Uncharted Territory

“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 leapt 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.”

“Better transmit all those right away,” I said, “before you forget.”