Uncharted Territory

“Did you know a lot of species perform their courtship rituals by moonlight?” he said. “Like the whippoorwill and the Antarrean cow-frog.”

“And teenagers,” I said, and yawned. “We’d better be getting to bed. We’ve got a lot to do in the morning.”

“I don’t think I could sleep,” he said, still with that dopey look. I began to wonder if I’d been wrong about him being all that smart.

“I saw the vids, but they don’t do it justice,” he said, looking at me. “I had no idea everything would be so beautiful.”

“You should be using that line on C.J. and her nightie,” Carson said, poking his head around the door. He was wearing his liner and his boots. “What on hell’s going on out here?”

“I was telling Ev how he’d better get to bed so we can start in the morning,” I said, looking at Carson.

“Really?” Ev said. The sappy-eyed look disappeared. “Tomorrow?”

“Sunup,” I said, “so you’d better get back to your bunk. It’s the last chance you’ll have at a mattress for two weeks,” but he didn’t show any signs of leaving, and I couldn’t talk to Carson with him hanging over me.

“Where are we going?”

“Uncharted territory,” I said. “But you’ll be asleep in the saddlebone and miss it if you don’t get to bed.”

“Oh, I couldn’t possibly sleep now!” he said, gazing out at the ridge. “I’m too excited!”

“You’d better pack your gear then,” Carson said.

“I’m all packed.”

C.J. came out, pulling a hide-nothing robe on over her nightie.

“We’re leaving at sunup,” I told her.

“Oh, but you can’t go yet,” she said and yanked Ev inside.

Carson motioned me out halfway between the bunkhouse and the stable. “What did you find?”

“A hole in Sector 248-76. We’ve missed it twice, and Bult was leading both times.”

“Fossil strata?”

“No. Metamorphic. It’s probably nothing, but Wulfmeier was on Dazil yesterday afternoon, and verified on Starting Gate. I don’t think he’s either place.”

“What do you think he’s doing? Mining?”

“Maybe. Or using it as headquarters while he looks around.”

“Where’d you say it was?”

“Sector 248-76.”

“My shit,” he said softly. “That’s awfully close to 246-73. If it is Wulfmeier, he’s bound to find it. You’re right. We’d better get out there.” He shook his head. “I wish we weren’t stuck taking this loaner with us. What was he doing out here? Resting between rounds with C.J.?”

“We were discussing mating customs,” I said.

“Sexozoologist!” he said. “Sex can mess up an expedition quicker than anything.”

“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.”

Expedition 184: Day 1

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 we’d 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 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