Hal Clement - Noise

And certainly there would be no question of escaping from anyone on Malolo ’s remains even if they could be disentangled from the jelly.

Of course, if they were given time, Mata would be grown and assembled, and a new, smooth set of hulls might outsail—

No, it wouldn’t. Ships didn’t grow barnacles on Kainui.

He wondered briefly whether traveling away from the equator would make any change in their chance of meeting other vessels, but couldn’t bring himself to ask this question. He should know enough to answer it himself. He probably did; but some of the things he thought he knew suggested one answer, and some the other.

Anyway, he told himself, knowing chances didn’t mean much. They were only chances. Wanaka certainly knew them, and had not, apparently, let them influence her decision.

Mike did briefly wonder whether the crew might have some sort of weapons no one had mentioned. After all, he had been left to solve the ’Oloa problem pretty much by himself, and weapons would likely be another item they wouldn’t want him to mention at the wrong moment. On that one, though, he couldn’t even decide which way even to hope .

In the meantime, there were other things to do. Fifty meters in from the edge of the unknown patch of pseudolife, there was much less effect from the tsunamis and other surface disturbances. He asked the captain about the fresh water supply and, with her permission, took advantage of the absence of the crew overboard to doff noise armor and enjoy a bath.

The others had, after all, done the same from time to time. He was pretty sure of this, though he had always been in the cabin when it happened. He tried, in his mind, to connect this privacy attitude with Earthly Polynesian customs, and wasn’t sure he’d made any sense of it.

At least, it gave him something to think about besides the current shortage of language data.

Mata grew, and grew, and grew. Wanaka ceased examining the whatever-it-was, though the others did not, and spent most of her time making measurements. The seeds for the protective coating that would stop the growth were ready. Hoani had been told how they were to be used, but didn’t expect to be allowed to help with the operation. He was right about this, but they did let him watch.

The seeds were far smaller than the one that had carried Mata ’s specifications or the one that had controlled the division of the iron-fish. In shape and size, they were coinlike disks about Mike’s index finger joint across, and apparently very sticky, and of four different colors—black, bright red, pale green, and deep yellow. Keo and the captain worked together applying them along the still deck-to-deck hulls, about five meters apart, being careful to work from bow to stern and to apply a given pair of seeds at the same moment on each side. They made no effort to plant a given color at the same moment; Mike guessed that the colors represented different protective coatings, and that it must make no difference in which order these were applied.

The seeds lost their coloring almost at once, and seemed to spread out and become too thin and/or transparent to stay visible. Whether they were simply changing shape or taking nutrition from the water and actually growing Hoani couldn’t judge at first.

However, the moment the “planting” was done, captain and mate separated the hulls from the deck sandwiched between them, lifted the latter into position, fastened it with obvious haste, and then began briskly splashing sea water on the sides of the hulls that had been mostly above the surface. Mike decided the stuff must be growing.

The next step was to work the cabin up onto the new deck and into position, deflate its floats, and fasten its numerous quick-disconnects along the hulls.

’Ao had been responsible for the newly grown mast and boom while this had been going on. She had lashed them along Mata’s port hull, but stayed with them just in case. Now all four lifted the mast onto the deck, finally got it upright, and stepped and stayed it.

Mike had supposed that the original sails would be recovered and used, and was wondering how they would be retrieved from under the jelly. It turned out, however, that a budlike growth he had not really noticed before, about half a cubic meter in volume and now trailing in the water below the deck attached to the latter by a meter-long stem, contained a new set.

Keo examined this object carefully and reported that it was not quite ripe. The intense activity tapered off. Water had been resupplied from the mysterious growth. Equipment and supplies that had been crowding the cabin were relocated to their former positions on the new deck. The “leaf,” now in its proper place aft of the cabin, was again deployed; there was now room for more charged oxygen cartridges, and at this latitude the leaf was getting less effective; the suns weren’t rising as high in the north.

Mike Hoani resumed his lonely watch, on a thankfully much more stable deck, and the other three went back to their researches with the apparently lonely water pods.

And the suns made their noontime passages lower and lower across the northern sky.

It was not too surprising, Mike told himself later with all the clarity of hindsight, that it was he who found the metal. The background knowledge of the other three had operated against them, though his own lack of Kainuian experience had not really helped at first. It was only after two or three baths when, on his own responsibility, he decided to replace the water he had used that it happened. The other adults were asleep. Leaving Hoani on watch alone had become routine since they had in effect moored the ship to the putative metal source, though he was not at the moment alone. ’Ao was at her masthead. Wanaka pointed out afterward that he should not have gone overboard without having someone else on deck who would not have had to call for help if he got into trouble in the sea, but under the circumstances was quite gentle about it.

It was Hoani’s own slight clumsiness caused partly by his lack of experience and perhaps by a little fatigue that caused the discovery.

The water pods in this pseudoorganism were large, more than three times the volume of those furnished by the iron-fish that had provided his first mining experience at sea. He had collected perhaps a dozen of them, returning each one by one to the ship, and accepting the help of the child in getting them aboard and then into the breakers. ’Ao had descended to the deck when he went overboard. He was beginning to wonder how many more would be needed, so his attention might have been slightly distracted. Also, he was getting a little tired. The pods weren’t very heavy, especially in the local gravity, but the sound armor was somewhat clumsy even for the natives.

In spite of the very low weight he started using both hands to extract and lift each pod from its gelatinous receptacle. Since the pods had only one handle, a simple loop of rope-like tissue, his other hand had to reach into the space underneath the water-filled sack to support it.

And there was another, much smaller pod there. Not attached, but there. In the same pocket as the water. How had the others missed it?

Obvious enough. One handle had been enough for them; they had not felt underneath, and the reddish jelly was much less transparent than that of the iron-fish.

’Ao was at the rail waiting. With his helmet sealed and his hands full, there was no way for him to say anything; but when she saw the tiny—less than ten centimeters long—container, the child, who had taken her full share of the metal search effort since its beginning, made up for his silence both with her own voice and the signal bell. Wanaka and Keo were beside her on the spot in moments, still adjusting face masks.