. It’s really stuck to the outer paint, and we may have to damage that to get it loose. If we do, some of our infection defense will be gone.” Mike nodded; this was something he already understood. The other went on, “We have cleaning organisms of our own which should be able to grow between the outer coat and the stuff that’s sticking to it—bugs that are related to the coat itself. It’ll take a while for them to work, if they’re going to work at all. Maybe they won’t; this thing may have been designed to resist anything of that sort. The fact that it sticks so well to our outer layer suggests that it was made up with that paint in mind.”

“Wouldn’t that mean they knew it was the Malolo ?”

“Not necessarily. There are only so many things anyone uses in hull paint, and this thing might have a taste for several of them—maybe for all anyone knows how to make, if its designer was really good. We might wind up merely clearing its way to the inner coats. Not bored, I hope? Keep Malolo as she is; we don’t want to be left behind if the sails take wind.”

“Don’t worry. I’m good at staying put.”

Keokolo nodded, went to a locker at the base of one of the cabin walls, rummaged around in it for a while, took several articles out, and reclosed it. Then he nodded once more to Mike, closed his helmet, and went overside.

There was another long wait. Then Wanaka came on deck followed a few minutes later by the other two; Keokolo had apparently gone to fetch ’Ao. All flipped their helmets back, and the child headed for the cabin.

“She showed me a couple of really tiny dents near the port bow,” the man said. “I guess we did bump a coral or something, but whatever it was doesn’t seem to have gone through the outer coat. We might as well get going again.”

“Right. I’ll take it. You eat and top off your breathers.” Wanaka reached for the tiller, then looked at Mike and smiled briefly. “See how close to best speed you can bring her.”

The sailing lesson for the next hour was also a language one for Hoani; he had known little of proper sailing terminology even in his native tongue. As usual, they didn’t care much just which way they were going; Mike had tried in conversation a dozen different words for “map” or “chart” in various parts of the South Pacific and found that they either meant something like “picture” or nothing at all, usually the latter.

’Ao eventually reappeared and climbed to her masthead, but had nothing to report for a long time. It was Keokolo who finally came on deck with a puzzled expression visible around his breathing mask, looked around carefully, made his way to the after hatch of the port hull, and descended through it. He reappeared in seconds.

“Captain! Heave to! Bilges up!”

Wanaka seized the tiller, though Mike had already started to shift it in the right direction, and in moments Malolo , her way gone, was rocking as nearly motionless as anything could on the restless water. “’Ao!” called the captain. “Get down and check the starboard bilges. Hohoro! ”

As the child reached the deck, touching only two rungs on the way down, hail began to drift down around them and she turned toward the water sheet, but the captain shouted again and gestured toward the hatch. “Water’s important, but so is staying on top of it! Check that hull first! Tere! Oi’oi! ” ’Ao obeyed. She was gone longer than Keo had been, but was shrugging as she emerged.

“All right on this side.” She seemed calmer, but scurried toward the collecting equipment at top speed. She slipped once on the now hailstone-covered deck and started to snap on her helmet even before trying to stop the skid, but Mike was in a good position and seized her arm before she went overside. He held her until she recovered her footing. Without a glance or word of thanks she resumed her way, and began shoveling hailstones into the drinking breakers. Wanaka gestured Mike to the tiller, and headed for the hatch where Keo had disappeared. Before she reached it, he emerged again, and with the single word “Leaks!” went overside. He was gone for less than a minute. He had his helmet off before actually reaching the deck, and practically bellowed, “Oxygen!”

“’Ao, take the tiller—no, let it swing and drop the sails. Mike, we need your muscle. Get as much cargo as you can out of the port hull and into the other. Never mind about nice stowing, we can see to that later. Keo, any food, air, and water equipment not in the cabin to the starboard hull, except the kumu’rau. At least it’s not out; make certain it’s secure. I’ll cut rigging and unclip the deck as fast as I can. If I’m not done when you’ve finished the life-stuff, then help me. Tere! ”

Hoani quickly saw another reason why they had been so quick loading up with iron in spite of its density, and how Wanaka had kept busy between emptying buckets. Each purse of metal dust was now clipped to a balloonlike float whose volume sharply limited the space for actual cargo. None of these items was heavy and he thought he could fill the other hull quickly, but when he tried to carry several purses at once Wanaka cautioned him about the fragility of the floats.

Hence, a lot of cargo was still untouched when the gunwale of the port hull dipped below the surface. Mike thought of closing the hatches to delay flooding, but before he could make the suggestion the captain must have guessed his thought. She shook her head negatively.

There were readable expressions on the four faces as their owners watched the port hull of the Malolo be pushed slightly below the surface by the still attached deck, but it was only annoyance. Showing fear or anger in public, even if the public were mate or sibling, was rude on Kainui, and so far neither of the informed adults felt any real fear. Mike wasn’t sure whether he should, but decided to be guided by them. The youngest member of the group might have been slightly afraid or even terrified, but was not going to let anyone else know it.

The fact that neither ship nor city could be seen within the haze-limited vision in any direction surprised no one, and of course Mike, the only one who had ever seen land, knew better than to expect that anywhere on this world.