“There she is,” I said. I turned and looked at Ev.
His mouth was hanging open.
“Hard to believe the Boohteri built it, isn’t it?”
Ev nodded without closing his mouth.
“Carson and I have this theory that they didn’t,” I said. “We think some poor species of indidges who lived here before built it, and then Bult and his pals fined them out of it.”
“It’s beautiful,” Ev, who hadn’t heard me, said. “I had no idea it was so long.”
“Six hundred kloms,” I said. “And getting longer. An average of two new chambers a year, according to C.J.’s aerials, not counting repaired breaks.”
Which meant our theory didn’t wash at all, but neither did the idea of the indidges doing all the work.
“It’s even more beautiful than the pop-ups,” Ev said, and I was going to ask him what exactly pop-ups were, but I didn’t think he’d hear that either.
I remembered the first time I’d seen the Wall. I’d only been on Boohte a week. We’d spent the whole time struggling up a draw in pouring rain and I’d spent the whole time wondering how I’d let Carson talk me into this, and we came out on top of a mesa a lot higher than what we were now, and Carson said, “There she is. All yours.”
Which got us a pursuant on incorrect imperialistic attitudes and how “Pursuant to proprietorship, planets are not owned.”
I looked over at Ev. “You’re right. It is presentable-looking.”
Bult finished writing up his fines, and we started out across it. He was still keeping close to the Tongue, and after half a klom he got out his binocs, looked through them at the water, and shook his head, and we plodded on.
It was already after noon, and I thought about getting lunch out of my pack, but the ponies were starting to drag and Ev was intent on the Wall, which was close to the Tongue here, so I waited.
The Wall disappeared behind a low step-mesa for a hundred meters and then curved down almost to the Tongue, and Carson’s pony apparently decided he’d gone far enough and stopped, swaying.
“Uh-oh,” I said.
“What is it?” Ev said, dragging his eyes away from the Wall.
“Rest stop. Remember how I told you they’re not dangerous?” I said, watching Carson, who’d gotten down off his pony and was standing clear. “Well, that’s if they don’t fall over with your legs under ’em. Think you can get down off him faster than you got on?”
“Yes,” Ev said, jumping down and away like he expected Speedy to explode.
I tightened the straps on the computer, dismounted, and stepped back. Up ahead, Carson’s pony had stopped swaying, and Carson had gone back up to it and was trying to untie the food packs.
Ev and I walked up and watched him struggle with the line. The pony dumped a pile practically on Carson’s foot and started swaying again.
“Tim-berr,” I said, and Carson jumped back. The pony took a couple of tottering steps forward and fell over, its legs out stiff at its side.
The pack was half under it, and Carson started yanking it out from under the motionless carcass. Bult unfolded himself and stepped decorously off his pony holding his umbrella, and the rest of the ponies went over like dominoes.
Ev went over to Carson and stood looking down on him. “Don’t make any sudden movements,” he said.
Carson stomped past me. “What are you laughing at?” he said.
We had lunch and incurred a few fines, but I didn’t get a chance to talk to Carson alone. Bult stuck like glue to us, talking into his log, and Ev kept asking questions about the Wall.
“So they make the chambers one at a time,” he said, looking across at it. We were on the wrong side of the Wall here, so all you could see were the back walls of the chambers, looking like they’d been plastered and painted a whitish-pink. “How do they build them?”
“We don’t know. Nobody’s ever seen them doing it,” Carson said. “Or seen them doing anything worthwhile,” he added darkly, watching Bult tallying up, “like finding us a way across it so we can get on with this expedition.”
He went over to Bult and started talking to him in an inappropriate manner.
“And what are the chambers?” Ev asked. “Dwellings?”
“And storerooms for all the stuff Bult buys, and landfills. Some of them are decorated, with flowers hanging in the opening and nibbler bones laid out in a design in front of the door. Most of them stand empty.”
Carson stomped back, his mustache quaking. “He says we can’t cross here either.”
“The other break’s been repaired, too?” I said.
“No. Now he says there’s something in the water. Tssi mitss.”
I looked over at the Tongue. It was flowing over quartzite sand here and was clear as glass. “What’s that?”
“Your guess is as good as mine. It translates as ‘not there.’ I asked him how much farther we have to go, and all he’ll say is ‘sahhth.’ ”
Sahhth apparently meant halfway to the Ponypiles because he didn’t even glance at the Tongue again once we had the ponies up and moving, and he didn’t even bother to lead. He motioned Ev and me ahead and went back to ride with Carson.
Not that we could get lost. We’d charted all this territory before, and all we had to do was keep close to the Tongue. The Wall dipped away from the water and off toward a line of mesas, and we went up a hill through a herd of luggage, grazing on dirt, and came out at another Scenic Point.
The thing about these long vistas is that you’re not going to see anything else for a while, and we’d already catalogued the f-and-f along here. There weren’t any, anyway—a lot of luggage, some tinder grass, an occasional roadkill. I ran geological contours and double-checked the topographicals, and then, since Ev was busy gawking at the scenery, ran the whereabouts.
Wulfmeier was on Starting Gate after all. He’d been picked up by Big Brother for removing ore samples. So he wasn’t in Sector 248-76, and we could’ve spent another day at King’s X, eating C.J.’s cooking and catching up on reports.
Speaking of which, I figured I might as well finish them up now. I asked for Bult’s purchase orders.
He must’ve worked fast while we were at King’s X. He’d spent all his fines and then some. I wondered if that was why we were heading south, because he’d tchopped himself into a hole.
I went through the list, weeding out weapons and artificial building materials and trying to figure out what he was going to do with three dozen dictionaries and a chandelier.
“What are you doing?” Ev said, leaning across to look at the log.
“Screening out contraband,” I said. “Bult’s not allowed to order anything with weapon potential, which in his case should have included umbrellas. It’s hard to catch everything.”
He leaned farther across. “You’re marking them ‘out of stock.’ ”
“Yeah. If we tell him he can’t order them, he fines us for discrimination, and he hasn’t figured out yet that he doesn’t have to pay for out-of-stock items, which keeps him from ordering even more stuff.”
He looked like he was going to keep asking questions, so I called up the topographical instead and said, “Tell me some more about these mating customs you’re an expert on. Are there any species who give their girlfriends dictionaries?”
He grinned. “Not that I’ve run across so far. Gift-giving is a major part of a majority of species’ courtship rituals, though, including Homo sapiens. Engagement rings, and the traditional candy and flowers.”
“Mink coats. Condos. Islands in the Tobo Sea.”
“There are several theories about its significance,” Ev said. “Most zoologists think the bestowing of a gift proves the male’s ability to obtain and defend territory. Some socioexozoologists believe gift-giving is a symbolic enactment of the sex act itself.”
“Romantic,” I said.
“One study found gift-giving triggered pheromones in the female, which in turn produced chemical changes in the male that led to the next phase of the courtship ritual. It’s hardwired into the brain. Sexual instincts pretty much override rational thought.”
Which is why females’ll run off with the first male who smiles at them, I thought, and why C.J. had been acting like an idiot at the landing. Speaking of which, here she was calling on the transmitter. “Home Base to Findriddy. Come in, Fin.”
“What is it?” I said, taking off my mike and moving it up so she could hear me.
“You got a reprimand,” she said. “ ‘Pursuant to relations between members of the survey expedition and native planet dwellers. All members of the expedition will show respect for the ancient and noble cultures of indigenous sentients and will refrain from making terrocentric value judgments.’ ”
Which could have waited till we got back from the expedition. “What did you really call for, C.J.?” I asked. As if I didn’t know.
“Is Evelyn there? Can I talk to him?”
“In a minute. Did you get a picture of that northwest section?”
There was a long pause before her answer came back. “I forgot.”
“What do you mean, you forgot?”
“I had other things on my mind. The heli prop sounded funny.”
“On hell it did. The only thing on your mind was jumping Ev.”
“I don’t know what you’re so upset about,” she said. “That whole area’s charted, isn’t it?”
“Here’s Ev,” I said. I patched her through and showed Ev the transmit button, and then looked back at Carson.
He’d want to know what I’d found out or hadn’t found out, but he and Bult were too far back to shout at, and besides, I didn’t want Bult figuring out why we’d picked the route we had.
If he hadn’t already. We’d long since passed the second break in the Wall, and he didn’t show any signs of crossing the Tongue.
“I’ll try,” Ev said earnestly into his mike. “I promise.”
It’s about time for a dust storm, I thought, looking at the sky. Carson usually likes to have one on the first day anyway, just in case something comes up where we need one, but he was deep in conversation with Bult, probably trying to talk him into crossing the Tongue.
“I miss you, too, C.J.,” Ev said.
Nothing was stopping me from pointing the camera at a likely suspect and doing one myself, but there wasn’t so much as a haze on the horizon. The Wall was only half a klom off along this stretch, and sometimes there are little kick-up breezes along it, but not today. The air was as still as a roadkill.
“Look!” Ev said, and I thought he was talking to C.J., but he said, “Fin, what’s that?” and pointed at a shuttlewren that was flying toward us.
“Tssillirah,” I said. “We call them shuttlewrens.”
“Why?” he said, watching the little bird fly over my head and back toward the other two ponies.
I didn’t waste breath answering. The shuttlewren circled Carson’s head and started back for us, flapping its stubby pinkish wings like it was about to wear out. It made two trips around Ev’s hat and started back for Carson again.
“Oh,” Ev said, turning around to see it making the circuit again, flapping for dear life. “How long can it keep that up?”
“A long time. We had one follow us for fifty kloms like that one time up by Turquoise Lake. Carson figured up it flew almost seven hundred kloms.”
Ev started asking for stuff on his log. “What does the Boohteri name for them mean?” he asked me.
“Wide mud,” I said, “and don’t ask what that’s supposed to mean. Maybe they build their nests out of mud. But there’s no mud around here.”
Or dust, I thought. I went back to thinking about dust storms. If Bult and Carson had been up ahead of us, I’d’ve taken my foot out of the stirrup and dragged it in the dirt to stir up some dust, but the way it was, Bult would catch me, and Ev would stop talking about shuttlewrens and ask what I was doing.
I looked back at Carson and waved, thinking maybe that would signal him to do something, but he was so busy talking to Bult I couldn’t get his attention. The shuttlewren, on its tenth lap, skimmed the top of his hat, but that didn’t get his attention either.
“Oh, look!” Ev said.
I turned back around. He was half up in the saddle, pointing off toward the Wall. I couldn’t see what at, which meant neither could the scans.
“Where?” I said.
“Over there,” he said, pointing.
I finally saw what he was looking at—a couch potato lying down behind a roundleaf bush and looking like a ponypile with fur.
I didn’t think the scan had enough res to pick it up, but I said, “I don’t see anything,” to stall while I set the camera on a narrow focus to the far left of it, just in case.
“Over there,” Ev said. “Is that—”
I cut him off before he could get more specific. “My shit!” I shouted. “Put the shield on. That’s a…” and hit the disconnect.
“What is it?” Ev said, reaching for his knife. “Is it dangerous?”
“What?” I said, locking the disconnect in for twelve minutes.
“That!” Ev said, waving his hand in the direction of the couch potato. “That brown thing over there.”
“Oh, that,” I said. “That’s a couch potato. It’s not dangerous. Herbivore. Lies down most of the time, except to eat. I didn’t notice it lying there.” I set my watch alarm for ten minutes.
“Then what were you looking at?” he said, staring worriedly at the horizon.
“The weather,” I said. “We get dust tantrums close to the Wall, and they play hob with the transmitter.” I punched the transmitter’s “send” three or four times and then held it down. “C.J., you there? Calling Home Base. Come in, Home Base.” I shook my head. “It’s out. I was afraid of that.”
“I didn’t see any dust,” Ev said.
“They’re only a meter or so wide,” I said, “and nearly invisible unless they’re in your line of sight.” I hit a few more keys at random. “I better go tell Carson.”
I yanked hard on the pony’s reins and prodded it in the sides. “Carson,” I called. “We got a problem.”
Carson was still deep in conversation with Bult. I gave the pony another prod, and it gave me an evil look and started backing. At this rate, the dust storm’d be over before I even made it back there. I should’ve made it twenty minutes. “C.J., you there?” I said into the transmitter, just to make sure it was off, and got down off the pony.
“Hey, Carson,” I yelled, “the transmitter’s down.” I walked back to his pony. “Wind’s picking up,” I said. “Looks like we’re in for a dust tantrum.”
“When?” he said with a glance at Bult, who was busy digging for his log to fine me for being off Useless.
“Now,” I said.
“How long do you think it’ll last?”
“Awhile,” I said, looking speculatively at the sky. “Twelve minutes, maybe twelve and a half.”
“Rest stop,” Carson called, and Bult leaped off his pony and stalked over to look at my footprints.
Carson walked off in the direction of the couch potato. I looked back at Ev. He was standing with his head up and his mouth open, watching the shuttlewren. I caught up with Carson, and we squatted so we wouldn’t attract the attention of the shuttlewren.
“What’s wrong?” he said.
“Nothing,” I said. “I just thought we should have one dust storm before we crossed into uncharted territory.”
“You could have waited, then,” Carson said. “We’re not crossing anytime soon.”
“Why not? Is this break fixed, too?”
He shook his head. “Tssi mitsse,
which means ‘big tssi mitss,’ which I figure translates as he’s going to see to it we don’t get anywhere near Sector 248-76. What did you find out from C.J.? Did the aerial show anything?”
“She didn’t get it. She was too busy batting her eyes at Ev and forgot.”
“Forgot?!” he said. He stood up. “I told you he was going to louse up this expedition. I suppose you were too busy pointing out the sights to run whereabouts either.”
I stood up and faced him. “What on hell’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means you two’ve been so busy talking I figured you’d forgotten all about a little detail like what’s going on in 248-76. What on hell’s interesting enough to talk about all day long, anyway?”
“Mating customs,” I said.
“Mating customs,” he said disgustedly. “That’s why you didn’t run whereabouts?”
“I did run them. Whatever’s in that sector, it’s not Wulfmeier. He’s on Starting Gate, and he’s under arrest. I got a verify.”
Carson stared south at the Ponypiles. “Then what on hell’s Bult up to?”
The shuttlewren changed course in midflap and started toward us. “I don’t know,” I said, taking off my hat and waving with it to keep it away. “Maybe the indidges have got a gold mine up there. Maybe they’re secretly building Las Vegas with all the stuff Bult’s ordered.” The ’wren circled my head and made a pass at Carson. “Maybe Bult’s just trying to run up our fines by taking us the long way around. Did he say how much farther we’d have to go before we could cross the Tongue?”
“Sahhth,” Carson said, mimicking Bult holding his umbrella and pointing. “If we go much farther south, we’ll be in the Ponypiles. Maybe he’s going to lead us into the mountains and drown us in a flash flood.”
“And then fine us for being foreign bodies in a waterway.” My watch beeped. “Looks like it’s starting to clear up,” I said. I picked up a handful of dirt, and we started back for the ponies.
Bult met us halfway. “Taking of souvenirs,” he said, pointing sternly at the dirt in my hand. “Disturbances of land surface. Destruction of indigenous flora.”
Terra Incognita Page 5
