Uncharted Territory (5 page)

“Ev can handle C.J. Besides, she’s not going on the expedition.”

“It’s not C.J. I’m worried about.”

“What
are
you worried about, then? Him trying to name one of the tributaries Crissa Creek? Him building a nest fifty times his size? What?”

“Never mind,” he said and stomped off toward the gate area. “I’ll tell Bult,” he said. “You load the ponies.”

We ended having C.J. fly us as far as the Tongue. Carson and I tallied up how long it would take to get to uncharted territory and how many fines wed run up on the way and decided it was cheaper to go by heli, even with the airborne vehicle fines. And C.J. was overjoyed to have a few last chances at Ev. She kept him up front with her the whole way.

“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 loll 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 lass 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 Walls 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 sight-seeing 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 were 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 well 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 wild-flowers, 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, which is what happened to Stewart’s partner, Segura” I said. “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 shell 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.