Hal Clement - Noise

And around the natural near-total absence of silicon in a highly acid ocean. And the long-obvious fact that the doll contained some sort of data-handling gear. And the fact that a good quiz answer might, after all, consist in asking a straightforward question.

Which, of course, might still make him look silly.

Equally of course, the principal set of generally silly questions consisted of those not asked. The only specific exceptions he could think of at the moment were “Are you crazy?” and “Can I trust you?” Maybe he’d get the first for an answer. It would be nice to be able to show he wasn’t, and maybe nicer to have someone else appear silly.

Mike made up his mind at last, and brought his attention back to Malolo ’s surroundings. He could only guess how long he had been musing, but began to wonder why no one had emerged from the cabin. Was ’Ao in real trouble from hunger or possibly oxygen lack? That seemed unlikely. While almost certainly concerned about such matters, judging by her haste in getting to the cabin, she had been active and well coordinated when she arrived.

No doubt she was reporting in detail to the captain. Mike would like to have heard the details of that report, but had, after all, been ordered to stay on watch.

So he watched. No ships. No patches of metal-reducing pseudolife, as least any that he could recognize. Nothing to run into, presumably; Malolo was essentially motionless with respect to the surrounding water. No waterspouts with constant bearing; keeping sure of that took more of his attention, now that he had really decided to ask a question, than anything else.

Occasional spells of doubt about the wisdom of asking that particular question at all, or whether to do it inside the cabin or out, or which of the group it would be best to have listening when he asked it, did occur; but he held firm to the basic decision and settled the corollary details one by one.

Outside. With everyone present. With all helmets off, especially the child’s; Mike was pretty good now at reading expressions around breathing masks, he felt sure. So what were they all doing? When would they come out for whatever needed to be done next?

He had completely forgotten again that the child had probably had little food or sleep for at least a day and a half, until he began to feel sleepy himself, and that raised a new if minor question. Just when would he be relieved? Should he use the signal bell? Wanaka would never have forgotten such a matter. Never. She was, after all, a rated ship’s master. For some reason, even Mike was unable really to worry about such a slip on her part.

He was, however, very tired and almost hungry enough to nibble on his suit’s emergency food before anyone appeared from the cabin. Then it was only the adults, reasonably enough, so he couldn’t ask his question right away.

The little catamaran was inspected thoughtfully, with no comments that Mike could catch—it was moored now to the cabin, and he was still on the old hull. Then time was spent resetting the submerged sails, with both Wanaka and Keokolo in the water. Then another sight was taken, this time by Keo, on the suns and on the twin planet, which even without instruments was now visibly lower in the western sky. So much for any possibility that the other sighting had somehow been transmitted to ’Ao.

Then Mike was dismissed with the unneeded advice to eat, sleep, and check breathing gear while Wanaka took over the control lines and Keo began reeling in the “leaf.”

Inside the cabin there was nothing surprising. ’Ao was asleep, not in her hammock as expected but on one of the cots. Her back was turned toward anyone in the room, and it was obvious even to Mike that the pattern between her shoulders was more complex. Since she was deeply asleep, he decided not to congratulate her just yet. Very briefly he considered asking his question of the others anyway, but thought better of it. After all, he wanted to check everyone’s reaction, whether or not he got an answer. All he could think of now to worry about was whether, with routine pretty well restored, he would have to wait for another emergency before everyone would be on deck again.

He didn’t. The half-grown ship called for nonstandard activity, he found almost immediately on being roused himself. He was told that it was still growing, and that the process would cease only when the first coat of protective paint was applied. This would have to be done quickly enough so that one hull wouldn’t outgrow the other too much, though actually this would probably happen to some very slight extent. Even though the process was not actually a painting job but merely a planting of very sticky seeds along each keel, the growth of the “paint” was never perfectly uniform.

This was all interesting, but to Mike the good point was that everyone would be outside the cabin for a lot of the time even before the growing was ended. It was less than a day, in fact, before the chance came to ask his planned question.

He was back on the control lines, with ’Ao beside him still giving occasional advice in Finger. The weather was calm enough to allow helmets to be open. The only problem at first was that both captain and mate were on the old hull, too distant for a question asked in a normal voice to be audible above the thunder, even allowing for the usual effect of the thunder on a “normal” voice.

Then for some reason the officers both went to the growing ship, not yet noticeably larger than when ’Ao had brought it back. It was still moored to the cabin, but had been brought between that structure and the old hull to render it more accessible, so Wanaka and Keo were only a couple of meters away.

For just a moment Mike’s determination wavered, but he managed to keep control of himself. He got the question out.

“’Oloa, how did you know which way to tell ’Ao to steer?”

Only the child looked startled. She glanced at her elders, obviously wanting advice. The captain gave a very slight nod.

“Tell him, ’Oloa.” It was ’Ao who spoke, not Wanaka.

“I have an inertial system,” piped the doll. Mike’s mind raced.

“Of course, you can’t guide us to Muamoko.” He made it a statement, not a question.

“Of course. I don’t know where it is.”

“You couldn’t estimate?” The doll was silent.

“I don’t think she knows that word,” said ’Ao. “I’m just guessing at it myself.”

“Too many variables, anyway,” the captain interjected. Mike nodded thoughtfully.

“Silicon?” he asked. Wanaka smiled visibly around her mask.

“Yes. Imported. ’Ao’s parents are quite wealthy, and are very fond of her. ’Oloa cost more than Malolo did. They very much want to get ’Ao back, properly educated, of course.”

“Did I get those points just for waiting?” ’Ao asked.

“More for knowing when to stop waiting, and most for the general recovery,” was the answer. “You’ll have to wait longer before I can post them all, though. I promise that’s the first thing I’ll do when we have the cabin installed on—what should we call the new ship?”

“ Humuhumunukunukuapua’a ?” suggested the child.

“It won’t be very small when it finishes growing, remember.”

“Well—it has to be some kind of fish. That’s the rule, since there aren’t any real ones on Kainui.”

“How about Mata’italiga ?” suggested Mike again. He was beginning to get a grasp of some of the more abstract customs. The hammerhead shark was a variety whose name might not have survived very well in the Kainuian language mixture, and therefore be less an everyday name since Samoan seemed to form a rather small fraction of the evolved tongues.