Terra Incognita

by Connie Willis

  “Quit lollygagging with Evie and send him back here,” Carson called to C.J. when the Tongue came in sight. “We’ve got to check his gear.”

  He came back into the bay immediately, looking as excited as a kid. “Are we in uncharted territory yet?” he asked, squatting down and looking out through the open hatch.

  “We charted all this side of the river last time,” I said. “The regs are no alcohol, no tobacco, no rec drugs, no caffeine. You carrying any of those?”

  “No,” he said.

  I handed him his mike, and he stuck it on his throat. “No advanced technology except for scientific equipment, no cameras, no lasers or firearms.”

  “I’ve got a knife. Can I take that?”

  “Only if you don’t kill anything indigenous with it,” I said.

  “If you get the urge to kill something, kill Fin,” Carson said. “There’s no fine on us.”

  The heli swooped down to the Tongue and hovered above the near shore. “You’re the first out,” I said, pushing him over to the door. “It’s too big a fine to land,” I shouted. “C.J.’s going to hover it. We’ll throw down the gear to you.”

  He nodded and got ready to jump. Bult elbowed him aside, shot his umbrella open, and floated down like Mary Poppins.

  “Second out,” I shouted. “Don’t land on any flora if you can help it.”

  He nodded again, looking down at Bult, who already had his log out.

  “Wait!” C.J. said, and came shooting out of her pilot’s seat and past Ev and me. “I couldn’t let you go without saying good-bye, Ev,” she said, and flung her arms around his neck.

  “What on hell are you doing, C.J.?” Carson said. “Do you know how big the fine is for crashing a heli?”

  “It’s on automatic,” she said, and planted a wet one on Ev. “I’ll be waiting,” she said breathily. “Good luck, I hope you find lots of things to name.”

  “We’re all waiting,” I said. “All right, you told her good-bye, Ev. Now, jump.”

  “Don’t forget,” C.J. whispered, and leaned forward to kiss him again.

  “Now,” I said, and gave him a push. He jumped, and C.J. latched onto the edge of the bay and glared at me. I ignored her and started handing the bedrolls and the surveying equipment down to him.

  “Don’t set the terminal on any flora,” I shouted down to him, too late. He’d already laid it in a patch of scourbrush.

  I glanced at Bult, but he’d gone down to the river’s edge and was looking at the other side with his binocs.

  “Sorry,” Ev shouted to me. He jerked the terminal back up and looked around for a bare spot.

  “Stop gossiping and jump,” Carson said behind me, “so I can get the ponies unloaded.”

  I grabbed the supply packs and handed them down to Ev. “Stand back,” I shouted to him, scanning the ground for a clear patch.

  “What on hell’s keeping you?” Carson shouted. “They’re going to unload before I unload them.”

  I picked a bare spot and jumped, but before I’d so much as hit, Carson yelled, “Lower, C.J.,” and I nearly cracked my head on the heli when I straightened up.

  “Lower!” Carson bellowed over his shoulder, and C.J. dipped the heli down. “Fin, take the reins, dammit. What on hell are you waiting for? Lead ’em off.”

  I grabbed for the dangling reins, which did about as much good as it always does, but Carson always thinks the ponies are gonna suddenly turn rational and jump off. They reared and shied and backed Carson against the side of the heli’s bay, like always, and Carson said, like always, “You rock-headed morons, get off me!” which Bult entered in his log.

  “Verbal abuse of indigenous fauna.”

  “You’re gonna have to push ’em off,” I said, like always, and climbed back on.

  “Ev,” I shouted down, “we’re bringing this down as far as it’ll go. Signal C.J. when it touches the tops of the scourbrush.”

  C.J. circled the heli and came in lower. “Up a little,” Evelyn said, gesturing with his hand. “Okay.”

  We were half a meter from the ground. “Let’s try it one more time,” Carson said, like always. “Take the reins.”

  I did. This time they squashed him against the back of C.J.’s seat.

  “Goddammit, you shit-brained sonsabitches,” he shouted, swatting at their hind ends. They backed against him some more.

  I maneuvered around to Carson’s side and picked up a hind paw of the one that was standing on his bad foot. The pony went over like it’d been doped, and we dragged it to the edge of the bay and pushed it out. It landed with an oof and laid there.

  Evelyn hurried over. “I think it’s hurt,” he said.

  “Nope,” I said. “Just sulking. Stand back.”

  We upended the other three and dumped them on top of the first one and jumped down.

  “Shouldn’t we do something?” Evelyn said, looking anxiously at the heap.

  “Not till we’re ready to go,” Carson said, picking up his gear. “They can’t shit in that position. Come on, Bult. Let’s get packed.”

  Bult was still over by the Tongue, but he’d dropped his binocs and was squatting on the bank, peering into the centimeter-deep water.

  “Bult!” I shouted, walking over to him.

  He stood up and got out his log. “Disturbance of water surface,” he said, pointing up at the hovering heli. “Generation of waves.”

  “There’s not enough water for a wave,” I said, sticking my hand in it. “There’s hardly enough to wet your finger.”

  “Introduction of foreign body into waterway,” Bult said.

  “Foreign—” I started, and was drowned out by the heli. It flew over the Tongue, rippling the centimeter’s worth of water, and came back around, skimming the bushes. C.J. swooped past us, blowing kisses.

  “I know, I know,” I said to Bult, “disturbance of waterway.”

  He stalked over to a clump of scourbrush, unfolded an arm under it, and came up with two wiry leaves and a shriveled berry. He held them out to me. “Destruction of crop,” he said.

  C.J. banked and turned, waving, and headed off northeast. I’d told her to swing over Sector 248-76 on her way home and try to get an aerial. I hoped she wasn’t so busy flirting with Ev that she’d forget.

  Ev was looking south at the mountains. “Is that the Wall?” he said.

  “Nope. The Wall’s off that direction,” I said, pointing across the Tongue. “Those are the Ponypiles.”

  “Are we going there?” Ev said, looking sappy-eyed again.

  “Not this trip. We’ll follow the Tongue south a few kloms and then head northwest.”

  “Will you two stop sightseeing and get over here and load these ponies?” Carson shouted. He had the ponies up and was strapping the wide-angle to Speedy’s pommelbone.

  “Yes, ma’am,” I said. Ev and I picked our way over to him between grass clumps. “Don’t worry about the Wall,” I told Ev. “We’ll see plenty of it. We have to cross it to get to where we’re going, and after we do we’ll follow it all the way north to Silvershim Creek.”

  “Not unless we get these ponies loaded,” Carson said. “Here,” he said, handing the reins of one of the ponies to Ev. “Get Cyclone loaded.”

  “Cyclone?” Ev said, looking warily at the pony, which looked to me like it was getting ready to fall over again.

  “There’s nothing to it,” I said. “Ponies—”

  “Fin’s right,” Carson said. “Just don’t make any sudden movements. And if he tries to throw you, hang on for dear life, no matter what. Cyclone doesn’t get violent except when he senses fear.”

  “Violent?” Ev said, looking nervous. “I haven’t had much experience riding.”

  “You can ride mine,” I said.

  “Diablo?” Carson said. “You think that’s a good
idea after what happened before? No, I think you’d better ride Cyclone.” He held out the stirrup. “You just put your foot in here and take hold of the pommelbone nice and slow,” he said.

  Ev took hold of the pommel like it was a hand grenade. “There, there, Cyclone,” he murmured, bringing his foot up in slow motion to the stirrup. “Nice Cyclone.”

  Carson looked across at me, the edges of his mustache quaking. “Isn’t he doing good, Fin?”

  I ignored him and went on attaching the wide-angles to Useless’s chest.

  “Now swing your other leg up and over, real slow. I’ll hold him till you’re on,” Carson said, holding on tight to the bridle. Evelyn did it and got a death grip on the reins.

  “Giddyap!” Carson shouted and smacked the pony on the flank. The pony took a step forward, and Ev dropped the reins and grabbed for the pommelbone. The pony took two more steps toward Carson, lifted its tail, and dumped a pile the size of Everest.

  Carson came over to me, laughing fit to kill.

  “What are you picking on Ev for?” I said.

  He laughed awhile before he answered. “You said he was smarter than he looks. I was just checking it out.”

  “You should be checking out your scout,” I said, pointing at Bult, who had his binocs up to his eyes again, “if you want to depart any time today.”

  He laughed some more and went over to talk to Bult. I finished attaching the surveying equipment. Bult had his log out, and from the looks of it Carson was yelling at him again.

  I swung up onto Useless and rode over to where Ev was sitting on his pony. “Looks like we’ll be here awhile,” I said. “Sorry about Carson. It’s his idea of a joke.”

  “I figured that out,” he said. “Finally. What’s his real name?” he said, gesturing at the pony. It took a step forward and stopped.

  “Speedy,” I said.

  “And this is as fast as it goes.”

  “Sometimes it doesn’t go this fast,” I said.

  Useless lifted its tail and unloaded.

  “Tell me they don’t do this all the time,” Ev said.

  “Not like this,” I said. “Sometimes after we have ’em in the heli they get the runs.”

  “Great,” he said. “I suppose sudden movements don’t spook them?”

  “Nothing spooks them,” I said, “not even nibblers chewing on their toes. If they’re scared or they don’t want to do something, they just stand there and won’t budge.”

  “What don’t they like?”

  “People riding them,” I said. “Hills. They won’t go up more than a two percent grade. Backtrailing over their own pawprints. Going more than two abreast. Going more than a klom an hour.”

  Ev was looking at me warily, like I was putting him on, too.

  I held up my hand. “Scout’s honor,” I said.

  “But you can walk faster than that,” he said.

  “Not when there’s a fine for footprints.”

  He leaned sideways to look at Useless’s paws. “But they leave footprints, don’t they?”

  “They’re indigenous,” I said.

  “But how do you cover any territory?”

  “We don’t, and Big Bro yells at us,” I said, looking over at the Tongue. Carson had given up yelling and was watching Bult talk into his log. “Speaking of which, I’d better fill you in on the rest of the regs. No personal holo or picture-taking, no souvenirs, no picking wildflowers, no killing of fauna.”

  “What if you’re attacked?”

  “Depends. If you think you can survive the heart attack you’ll have when you see the fine and all the reports you’ll have to fill out, go ahead. Letting it kill you might be easier.”

  He looked suspicious again.

  “We probably won’t run into anything dangerous where we’re going,” I said.

  “What about nibblers?”

  “They’re farther north. Hardly any of the f-and-f are dangerous, and the indidges are peaceful. They’ll rob you blind, but they won’t hurt you. You wear your mike all the time.” I reached over and took it off and stuck it back on lower down on his chest. “If you get separated, wait where you are. Don’t go trying to find anybody. That’s the surest way to get yourself killed.”

  “I thought you said the f-and-f weren’t dangerous?”

  “They’re not. But we’re going to be in uncharted territory. That means landslides, lightning, roadkill holes, flash floods. You can cut your hand on scourbrush and get blood poisoning, or get too far north and freeze to death.”

  “Or get caught in a luggage stampede.”

  I wondered how he knew about that. The pop-ups, whatever they were. “Or wander off and never be found again,” I said. “Which is what happened to Stewart’s partner, Segura. And you won’t even get a hill named after you. So you stay where you are, and after twenty-four hours you call C.J. and she’ll come and get you.”

  He nodded. “I know.”

  I was going to have to find out what these pop-ups are. “You call C.J.,” I said, “and you let her worry about finding the rest of us. If you’re injured and can’t call, she’ll know where you are by your mike.”

  I paused, trying to remember what else I should tell him. Carson was yelling at Bult again. I could hear him clear over by the ponies.

  “No giving the indidges gifts,” I said, “no teaching them how to make a wheel or build a cotton gin. If you figure out what sex Bult is, no fraternizing. No yelling at the indidges,” I said, looking over at Carson.

  He was coming this way, his mustache quivering again, but he didn’t look like he was laughing this time.

  “Bult says we can’t cross here,” he said. “He says there’s no break in the Wall here.”

  “When we looked at the map, he said there was,” I said.

  “He says it’s been repaired. He says we’ll have to ride south to the other one. How far is it?”

  “Ten kloms,” I said.

  “My shit, that’ll take us all morning,” he said, squinting off in the direction of the Wall. “He didn’t say anything about it being repaired when we did the map. Call C.J. Maybe she got an aerial of it on her way home.”

  “She didn’t,” I said. Swinging north to Sector 248-76, she wouldn’t have gotten any pictures of where we were going.

  “Dammit,” he said, taking his hat off, looking like he was going to throw it on the ground and then thinking the better of it. He looked at me and then stomped back toward the Tongue.

  “You stay here,” I said to Ev. I dismounted and caught up to Carson. “You think Bult’s got it figured out?” I asked him as soon as we were out of Ev’s earshot.

  “Maybe,” he said. “So what do we do?”

  I shrugged. “Go south to the next break. It’s no farther from the northern tributaries, and by that time we’ll know if we have to check 248-76. I sent C.J. up there to do an aerial.” I looked at Bult, who was still talking into his log. “Maybe he doesn’t have it figured out. Maybe there are just more fines this way.”

  “Which is just what we need,” he said glumly.

  He was right. Our departure fines came to nine hundred, and it took a half hour to tally them up. Then it took Bult another half hour to get his pony loaded, decide he wanted his umbrella, unload everything to find it and load it again, and by that time Carson had used inappropriate manner and tone and thrown his hat on the ground, and we had to wait while Bult added those on.

  It was ten o’clock before we finally got started, Bult leading off under his lighted umbrella, which he’d tied to his pony’s pommelbone, Ev and I side by side, and Carson in the rear, where he couldn’t swear at Bult.

  C.J.’d landed us at the top end of a little valley, and we followed it south, keeping close to the Tongue.

  “You can’t see much from here,” I told Ev. “This re
ally only goes another klom or so, and then you should get a better view of the Wall. And five kloms down, it comes right up next to the Tongue.”

  “Why is it called the Tongue? Is that a translation of the Boohteri name for it?”

  “The indidges don’t have a name for it. Or half the stuff on this planet.” I pointed at the mountains ahead of us. “Take the Ponypiles. Biggest natural formation on the whole continent, and they don’t have a name for it, or most of the f-and-f. And when they do give stuff names, they don’t make any sense. Their name for the luggage is tssuhlkahttses. It means ‘dead soup.’ And Big Brother won’t let us give things sensible names.”

  “Like the Tongue?” he said, grinning.

  “It’s long, it’s pink, and it’s hanging out like it’s going ‘aah’ for a doctor. What else would you call it? That’s not its name anyway. The Tongue’s just what we call it. The name on the map’s Conglomerate River, after the rocks it was flowing between up where we named it.”

  “An unofficial name,” Ev said half to himself.

  “Won’t work,” I said. “We already named Tight-ass Canyon after C.J. She wants something named after her officially. Passed, approved, and on the topographicals.”

  “Oh,” he said, and looked disappointed.

  “What about that?” I said. “Any species besides Homo sap have to carve a female’s name on a tree to get a jump?”

  “No,” he said. “There’s a species of water bird on Choom where the males build plaster dikes around the females that look a lot like the Wall.”

  Speaking of which, there it was. The valley had been climbing and opening out as we rode, and all of a sudden we were at the top of a rise and looking out across what looked like one of C.J.’s aerials.

  It was flat all the way to the feet of the Ponypiles, with the Tongue slicing through it like a map boundary. Boohte’s got as many oxides as Mars, and lots of cinnabar, so the plains are pink. There were mesas here and there off to the west, and a couple of cinder pyramids, and the blue of the distance turned them a nice lavender. And meandering around them and over the mesas, down to the Tongue and then away again, arched white and shining in the sun, was the Wall. At least Bult hadn’t been lying about the break. The Wall marched unbrokenly as far as I could see.