Hal Clement - Noise

Mike thought for a moment, and answered very slowly, still thinking between words.

“I don’t know whether they’ll care if I get away. Hinemoa told me a lot, and may have been assuming I’d never be able to pass it on. Perhaps we’ll find out when she doesn’t let you go back.

“There’s another point, though. If I stay, I might be able to find out some of whatever Hinemoa wouldn’t tell me. If whatever holds them down to such a small fleet turns out to be something Muamoku can provide, there would be a good trading base. I think I’d better stay at least until the ships can dock again, and find out all I can in the meantime. Tell Wanaka that, anyway. If you’re back here soon because they won’t let you off the iceberg, we’ll think of something else. Pono? ”

“ Pono, Kahuna . If they won’t let me go back to the ship I’ll come right back here to tell you, and we can think some more. If you’re not here I’ll leave a note and then go looking for you.” The child left before Mike could think of a good way to thank her for the compliment. He rather feared she might be praising his skill at mercantile intrigue.

He was awake now anyway, decided he’d probably slept long enough, and ate again slowly and thoughtfully. It seemed likely that his muscles would be wanted by now, and while he might possibly come up with something useful just sitting here thinking, it seemed a safer bet that he’d pick up worthwhile information from company. Also, it might be a good idea to do some more heavy labor; there was no telling what this gravity might have done to his muscles by now.

He donned his armor and opened the door, to be met by another child who had apparently been waiting patiently for him.

“You can pull better with these, Hinemoa thinks,” the youngster said as he handed the man a pair of well-spiked soles evidently designed to strap to his armor boots.

“Thanks, I probably can. Should I wear them inside, or not until I’m out of the city?”

“Now is all right. The floors will heal. Shall I show you the way?”

“Thank you, I know it. But stay with me if you like. Is the ice being brought in? Do they need me?”

“Yes. Your strength will help a lot more than mine, but I’ll go and help, too.”

Aorangi was only a couple of hundred meters from the ice pack by now—actually much less, Mike realized as he remembered the very shallow slope of the submerged ice. Several large chunks showing above the water between city and ice sheet were clearly being supported by something underneath, and were being towed and pushed by waders rather than swimmers. Everyone he could see, even his young guide, he now noticed, was equipped with the same extra-traction equipment the youngster had brought him; it was evidently not a special-order job after all.

He learned very little during the next several hours, since very little was being said by anyone. He kept an eye out for ’Ao, but didn’t see her. No ships were visible, but the water was probably too shallow for them between city and pack ice, he guessed. ’Ao might, of course, have been confined in some way to keep her out of his sight, but he managed to keep from worrying about the possibility. There were many children helping with the transportation, especially close to the cap where the loads were deeper in the water and closer to floating, but most of them seemed older than ’Ao.

He’d listen and think, since the muscle work didn’t interfere with either, until someone relieved him. This determination resulted in his putting in a very full day’s work. He was beginning to wonder if they might let him work until dropped when someone—not Hinemoa—who had been near him for several hours told him that it was up to him to decide when he needed food or rest; the job was organized only in the sense that everyone knew what had to be done. He thanked his informant and returned to his quarters. There was a brief note there, in something less than perfect spelling: “No trouble. I’m going back to Mata again. We’re to the west. Get to us even if you have to sneak away, the captain says. No people on the shore there, but some of the other ships are around. If you think you can swim far enough, get in the water out of their sight. Don’t wait for night if you can help it. You’ll be hard to recognize swimming anyway.”

Mike wondered how long ago the message had been left, how long the captain might be willing to wait for him, what she was planning, and whether he should take a chance on swimming in his present state of fatigue. The thought of nearly three thousand kilometers of water below influenced his decision, for no good reason since his armor would keep him afloat anyway and he could drown just as readily in two meters. He ate lightly, rested for an hour, and then sought the outdoors again.

Sneaking was not really necessary. There were, as he already knew, several pits being served by the ice carriers. People were traveling in many directions between the holes and the source to the south, and no one showed any suspicion of him even when he passed the westernmost pit and kept on going. The Aorangi people evidently knew that what they were doing was important and didn’t believe in letting themselves be distracted from it.

It was a long walk; Aorangi had risen some distance in the water, and the “shore” was averaging at least half a kilometer farther than before from the center. Once past the hummocky central area that Mike was now sure had never been submerged he could see a wide stretch of ocean and, fairly soon, four of the ships, drifting with sails down or possibly, he realized, at anchor. They were spread far enough apart to make the invisibility of the others reasonable.

The northernmost of the four he could see was easily recognizable as Mata , leaving the suspicion that the other three were all still farther north. Heading in that direction until the nearby ones were out of sight would be pointless if that were the case; he’d merely come in sight of the others. He might as well start swimming from here. After a little thought he removed his traction soles, and after a little more ran their straps through his tool belt; they might be needed again if he had to come back ashore.

After his first step toward the sea, he thought the time might already have come; he slipped and fell at once. He snatched the coral spikes that were also still in the belt, but by the time he had them properly in his grip, the grip was inadequate. Even with the shallow slope of the ice and Kainui’s feeble gravity, he had picked up enough speed to tear them from his hands as he jabbed them into the ice, and just barely had time to close his helmet before reaching the water.

He wondered what Wanaka would say about that. She, or at least someone aboard Mata , had certainly seen him; the larger sail was already rising and the bows turning toward him. In less than five minutes, he judged, he was climbing aboard. If anyone on the nearest Aorangi vessel had noticed him, the fact was not yet evident.

Greetings were brief. Both sails were now up, and the bows pointing almost northwest. Even this seemed unnoticed from the other ships. Didn’t they care, or did they merely lack relevant orders? There was no point in asking Wanaka or Keo, presumably, but perhaps ’Ao might have heard something to explain it while she was ashore. He’d ask later, if the little one when she came down from her station didn’t bring the matter up herself.

Their course puzzled Mike, who now knew enough to recognize that this was not the top-speed heading. He did ask about this, since it seemed a perfectly reasonable question.

“I’m hoping the gold-fish is still afloat, and we’ll have time to pick up more,” was the answer.