Uncharted Territory

by Connie Willis

  Carson stood up.

  “Where are you going?”

  “To run meteorologicals. I don’t like the looks of those clouds over the Ponypiles.” You couldn’t see the clouds over the Ponypiles, it was so dark, and he’d already run meteorologicals. I’d watched him while we were setting up camp. I wondered if he was worried about Bult and had gone to check on him, but Bult was right here, with another armful of sticks.

  “Thanks, Bult,” I said. He glared at Ev and then at me again and walked off, still carrying the sticks.

  I stood up.

  “Where are you going?” Ev said.

  “To run a whereabout on Wulfmeier. I want to make sure he made it to Starting Gate.” I pulled his pop-up out of my boot and tossed it to him. “Here. Tight Pants and Fancy Mustache’ll keep you company.”

  I went over to the equipment. Carson was nowhere to be seen. I got the log and called up Bult’s fines. “Breakdown by day,” I said. “Secondary breakdown by person,” and watched it for a while, thinking about Bult and the binocs and Ev’s mating customs.

  When I got back to the fire, Ev was sitting in front of an officeful of terminals, which didn’t look much like a Findriddy and Carson adventure.

  “What’s that?” I said, sitting down beside him.

  “Episode One. That’s you,” he said, pointing at one of the females.

  I wasn’t wearing tight pants in this one. I was wearing a skimpy little skirt and one of C.J.’s shirts, landing lights and all, and talking into a screen with a geological on it.

  Carson strolled into the office in his luggage vest, fringed pants, and a pair of boots the nibblers wouldn’t have even had to bite through. His mustache was slicked down and curled up, and all the females simpered at him like he was a buck with big horns.

  “I’m looking for someone to go with me to a new planet,” he said, his eyes sweeping the room and coming to rest on Skimpy Skirt. Music from somewhere under the terminals started to play, and everything went pinkish. Carson walked over to her desk and stood over her, looking down her blouse.

  After a while he said, “I’m looking for someone who longs for adventure, who’s not afraid of danger.” He held out his hand, and the music got louder. “Come with me,” he said.

  “Is that how it was?” Ev said.

  Well, my shit, of course it wasn’t like that. He’d swaggered in, sat down at my desk, and propped his muddy boots up on it.

  “What are you doing here?” I’d said. “You run up too many fines again?”

  “Nope,” he said, grabbing for my hand. “I wouldn’t mind running up a few more fraternizing with the sentients, though. How about it?”

  I yanked my hand free. “What are you really doing here?”

  “I’m looking for a partner. New planet. Surface survey and naming. Any takers?” He grinned at me. “Lots of perks.”

  “I’ll bet,” I said. “Dust, snakes, dehyde food, and no bathrooms.”

  “And me,” he said with that smug grin. “Garden of Eden. Wanta come?”

  “Yeah,” I said, watching the pop-up go pinker. “That’s how it was.”

  “Come with me,” Carson said again to Skimpy Skirt, and she stood up and gave him her hand. A draft from somewhere started blowing her hair and her skimpy skirt.

  “It’ll be uncharted territory,” he said, looking in her eyes.

  “I’m not afraid,” she said, “as long as I’m with you.”

  “What on hell’s that supposed to be?” Carson said limping up.

  “The way you and Fin met,” Ev said.

  “And I suppose those landing lights are supposed to be Fin’s?”

  “You finish your meteorologicals?” I cut in before he could say anything about not being able to tell I was a female half the time.

  “Yeah,” he said, warming his hands over the fire. “Supposed to rain in the Ponypiles. I’m glad we’re heading north tomorrow.” He looked back at Carson and Skimpy Skirt, who were still holding hands and looking sappy-eyed at each other. “Evie, which adventure did you say this was supposed to be?”

  “It’s when you first met,” Ev said. “When you asked Fin to be your partner.”

  “Asked her?” Carson said. “My shit, I didn’t ask her. Big Brother said my partner had to be a female, for gender balance, whatever on hell that is, and she was the only female in the department who knew how to run terrains and geologicals.”

  “Fahrrr,” Bult said and dumped his load of sticks on Carson’s bad foot.

  Expedition 184: Day 3

  I hauled my bedroll out by the ponies so I didn’t have to listen to Carson, and in the morning I said, “Come on, Ev, you’re riding with me. I want to hear all about mating customs from you.”

  “Chilly around here this morning,” Carson said.

  I strapped the camera on Useless and cinched it tight.

  “I don’t like the look of those clouds,” Carson said, looking at the Ponypiles. They were covered with low clouds that were spreading out. Half the sky was overcast. “It’s a good thing we’re heading north.”

  “Sahhth,” Bult said, pointing south. “Brik.”

  “I thought you said there was a break north of here,” Carson said.

  “Sahtth,” Bult said, glaring at me.

  I glared back.

  “I don’t like the way he’s acting,” Carson said. “He was gone half the night, and this morning he left a bunch of dice in my bedroll. And Evie says his pop-ups missing.”

  “Good,” I said, climbing up on Useless. “Ev, tell me again about what males do to impress their females.”

  Bult led us south most of the morning, keeping close to the Tongue, even though the Wall was at least two kloms to the west and there was nothing between us and it but one sandblossom and a lot of pink dirt.

  Bult kept sending murderous glances back at me, and kicking his pony to make it go faster. Not only did it, our ponies keeping up with it, but they didn’t keel over once all morning. I wondered if Bult had been faking rest stops the way we did dust storms. And what else he’d been faking.

  Around noon, I gave up waiting for a rest stop and hauled dehydes out of my pack for lunch, and right after we ate, we came to a creek, which Bult crossed without even looking in, and a handful of silvershims. The whole sky was gray by then, so they didn’t look like much.

  “Sorry the sun’s not out,” I told Ev. I looked at their grayish leaves, hanging limp and dusty. “They don’t look much like the pop-ups, do they?”

  “I’m sorry I lost the pop-up,” Ev said. “I put it under my bedroll instead of in my boot.” He hesitated. “You didn’t know that was how you got chosen to be Carson’s partner, did you?”

  “Are you kidding?” I said. “That’s how Big Brother always does things. C.J. got picked because she was one-sixteenth Navajo.” I looked ahead at Carson.

  “Why did you come to Boohte?” Ev said.

  “You heard the man,” I said. “I wanted adventure, I wasn’t afraid of danger, I wanted to be famous.”

  We rode on a ways. “Is that really why?” Ev said.

  “Let’s change the subject,” I said. “Tell me about mating customs. Did you know there’s a fish on Starsi that’s so dumb it thinks it’s being courted when it’s not?”

  A half a klom after the silvershims, Bult turned west toward the Wall. It bulged out to meet us, and where it did, a whole section was down, a heap of shiny white rubble with high-water marks on it. A flood must’ve taken it out, even though it was an awfully long way from the Tongue.

  Bult led us over the break and, finally, north, keeping next to the Wall all the way back up to the creek we’d crossed. Ev was excited about seeing the front side of the Wall, even though only a few of the chambers looked like they’d been lived in lately, and even more excited about a shuttlewren that tried to dive-bomb us riding through the break.

  “Their territory obviously involves the Wall in some way,” he said, leaning sideways to get a look inside. “Have you e
ver seen one of their nests in the chambers?”

  If he leaned over any farther he was going to fall off his pony. “Rest stop!” I called up to Carson and Bult, and pulled back on the reins. “Come on, Ev,” I said, and dismounted. “It’s against regs to go inside the chambers, but you can peek in.”

  He looked up ahead at Bult, who had his log out and was glaring back at us. “What about the fine for leaving footprints?”

  “Carson can pay it,” I said. “Bult hasn’t fined him in two days.” I went over to a chamber and looked inside the door.

  They’re not real doors, more like a hole poked in the middle of the side, and there’s no floor either. The sides curve up like an egg. There was a bunch of sandblossoms laid out on the bottom of this one, and in the middle of it one of the American flags Bult had bought two expeditions ago.

  “Courtship ritual,” I said, but Ev was looking up at the curved ceiling, trying to see if there was a nest. “There are several species of birds that nest in the homes of other species. The panakeet on Yotata, the cuckoo.”

  We started back to the ponies. It was starting to sprinkle. Up ahead, Bult was getting his umbrella out of his pack and putting it up. Carson was off his pony stomping back to us. “Fin, what on hell do you think you’re doing?” he said when he got up to us.

  “Taking a rest stop,” I said. “We haven’t had one all day.”

  “And were not going to. Were finally heading north.” He took hold of Useless’s reins and yanked him forward. “Ev, you stay back here and bring up the rear. Fins coming up to ride with me.”

  “I like it back here,” I said.

  “Too bad,” he said, and dragged my pony forward. “You’re riding with me. Bult, you lead. Fin and I are riding together.”

  Bult gave me a murderous glance and lit up his umbrella. He crossed the creek and then rode up along it, going west.

  “Now, get on,” Carson said and mounted his pony. “I want to be away from the mountains by nightfall.”

  “And that’s why I have to ride with you,” I said, swinging my leg up, “so I can tell you which way’s north? It’s that way.”

  I pointed north. There was a high bluff in that direction, and between it and the Ponypiles a strip of flat grayish-pink plain, splotched here and there with whitish and dark patches. Bult was heading catty-corner across the flat, still following the stream, his pony leaving deep pawprints in the soft ground.

  “Thanks,” Carson said. “The way you been acting, I didn’t figure you knew which end was up, let alone north.”

  “What on hell’s that supposed to mean?”

  “It means you haven’t been paying attention to anything since Evelyn showed up and started talking about mating customs. I’d’ve thought you’d’ve run out of species by now.”

  “Well, we haven’t,” I snapped.

  “You’re supposed to be surveying, not listening to the loaners. In case you haven’t noticed, we’re in uncharted territory, we don’t have any aerials, Bult’s half a klom ahead of us—” He pointed up ahead.

  Bult’s pony was drinking out of the stream. It was still sprinkling, but Bult turned off his umbrella and collapsed it.

  ”—and who knows where he’s going. He could be leading us into a trap. Or around in circles till the food runs out.”

  I looked ahead at Bult. He’d crossed the creek and ridden a little way up the other side. His pony was taking another drink.

  “Maybe Wulfmeier’s back and Bult’s leading us straight to him. And you haven’t looked at a screen all morning. You’re supposed to be running subsurfaces, not listening to Evie Darling talk about sex.”

  “Listening to him is one hell of a lot more fun than listening to you tell me how to do my job!” I kicked the log on and asked for a subsurface. Up ahead, Bult’s pony was stopped and drinking again. I looked down at the stream. Where it cut the low banks, the rock looked like mudstone. “Cancel subsurface,” I said.

  “You haven’t been paying attention to anything,” Carson said. “You lose the binocs, you lose the pop-up—”

  “Shut up,” I said, looking at the bluff, backing the full length of the plain. The plain tilted slightly to its base. “Terrain,” I said. “No. Terrain cancel.” I looked out at the closest whitish patch. Where the drops of rain were sticking to it, it was pocked with pink.

  “You were supposed to keep the pop-up in your boot. If Bult gets hold of it—”

  “Shut up,” I said. Where Bult’s pony had walked there were fifteen-centimeter-deep pawprints in the grayish-brown dirt. The ones up ahead were dark on the bottom.

  “If you’d have been paying attention, you’d have realized Wulfmeier—” Carson was saying.

  “My shit!” I said, “Dust storm!” and jammed the disconnect. “Shit.”

  Carson jerked around in the saddlebone as if he expected to see a dust tantrum roaring down on him, and then jerked back and stared at me.

  “Subsurface,” I said to the terminal. I pointed at the pony’s pawprints. “Off-line, and no trace.”

  Carson stared at the pawprints. “Is everything off?” he said.

  “Yes,” I said, checking the cameras to make sure.

  “Are you running a subsurface?”

  “I don’t have to,” I said, waving at the plain. “It’s right there on top. Shit, shit, shit.”

  Evelyn rode up. “What is it?” he asked.

  “I knew he was up to something,” Carson said, looking ahead at Bult. He was off his pony and squatting down at the edge of a dark patch. “I told you I thought he was leading us into a trap.”

  “What is it?” Ev said, pulling his knife out. “Nibblers?”

  “No, its a couple of royal saps,” Carson said. “Was the log on?”

  “Of course it was on,” I snapped. “This is uncharted. Terrain, off-line and no trace,” I said, but I already knew what it was going to show. A bluff backing a tilted plain. Mudstone. Salt. Seepage. A classic anticline, just like in Wulfmeier’s holos. Shit, shit, shit.

  “What is it?” Evelyn said.

  The terrain came up on the screen. “Subsurface overlay,” I said.

  “Nahtth,” Bult called.

  I looked up. He had his umbrella up and was pointing with it at the bluff.

  “The sneak,” Carson said. “Where’s he leading us now?”

  “We’ve got to get out of here,” I said, scanning the subsurface. It was worse than I thought. The field was fifteen kloms square, and we were right in the middle of it.

  “He wants us to follow him,” Carson said. “He probably wants to show us a gusher. We’ve got to get out of here.”

  “I know,” I said, scanning the subsurface. The salt dome went the whole length of the bluff and all the way to the foot of the Ponypiles.

  “What do we do?” Carson said. “Go back to the Wall?”

  I shook my head. The only sure way out of this was the way we’d come, but the ponies wouldn’t backtrail, and the subsurface showed a secondary fault south of the creek. If we went off at an angle we were liable to run into seep, and we obviously couldn’t go north.

  “Distance overlay,” I said. “Off-line and no trace.”

  “We can’t stay off-line all day,” Carson said. “C.J.’s already suspicious.”

  “I know” I said, looking desperately at the map. We couldn’t go west. It was too far, and the subsurface showed seepage that way. “We’ve got to go south,” I said, pointing at the foothills of the Ponypiles. “We need to get up on that spur so well be up above the natural table.”

  “Are you sure?” Carson said, coming around to look at the screen.

  “I’m sure. The rocks are gypsum.” Which is frequently associated with an anticline. Shit, shit, shit.

  “And then what? Go up into the Ponypiles in that weather?” He pointed at the low clouds.

  “We’ve got to go somewhere. We can’t stay here. And any other way’s liable to lead us straight into Oklahoma.”

  “All right,�
�� he said, getting up on his pony. “Come on, Ev. We’re going.”

  “Shouldn’t we wait for Bult?” Ev said.

  “My shit, no. He’s already gotten us in enough trouble. Let him find his own way out. That goddamn Wulfmeier. You lead,” he said to me, “and we’ll follow you.”

  “You stay right behind me,” I said, “and holler if you see something I don’t.”

  Like an anticline. Like an oil field.

  I looked at the screen, wishing it would show a path for us to follow, and started slowly across the plain, watching for seep and hoping the ponies wouldn’t suddenly go in knee-deep. Or decide to keel over.

  It started to drizzle, and then rain, and I had to wipe the screen off with my hand. “Bult’s following us,” Carson said when we were halfway to the spur.

  I looked back. He had his umbrella down and was kicking his pony to catch up.

  “What are we going to tell him?” I said.

  “I don’t know,” he said. “Damn Wulfmeier. This is all his fault.”

  And mine, I thought. I should have recognized the signs in the terrain. I should have recognized the signs in Bult.

  The ground turned paler, and I ran a geological and got a mix of gypsum and sulfur in with the mud-stone. I wondered if I could risk turning the transmitter back on, and about that time Useless stepped in seep over his paw. It started to drizzle again.

  It took us an hour and a half to get out of the oil field and the rain and up into the first hills of the spur. They were gypsum, too, eroded by the wind into flattened and whorled mounds that looked exactly like ponyshit. It apparently hadn’t rained as much up here. The gypsum was dry and powdery, and before we’d climbed fifty meters we were coated in pinkish dust and spitting plaster.

  I found a stream, and we waded the ponies up it to get the oil off their paws. They balked at the cold water and the incline, and I finally got off and walked Useless, yanking on its reins and cursing it every step of the way up.

  Bult had caught up. He was right behind Ev, dragging on his pony’s reins and watching Carson thoughtfully. Ev was looking thoughtful, too, and I hoped that didn’t mean he’d figured things out, but it didn’t look like it. He craned his neck to look at a shuttlewren flying reconnaissance above us.