"Well, I mean, when nobody's trying to make everything work out well, you wind up with things working out badly, I don't see how that wouldn't wind up being the case really. We're certainly not stopping on any cannibal rounds and even if we did we wouldn't send you off on one."

"Appreciated."

He wonders how much of a problem this will actually be on the round he ends up on. So long as people aren't being forced to do anything, it's... hopefully fine?

"Oh, back to my original question, sort of... if you don't have songs for newly made people, do you have songs about, uh, making people, at least?" That would be a very different question, where he's from.

Oh, how many toes will my new neighbor have
To stand on while we till the field?
Ten, ten for the generations afore me, who have tilled this round.
Oh, how many tongues will my new neighbor know,
To sing with while we reap the field?
Nine, nine, the same as mine, and then one more the sailors found.
Oh, how many trades will my new neighbor work,
To keep busy in the fallow field?
Eight, eight, so none will rust, to smith and weave and more besides.
Oh, how many skills will my new neighbor hone,
To enjoy while summer* grows the field?
Seven, seven, to share with me, to sing and dance and more to charm.
Oh, how many lovers will my new neighbor take,
From those who already work the field?
Six, six, me and that houseful and him, to snuggle warm against the snow.
Oh, how many fingers on my new neighbor's hand,
To hold the tools that work the field?
Five, five, on either side, and pray they stay all ten in place.
Oh, how many hours will my new neighbor sleep
Each sleep when we have tilled the field?
Four, four, enough to dream, enough to waken fresh again.
Oh, how many times will my new neighbor sit
Each day to eat what grows in our field?
Three, three, we'll have bread and stew, with herbs and onions.
Oh, how many eyes will my neighbor see with
When first they gaze upon our field?
Two, two, and they'll be brown, and sparkle in the sunshine.
Oh, how many will my new neighbor be
When I write all of these choices down in our field?
One, one, and content to be
Until another new neighbor needs to be
To come and join us on our field.

Well, that was a useful song on a number of levels. Its musical appeal continued to be lost on him, but he got a lot of words he expects to be useful to know, and he got some subtle distinctions in meanings that were good to know, and...

"You all only sleep four hours a day?" he asks first. Some of the other questions might just be about what specific areas are used to, like brown eyes.

(He's not sure what to think of the bit about lovers. It's come up a few times in the songs around him, now that he thinks of it, and he should probably ask about that soon, even if it makes him blush, but it sure sounds like people here have sex a lot. With lots of people.)

"Some older folks need six, but yeah, it turns out you can make people who get along great on just four."

"Huh. I've known people who sleep just an hour, and people who go months without sleep but then sleep for a whole week straight, but those were due to magic, or... I guess you could argue they weren't human anymore, though still people." Mostly.

"And is there anything I should know about having non-brown eyes?" He points a thumb at his green ones. "Am I going to weird people out, on the round?"

"No, I think the person in the song just likes brown eyes. There are lots of different colors."

"Got it. Well, thanks. If there are any other songs like that I think they'd be useful, otherwise I guess I'll head back to help out in the kitchen some more... unless there's something else I can help with?" He suddenly realizes there's something else he should know. "Actually, I just thought of soemthing. What do most people die of, on the rounds? What should I look out for?"

"People get old and get tumors or their hearts wear out, usually. Or accidents, so don't, uh, try to tame feral horses if you suck at that."

"Right. Uh... another question that just occurred to me... what's the most advanced piece of technology you know of?"

"Do you mean, like, most recently invented?"

"Not really? On Earth the most recent inventions were sometimes, like... better ways to cook things, or clean. But they came after things like rocket ships, which are much more complicated and important. But maybe it'll still be useful to know the most recent few too."

"Well, I don't know what a rocket ship is. The ship we're on is, you know, a bit old but not obsolete at all. I don't know what the... least obsolete... technology is, though."

"Fair enough. I guess I can get a lot out of just asking if 'electricity,' or 'radio,' or 'car' translate?"

"Electricity is another word for lightning? Radio I don't know at all. Car like a wagon?"

Yeah, that's about what he figured.

"Something like that."

He didn't watch much Star Trek back home. The original series was too campy, and the newer shows seemed like there was always a lot going on that he had to start from earlier to get. But his neighbor Michelle and her dad were big fans, and he remembers debates around the dinner table about the Prime Directive.

He should probably think about this more before he says anything further.

"Alright, that's all the questions I have for now, thanks. Do you have any for me, or should I go back to the kitchen?"

"Go ahead, they said you've been helpful!"

He smiles, and waves before heading to the kitchen to do that. The smile fades as the ever-present singing gets more audible, and he takes a deep breath as if preparing to plunge into cold water before floating the rest of the way there.

He helps out with cooking, picking up as many words as he can and occasionally testing food in case any of it is more bearable than others. If nothing else diverts him, he'll take a break when he can't stand the music any longer and check if bathing or laundry are things that people here have figured out how to do without gravity.

They're pretty creative within the constraints of having to do everything in low tech zero gravity. Lots of sticky doughs and pastes that will stay in a bowl till pulled out, lots of potatoes and gourds cooked whole, lots of wrapping things in other things. They set him to stuffing slices of cheese in between the leaves of cabbages without taking the leaves off of the plant; as he finishes each one it goes in the oven to be cooked that way.

They have water, and they have an area of the ship where they soak cloths in it and rub themselves and each other down. None of them are all that smelly even when they don't keep on top of this task too well. Maybe they were just made with inoffensive natural odors. If he asks, he will find that they do a bit of laundry when passing through clouds - that's also when they refill their water barrels - on the outside of the ship, scrubbing against laundry-related surfaces attached to the hull. One reason they don't all wear much clothing is that they can't count on clouds happening at any predictable interval.

Makes sense! He'll keep an eye out in case they fly through any clouds on the way to the round. The longer he spent in the Hedge, the less he found dirt and grime sticking to him or his clothing, but the deep green smell of the its forests has become infused into everything he has, and much as he's been enjoying the wider variety of the ship, he's vaguely aware of the fact that he's still carrying its scent with him if anyone gets close. He's too used to it for it to be an irritation, but he's not sure how others experience it. 

He takes another trip to the ship's hull to get a break from all the singing, then spends another few hours helping out in the kitchen.

It's apparently been a whole number of centiwakes* since the captain was made, so they're having a little not-a-birthday-because-it-wasn't-a-birth-or-a-day party. They've got a bunch of dry sausages and fruit preserves and cheese that are apparently irritating enough to store on a ship that they're not routine fare but here they are. Danny is to stuff these buns with jam and butter and stick them on around a baking sphere.

* days, except they don't have days in the astronomical sense

It's his first party in ~five? years, and he enjoys the energy of it more than the food, which he enjoys the construction of more than the eating of. He even resolves to join in on any singing that might take place, in an effort to show his gratitude and appreciation for the captain and crew.

There is singing! Apparently there are songs specifically about how much they like their captain and his great deeds.

Seems appropriate! Though singing with others is harder than expected, as he's driven by some inner sense to emphasizing different parts of the melody or shift the beat slightly to do them the "proper" way. 

Luckily the others' voices drown his out, and he can join in on the overall feeling of comradery by focusing on things like slapping a hand against the ship at the appropriate beat. Still, the urge to join the revelry mixes with the frustration of the songs' discordance, and he finds himself arranging some of the words he's learned so far in his head, then waiting for a gap between songs to sing some verses of his own:

This captain leads a joyful crew

Who fill their ship with song!

With caring hearts

And skillful hands

They saved a stranger lost!

They pick up on this. They're no slouches at improvisation and will carry on with the tune to elaborate on how the captain then made a translator and there was plenty of slack to feed her because of his excellent management and now the stranger is working in the galley.