Terra Incognita

by Connie Willis

  “Which means she’s had almost a whole day to give him her pitch,” he said, taking hold of Bult’s pony’s reins. It balked and dug in its paws. “And she’ll have at least another two hours to work her wiles before we get these ponies in.”

  “Maybe,” I said, still watching the dust. “But I figure a presentable-looking male like Ev can jump just about any female he wants without having to do anything for it, and you notice he didn’t stay at King’s X with C.J. He came tearing out here to meet us. I think he might be smarter than he looks.”

  “That’s what you said the first time you saw Bult,” Carson said, yanking on Bult’s pony’s reins. The pony yanked back.

  “And I was right, wasn’t I?” I said, going over to help. “If he wasn’t, he’d be here with these ponies, and we’d be halfway to King’s X.” I took over the reins, and he went around behind the pony to push.

  “Maybe,” he said. “Why wouldn’t he want to meet us? After all, we’re planetary surveyors. We’re famous!”

  I pulled and he pushed. The pony stayed put. “Get moving, you rock-headed nag!” Carson said, shoving on its back end. “Don’t you know who we are?”

  The pony lifted its tail and dumped a pile.

  “My shit!” Carson said.

  “Too bad Evelyn can’t see us now,” I said, holding the reins over my shoulder and hauling on the pony. “Findriddy and Carson, the famous explorers!”

  Off in the distance, to the right of the ridge, the dust disappeared.

  Interim: At King’s X

  It took us four hours to make it into King’s X. Bult’s pony keeled over twice and wouldn’t get up, and when we got there, Ev was waiting out at the stable to ask us when we were going to start on the expedition. Carson gave him an inappropriate-in-tone-and-manner answer.

  “I know you just got back and have to file your reports and everything,” Ev said.

  “And eat,” Carson muttered, limping around his pony, “and sleep. And kill me a scout.”

  “It’s just that I’m so excited to see Boohte,” Ev said. “I still can’t believe I’m really here, talking to—”

  “I know, I know,” I said, unloading the computer. “Findriddy and Carson, the famous surveyors.”

  “Where’s Bult?” Carson asked, unstrapping his camera from his pony’s saddlebone. “And why isn’t he out here to unload his pony?”

  Evelyn handed Carson Bult’s log. “He said to tell you these are the fines from the trip in.”

  “He wasn’t on the trip in,” Carson said, glaring at the log. “What on hell are these? ‘Destruction of indigenous flora.’ ‘Damage to sand formations.’ ‘Pollution of atmosphere.’ ”

  I grabbed the log away from Carson. “Did Bult give you directions back to King’s X?”

  “Yes,” Ev said. “Did I do something wrong?”

  “Wrong?!” Carson spluttered. “Wrong?!”

  “Don’t get in a sweat,” I said. “Bult can’t fine Ev till he’s a member of the expedition.”

  “But I don’t understand,” Ev said. “What did I do wrong? All I did was drive the rover—”

  “Stir up dust, make tire tracks,” Carson said, “emit exhaust—”

  “Wheeled vehicles aren’t allowed off government property,” I explained to Ev, who was looking amazed.

  “Then how do you get around?” he asked.

  “We don’t,” Carson said, glaring at Bult’s pony, which looked like it was getting ready to keel over again. “Explain it to him, Fin.”

  I was too tired to explain anything, least of all Big Brother’s notion of how to survey a planet. “You tell him about the fines while I go get this straightened out with Bult,” I said, and went across the compound to the gate area.

  In my log, there’s nothing worse than working for a government with the guilts. All we were doing on Boohte was surveying the planet, but Big Brother didn’t want anybody accusing them of “ruthless imperialist expansion” and riding roughshod over the indidges the way they did when they colonized America.

  So they set up all these rules to “preserve planetary ecosystems” (which was supposed to mean we weren’t allowed to build dams or kill the local fauna) and “protect indigenous cultures from technological contamination” (which was supposed to mean we couldn’t give ’em firewater and guns), and stiff fines for breaking the rules.

  Which is where they made their first mistake, because they paid the fines to the indidges, and Bult and his tribe knew a good thing when they saw it, and before you know it we’re being fined for making footprints, and Bult’s buying technological contamination right and left with the proceeds.

  I figured he’d be in the gate area, up to his second knee joint in stuff he’d bought, and I was right. When I opened the door, he was prying open a crate of umbrellas.

  “Bult, you can’t charge us with fines the rover incurred,” I said.

  He pulled out an umbrella and examined it. It was the collapsible kind. He held the umbrella out in front of him and pushed a button. Lights came on around the rim. “Destruction of land surface,” he said.

  I held out his log to him. “You know the regs. ‘The expedition is not responsible for violations committed by any person not an official member of the expedition.’ ”

  He was still messing with the buttons. The lights went off. “Bult member,” he said, and the umbrella shot out and open, barely missing my stomach.

  “Watch it!” I jumped back. “You can’t incur fines, Bult.”

  Bult put down the umbrella and opened a big box of dice, which would make Carson happy. His favorite occupation, next to blaming me, is shooting craps.

  “Indidges can’t incur fines!” I said.

  “Inappropriate tone and manner,” he said.

  I was too tired for this, too, and I still had the reports and the whereabouts to do. I left him unpacking a box of shower curtains and went across to the mess.

  I opened the door. “Honey, I’m home,” I called.

  “Hello!” C.J. sang out cheerfully from the kitchen, which was a switch. “How was your expedition?”

  She appeared in the doorway, smiling and wiping her hands on a towel. She was all done up, clean face and fixed-up hair and a shirt that was open down to thirty degrees north. “Dinner’s almost ready,” she said brightly, and then stopped and looked around. “Where’s Evelyn?”

  “Out in the stable,” I said, dumping my stuff on a chair, “talking to Carson, the planetary surveyor. Did you know we’re famous?”

  “You’re filthy,” she said. “And you’re late. What on hell took you so long? Dinner’s cold. I had it ready two hours ago.” She jabbed a finger at my stuff. “Get that dirty pack off the furniture. It’s bad enough putting up with dust tantrums without you two dragging in dirt.”

  I sat down and propped my legs up on the table. “And how was your day, sweetheart?” I said. “Get a mud puddle named after you? Jump any loaners?”

  “Very funny. Evelyn happens to be a very nice young man who understands what it’s like to be all alone on a planet for weeks at a time with nobody for hundreds of kloms and who knows what dangers lurking out there—”

  “Like losing that shirt,” I said.

  “You’re not exactly in a position to criticize my clothes,” she said. “When’s the last time you changed yours? What have you been doing, rolling in the mud? And get those boots off the furniture. They’re disgusting!” She smacked my legs with the dish towel.

  This was as much fun as talking to Bult. If I was going to be raked over the coals, it might as well be by the experts. I heaved myself out of the chair. “Any pursuants?”

  “If you mean official reprimands, there are sixteen. They’re on the computer.” She went back to the kitchen, her shirt flapping. “And get cleaned up. You’re not coming to the table looking like tha
t.”

  “Yes, dear,” I said, and went over to the console. I fed in the expedition report and took a look at the subsurfaces I’d run in Sector 247-72, and then called up the pursuants.

  There were the usual loving messages from Big Brother: We weren’t covering enough sectors, we weren’t giving enough f-and-f indigenous names, we were incurring too many fines.

  “Pursuant to language used by members of survey expeditions, such members will refrain from using derogatory terms in reference to the government, in particular, abbreviations and slang terms such as ‘Big Brother’ and ‘morons back home.’ Such references imply lack of respect, thereby undermining relations with the indigenous sentients and obstructing the government’s goals. Members of survey expeditions will henceforth refer to the government by its proper title in full.”

  Evelyn and Carson came in. “Anything interesting?” Carson asked, leaning over me.

  “We’re wearing our mikes turned up too high,” I said.

  He clapped me on the shoulder. “I’m gonna go check the weather and then take a bath,” he said.

  I nodded, looking at the screen. He left, and I started through the pursuants again and then looked back behind me. Ev was leaning over me, his chin practically on my shoulder.

  “Do you mind if I watch?” he said. “It’s so exc—”

  “I know, I know,” I said. “There’s nothing more exciting than reading a bunch of memos from Big Brother. Oh. Sorry,” I said, pointing at the screen, “we’re not supposed to call them that. We’re supposed to use appropriate titles. There’s nothing more exciting than reading memos from the Third Reich.”

  Ev grinned, and I thought, Yep, smarter than he looks.

  “Fin,” C.J. called from the door of the mess. She’d unstripped her blouse another ten degrees. “Can I borrow Evelyn for a minute?”

  “You bet, Crissa Jane,” I said.

  She glared at me.

  “That’s what C.J. stands for, you know,” I said to Ev. “Crissa Jane Tull. You’ll need to remember that for when we go on expedition.”

  “Fin!” she snapped. “Ev,” she said sweetly, “can you come help me with dinner?”

  “Sure,” Ev said, and was after her like a shot. All right, not that much smarter.

  I went back to the pursuants. We weren’t showing “proper respect for indigenous cultural integrity,” which meant who knows what, we hadn’t filled out Subsection 12-2 of the minerals report for Expedition 158, we had left two gaps of uncharted territory on Expedition 162, one in Sector 248-76 and the other in Sector 246-73.

  I knew what the 246-73 gap was but not the other one, and I doubted if it was still a gap. We’d been over a lot of the same territory the next-to-last expedition.

  I called up the topographicals and asked for a chart overlay. Big Bro—Hizzoner was right for once. There were two holes in the chart.

  Carson came in, carrying a towel and a clean pair of socks. “We fired yet?”

  “Just about,” I said. “How’s the weather look?”

  “Rain down in the Ponypiles start of next week. Otherwise, nothing. Not even a dust tantrum. Looks like we can go anywhere we want.”

  “What about in charted territory? Up along 76?”

  “Same thing. Clear and dry. Why?” he said, coming over to look at the screen. “What’ve you got?”

  “I don’t know yet,” I said. “Probably nothing. Go get cleaned up.”

  He went off toward the latrine. Sector 248-76. That was over on the other side of the Tongue and, if I remembered right, close to Silvershim Creek. I frowned at the screen a minute, and then asked for Expedition 181’s log and started fast-forwarding it.

  “Is that the expedition you were just on?” Ev said, and I jerked around to find him hanging over me again.

  “I thought you were helping C.J. in the kitchen,” I said, cutting the log off.

  He grinned. “It’s too hot in there. Were you sending the log of the expedition to NASA?”

  I shook my head. “The log goes out live. It transmits straight to C.J. and she sends it on through the gate. I was just finishing up the expedition summary.”

  “Do you send all the reports?”

  “Nope. Carson sends the topographicals and the f-and-f; I send the geologicals and the accountings.” I asked for the tally of Bult’s fines.

  Ev looked uneasy. “I wanted to apologize to you for driving the rover. I didn’t know it was against regs to use nonindigenous transportation. The last thing I wanted to do on my first day was to get you and Dr. Carson in trouble.”

  “Don’t worry about it. We still had wages left over this expedition, which is better than we’ve made out the last two. The only things that really get you in trouble are killing fauna and naming something after somebody,” I said, staring at him, but he didn’t look especially guilty. C.J. must not have gotten around to her sales pitch yet.

  “Anyway,” I said, “we’re used to trouble.”

  “I know,” he said earnestly. “Like the time you got caught in the stampede and nearly got trampled, and Dr. Carson rescued you.”

  “How’d you know about that?” I asked.

  “Are you kidding? You’re—”

  “Famous. Right,” I said. “But how—”

  “Evelyn,” C.J. called, dripping honey with every syllable, “can you help me set the table?” and he was off again.

  I got 181’s log again, and then changed my mind and asked for the whereabouts. I checked them for the two times we’d been in Sector 248-76. Wulfmeier’d been on Starting Gate both times, which didn’t prove anything. I asked for a verify on him.

  “Nahhd khompt,” Bult said.

  I looked up. He was standing next to the computer, pointing his umbrella at me.

  “I need the computer, too,” I said, and he reached for his log. “Besides, it’s almost dinnertime.”

  “Nahhd tchopp,” he said, moving around behind me so he could see the screen. “Forcible confiscation of property.”

  “That’s what it is, all right,” I said, wondering which was worse, being stuck with his bayonet of an umbrella or another fine. Besides, I couldn’t find out what I needed to know with all these people hanging over my shoulder. And dinner was ready. Evelyn pushed the kitchen door open with his shoulder and brought out a platter of meat. I asked for the catalog.

  “Here you go,” I said, standing up. “Nieman Marcus at your disposal. Go at it. Tchopp.”

  Bult sat down, shot his umbrella open, and started talking to the computer. “One dozen pair digiscan polarized field glasses,” he said, “with telemetry and object enhancement functions.”

  Ev stared.

  “One ‘High Rollers Special’ slot machine,” Bult said.

  Ev came over with the platter. “Bult can speak English?” he said.

  I grabbed a chunk of meat. “Depends. When he’s ordering stuff, yeah. When you’re talking to him, not much. When you’re trying to negotiate satellite surveys or permission to set up a gate, no hablo inglés.” I grabbed another hunk of meat.

  “Stop that!” C.J. said, bringing in the vegetables. “Honestly, Fin, you’ve got the manners of a gatecrasher! You could at least wait till we get to the table!” She set the vegetables down. “Carson! Dinner’s ready!” she called, and went back into the kitchen.

  He came in, wiping his hands on a towel. He’d washed up and shaved around his mustache. He came over close to me. “Find anything?” he muttered.

  “Maybe.”

  Ev, still holding the meat platter, was looking at me inquiringly.

  I said, “I found out those binocs you lost are gonna cost us three hundred.”

  “I lost?” Carson said. “You’re the one who lost ’em. I laid ’em right next to your pack. Why on hell’s it three hundred?”

  “Possib
le technological contamination,” I said. “If they turn up on an indidge, it’ll be five hundred you lost us.”

  “I lost us!” he said.

  C.J. came in, carrying a bowl of rice. She’d switched her shirt for one with even lower coordinates, and lights around the edges like the ones on Bult’s umbrella.

  “You were the one in a hurry to get back here and meet Evelyn,” I said. I pulled a chair out from the table, stepped over it, and sat down.

  He grabbed the platter out of Ev’s hands. “Five hundred. My shit!” He set the platter on the table. “How much were the rest of the fines?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “I haven’t tallied ’em yet.”

  “Well, what on hell were you doing all this time?” He sat down. “It’s plain to see you weren’t taking a bath.”

  “C.J.’s cleaned up enough for both of us,” I said. “What’re the lights for?” I asked her.

  Carson grinned. “They’re like those landing strip beacons, so you can find your way down.”

  C.J. ignored him. “You sit here by me, Evelyn.”

  He pulled out her chair, and she sat down, managing to lean over so we could all see the runway.

  Ev sat down next to her. “I can’t believe I’m actually eating dinner with Carson and Findriddy! Tell me about your expedition. I’ll bet you had a lot of adventures.”

  “Well,” Carson said, “Fin lost the binocs.”

  “Have you decided when we leave on the next expedition yet?” Ev asked.

  Carson gave me a look. “Not yet,” I said. “A few days, probably.”

  “Oh, good,” C.J. crooned, leaning in Ev’s direction. “That’ll give us more time to get to know each other.” She latched onto his arm.

  “Is there anything I can do to help so we can leave sooner?” Ev said. “Loading the ponies or something? I’m just so eager to get started.”

  C.J. dropped his arm in disgust. “So you can spend three weeks sleeping on the ground and listening to these two?”

  “Are you kidding?” he said. “I put in four years ago for the chance to go on an expedition with Carson and Findriddy! What’s it like, being on the survey team with them?”