Children of the Mind (Ender, Book 4) (Ender Quartet)

seemingly randomly.
    "Who knows what an alien language looks or sounds like?" said Jane.
    "I can see this is going to be difficult," said Miro.
    "They do have some pretty good math skills," said Jane. "The math stuff is easy to catch and I see some glimpses that imply they work at a high level."
    "Just an idle question, Jane. If you weren't with us, how long would it have taken us to analyze the data and get the results you've gotten so far? If we were using just the ship's computers?"
    "Well, if you had to program them for every --"
    "No, no, just assuming they had good software," said Miro.
    "Somewhere upwards of seven human generations," said Jane.
    "Seven generations?"
    "Of course, you'd never try to do it with just two untrained people and two computers without any useful programs," said Jane. "You'd put hundreds of people on the project and then it would only take you a few years."
    "And you expect us to carry on this work when they pull the plug on you?"
    "I'm hoping to finish the translation problem before I'm toast," said Jane. "So shut up and let me concentrate for a minute."
     
     
    Grace Drinker was too busy to see Wang-mu and Peter. Well, actually she did see them, as she shambled from one room to another of her house of sticks and mats. She even waved. But her son went right on explaining how she wasn't here right now but she would be back later if they wanted to wait, and as long as they were waiting, why not have dinner with the family? It was hard even to be annoyed when the lie was so obvious and the hospitality so generous.
    Dinner went a long way toward explaining why Samoans tended to be so large in every dimension. They had to evolve such great size because smaller Samoans must simply have exploded after lunch. They could never have handled dinners. The fruit, the fish, the taro, the sweet potatoes, the fish again, more fruit -- Peter and Wang-mu. had thought they were well fed in the resort, but now they realized that the hotel chef was a second-rater compared to what went on in Grace Drinker's house.
    She had a husband, a man of astonishing appetite and heartiness who laughed whenever he wasn't chewing or talking, and sometimes even then. He seemed to get a kick out of telling these papalagi visitors what different names meant. "My wife's name, now, it really means, 'Protector of Drunken People.'"
    "It does not," said his son. "It means 'One Who Puts Things in Proper Order.'"
    "For drinking!" cried the father.
    "The last name has nothing to do with the first name." The son was getting annoyed now. "Not everything has a deep meaning."
    "Children are so easily embarrassed," said the father. "Ashamed. Must put the best face on everything. The holy island, its name is really 'Ata Atua, which means, 'Laugh, God!'"
    "Then it would be pronounced 'Atatua instead of Atatua," the son corrected again. "Shadow of the God, that's what the name really means, if it means anything besides just the holy island."
    "My son is a literalist," said the father. "Everything so serious. Can't hear a joke when God shouts it in his ear."
    "It's you always shouting jokes in my ear, Father," said the son with a smile. "How could I possibly hear the jokes of the God?"
    This was the only time the father didn't laugh. "My son has a dead ear for humor. He thought that was a joke."
    Wang-mu looked at Peter, who was smiling as if he understood what was so funny with these people all the time. She wondered if he had even noticed that no one had introduced these males, except by their relationship to Grace Drinker. Had they no names?
    Never mind, the food is good, and even if you don't get Samoan humor, their laughter and good spirits were so contagious that it was impossible not to feel happy and at ease in their company.
    "Do you think we have enough?" asked the father, when his daughter brought in the last fish, a large pink-fleshed sea creature garnished with something that glistened -- Wang-mu's first thought was a sugar glaze, but who would do that to a fish?
    At once his children answered him, as if it were a ritual in the family: "Ua lava!"
    The name of a philosophy? Or just Samoan slang for "enough already"? Or both at once?
    Only when the last fish was half eaten did Grace Drinker herself come in, making no apology for not having spoken to them when she passed them more than two hours before. A breeze off the sea was cooling down the open-walled room, and, outside, light rain fell in fits and starts as the sun kept