Hal Clement - Noise

The swell was high, but its wavelength was great, far longer than the catamaran’s hulls; almost too long, just now, to let anyone see one crest from the next through the haze. In the water world’s gravity, waves moved so slowly that the five-meter rise and fall of the drifting wreck was not noticeable—would, indeed, have been fairly hard to measure.

“Keo. Take over from Mike. Free as much cargo as you can. I’ll take the deck clips. ’Ao, salvage any stowed line from the lockers first, then get the sails. Don’t waste time with knots. Cut the lines, but be careful of veins and valves. We don’t know when or how fast or even whether that hull will go down. Mike, stay with me, and provide any muscle help I seem to need. If I’m under water and can’t talk, use your eyes and head.”

There was no argument. Keokolo was seven Kainui years older than Wanaka, nearly twenty centimeters taller, fifteen kilograms more massive, and her husband; but her seamanship rating predated his by over two years. This would automatically put her in charge in any outcity emergency even if she had not been the registered owner and commander of the Malolo . Also, shifting cargo that was already under water, even cargo packed to float, would call for muscle; she had divided the duties sensibly. Keo nodded, donned helmet, and slid into the sea.

’Ao did the same, swimming to one of the forward lockers of the awash hull and cautiously releasing its latch. Wanaka watched the child for a few seconds, decided she would need no help and was unlikely to panic, and turned back to her own task of freeing the quick-disconnects that attached the deck to the starboard hull. The latter was listing dangerously as its twin dragged it downward; the crew had already been forced from deck to coaming. If its gunwale dipped under, the commander’s hope of salvaging any significant part of her cargo would sink with it.

She was not greatly worried about having to drift for a year or two, but she valued both the metal and her self-respect. Also, if they were rescued before chancing in sight of a city, the rescuers would be entitled to much of the cargo.

Two minutes’ work freed the starboard hull from its dangerous burden. The deck slid off, or the hull went out from under it—none of the workers bothered to decide which; the important point was that the long, slender structure righted itself before going gunwale under, and crew and cargo still had something presumably navigable to ride. Mike followed Wanaka below the surface.

Keo was still engaged with the cargo lashings of the sinking hull; package after bubble-floated package of iron dust was being freed and rising slowly toward the surface. ’Ao had apparently finished the coils of rope in the lockers with commendable speed and was now slashing rigging lines from the mast and yard, obeying the order not to waste time with knots. Also commendably, she was looking around continually, and saw the captain’s approach.

“How much ready cord did you get?” Wanaka gestured as she swam toward the child.

“There were ten eighty-meter coils of tow line, and four two-hundred-meter drums of rigging cord,” she replied promptly.

“Did you stow them?”

“No. They’re floating. I thought I’d better get to the sails in case they got pulled too deep when the hull sank.”

“Good. The metal is most important now, though. I’ll help Keo with that, and you join us when you get the sails aboard. We’ll stay on the starboard hull unless and until the port one actually does sink. Then we’ll string and tow everything we’ve saved—the starboard hull is pretty full. We’ll hope the weather stays calm long enough to get things roped together and at least start the growing. Come on.”

The weather obliged, though the suns were quite low when the job ended and work had been slow during the eclipse. ’Ao finished her last knot, dived, and swam back to the nearly awash hull to examine the ulcers near its bow.

The captain tapped her as firmly on the shoulder as the water allowed, and signaled sharply. “Keep away from that! You can see what it did to my ship! Do you want the same thing to happen to your suit?”

“But my suit isn’t made of the same stuff. Whatever this is shouldn’t infect it.”

Wanaka’s gesture was not a word symbol. She pulled the child toward her, spun the small body to face away from her, and did something to the twenty-centimeter disk between ’Ao’s shoulders. Mike noticed that no tools were needed this time. ’Ao tried vainly to pull away, but the captain maintained her hold and finished what she was doing. A moment later the adults were stroking slowly back toward the intact hull while the smaller figure swam furiously ahead of them.

By the time the older ones broke the surface, their charge was aboard, sitting hunched up in the stern looking away from them.

“’Ao. We still have to string bags. We can’t keep all this stuff aboard.” Keo spoke, judging that she was more likely to listen to him at the moment; he didn’t know the details of the under water exchange, but could guess closely enough.

“String them yourself. You don’t want me to help. Wanaka took points off me just for arguing, and I have a right to argue if you don’t explain why you—”

“It wasn’t for arguing—” the captain interrupted. “It was for ignoring a warning. You stayed right beside that infected spot while you argued. I know your suit is made of something different from the hull—of course it is. The two hulls are made of different materials and have different coatings for the same reason.”

“I know. I was going to remind you.”

“Did you know that the hull we’ve just lost had four protective layers, all of different composition, and that all have been penetrated? Do you know anything at all about oxygen gangrene?”

’Ao turned sharply. Her tear-stained face could be seen around her mask, along with its expression of surprise. “No! I—well—I—”

Keo, too tactful or too kindhearted to force an apology, answered her. “I’m sorry no one told you that, but you did know water was getting in. Don’t worry; you can earn the points back. We’ll be a long, long time getting home. Half a year, I wouldn’t wonder, maybe a lot longer. There’ll be plenty of time for you to do it.”

All three looked up at the setting suns. Pahi, the brighter, was above and somewhat to the left of its slightly cooler and fainter twin. There was no overlap just now, but all three knew that Pale was slightly closer to them at the moment. No one really cared yet; such details as eclipse phenomena were important only during the final and most precise stages of a navigation problem. All but the least sea-oriented residents of Kainui, however, tended to keep aware of the general celestial status.

’Ao, without another word, went to the nearest hatch, took a coil of tow line, and began tying together the float-equipped sacks of iron dust and letting them go overboard. Keo finished climbing out of the water and stood as tall as he could, looking around to see whether any of the salvaged material had been missed and not yet moored. Some had, so he, too, plunged back in. Taking a coil of the light line the child had salvaged, he made his way to the farthest of the bags, and began methodically making crochet loops in his cord and tightening them around the prongs with which each float was provided.

Several times he returned to what was left of the Malolo to recheck his view from as high as possible, while ’Ao sat where she was and turned cargo into towage. The starboard hull was already too full, and none of the most recently salvaged material could be kept on board. Any ordinary rain-or-hail storm could drop the ocean’s surface density enough to let the craft settle dangerously with its present burden; at this latitude— Malolo had shifted to an almost southward course after leaving the copper-fish—even the poleward-eastward relatively fresh surface current from the equatorial rain belt had picked up a fair amount of salt and could be diluted significantly by precipitation.