Connie Willis - Uncharted Territory

“The other tributary. Do the Boohteri have a name for it?”

“I doubt it,” I said, swinging up onto Useless. Carson was having trouble with his pony. If we waited for him, we were going to lose Bult. “Come on,” I said to Ev and started after Bult.

“Accordion Creek,” Ev said.

“What?” I said, trying to decide which way Bult had gone. I caught a flash of light from his binocs off to the left and urged the pony that way.

“As a name for the other tributary,” Ev said. “Accordion Creek, because of the way it folds back and forth.”

“No technological references,” I said, looking back at Carson. His pony had stopped and was unloading a pile.

“Oh, right,” Ev said. “Then how about Zigzag Creek?”

I caught sight of Bult again. He was on top of the next rise, off his pony, looking through his binocs.

“We’ve already got a Zigzag Creek,” I said, waving to Carson to come ahead. “Up north in Sector 250-81.”

“Oh,” he said, sounding disappointed. “What else means back and forth? Crooked? Tortuous?”

We caught up to Bult, and I unhooked Carson’s binocs from the pommelbone and put them up to my eyes, but I couldn’t see anything through them but hills and sandblossoms. I upped the resolution.

“Ladder,” Ev was muttering beside me. “No, that’s technological… crisscross… how about Crisscross Creek?”

Well, it was a good try. It wasn’t “chrysanthemum,” and he’d waited till Carson wasn’t there and I was worrying about something else. He was definitely smarter than he looked. But not smart enough.

“Nice try,” I said, still scanning the hills with the binocs. “How about Sneaky Creek?” I said as Carson caught up to us. “For the way it tries to slip past you when you’re not looking?”

Either Bult had seen what he was looking for through his binocs, or he’d given up. He didn’t try to ride ahead for the rest of the afternoon, and after our second rest stop, he put his binocs in his pack and got out his umbrella again. When I asked him the name of a bush during the rest stop, he wouldn’t answer me.

Ev wasn’t talking either, which was fine because I had a lot to think about. Bult might have calmed down, but he still wasn’t levying fines, even though the rest stop had been on a hillside covered with sandblossoms, and two or three times I caught him glaring at me from under his umbrella. When his pony wouldn’t get up, he kicked it.

I wondered if irritability was a sign of mating behavior, too, or if he was just nervous. Maybe he wasn’t just trying to impress some female. Maybe he was taking us home to meet her.

I called C.J. “I need a whereabout on the indidges,” I told her.

“And I need a whereabout on you. What are you doing down in 249-68?”

“Trying to cross the Tongue,” I said. “Are there any indidges in our sector?”

“Not a one. They’re all up by the Wall in 248-85.”

Well, at least they weren’t in 248-76.

“Any unusual movements?”

“No. Let me talk to Ev.”

“Sure thing. Ask him about the creek we named this morning,” I said.

I patched him through and thought about Bult some more, and then asked for another whereabout on the gatecrashers. Wulfmeier still showed on Starting Gate, probably trying to come up with the money to pay his fines.

We got back to the Tongue by late afternoon, but it was still hilly, and the Tongue was too narrow and deep for us to cross. We were close to the Wall—it wound up and down over the hills on the other side—and apparently in a shuttlwren’s territory again. Ev alternated between watching it make its rounds and trying to shoo it away so Bult couldn’t harpoon it.

Bult headed south, winding up over the tops of hills about like the Wall. I shouted ahead to Carson that it was too steep for the ponies, and he nodded and said something to Bult. Bult plodded on, and ten minutes later his pony keeled over in a dead faint.

Ours followed suit, and we sat down and waited for them to recover. Bult took his umbrella halfway up the hill and sat down under it. Carson lay back and put his hat over his eyes, and I got out Bult’s purchase orders and went over them again, looking for clues.

“Do you always see shuttlewrens close to the Wall like this?” Ev asked. He was apparently recovered from the tongue-lashing C.J.’d given him.

“I don’t know,” I said, trying to remember. “Carson, do we always see shuttlewrens when we’re close to the Wall?”

“Mmph,” Carson said from under his hat.

“These species that give gifts to their mates,” I said to Ev, “what other kinds of courting do they do?”

“Fighting,” he said, “mating dances, displays of sexual characteristics.”

“Migration?” I said, looking up the hill at Bult. The umbrella was sitting propped against the hill, its lights on. Bult wasn’t under it. “Where’s Bult?”

Carson sat up, putting his hat on. “Which way?”

I stood up. “Over there. Ev, tie up the ponies.”

“They’re still out cold,” he said. “What’s going on?”

Carson was already halfway up the hill. I scrambled after him.

“Up this gully,” he said, and we clambered up it. It led up between two hills, a trickle of water at the bottom, and then opened out. Carson signaled me to wait and went up a hundred meters.

“What is it?” Ev said, coming up behind me, panting. “Has something happened to Bult?”

“Yeah,” I said. “Only he doesn’t know it yet.”

Carson was back. “Just like we thought,” he said. “Dead end. What say you go up there”—he pointed—“and I go around that way?”

“And we meet in the middle,” I said, nodding. I headed up the side of the gully with Ev behind me. I ran along the crest of the hill in a half crouch, and then dropped to all fours and crawled the rest of the way.

“What is it?” Ev whispered. “A nibbler?” He looked excited.

“Yeah,” I whispered back. “A nibbler.”

He pulled his knife out.

“Put that away,” I hissed at him. “You’re liable to fall on it and kill yourself.” He put it away. “Don’t worry. It’s not dangerous unless it’s doing something it shouldn’t.”

He looked confused.

“Down,” I said, and we crawled out onto a ledge looking down on the space where the gully widened out. Below us, I could see the flattened area of a gate and a lean-to made of a tarp on sticks. In front of it was Bult.

A man was standing half under the tarp, holding out a handful of rocks to Bult. “Quartz,” the man said. “It’s found in igneous outcroppings, like this.” He reached forward to show Bult a holo, and Bult stepped back.

“You ever seen anything like this around here?” the man said, holding up the holo.

Bult took another step backward.

“It’s only a holo, you moron,” the man said, holding it out to Bult. “Did you ever see anything like this around here?” and Carson came strolling into the clearing, carrying his pack.

He stopped short. “Wulfmeier!” he said, sounding surprised and amused. “What on hell are you doing on Boohte?”

“Wulfmeier,” Ev breathed beside me. I put my finger to my lips to shush him.

“What’s that?” Carson said, pointing at the holo. “A postcard?” He walked up next to Bult. “My pony wandered off, and I came looking for him. Same as Bult. How about you, Wulfmeier?”

I wished I could see Wulfmeier’s face from where we were. “Something went wrong with my gate,” he said, taking a step back under the tarp and looking behind him. “Where’s Fin?” he said, and lowered his hand to his side.

“Right here,” I said, and jumped down. “Wulfmeier,” I said, holding out my hand. “Fancy meeting you here. Ev,” I called up, “come on down here and meet Wulfmeier.”