Конни Уиллис: Terra Incognita: Three Novellas

“It’s beautiful,” Ev, who hadn’t heard me, said. “I had no idea it was so long.”

“Six hundred kloms,” I said. “And getting longer. An average of two new chambers a year, according to C.J.’s aerials, not counting repaired breaks.”

Which meant our theory didn’t wash at all, but neither did the idea of the indidges doing all the work.

“It’s even more beautiful than the pop-ups,” Ev said, and I was going to ask him what exactly pop-ups were, but I didn’t think he’d hear that either.

I remembered the first time I’d seen the Wall. I’d only been on Boohte a week. We’d spent the whole time struggling up a draw in pouring rain and I’d spent the whole time wondering how I’d let Carson talk me into this, and we came out on top of a mesa a lot higher than what we were now, and Carson said, “There she is. All yours.”

Which got us a pursuant on incorrect imperialistic attitudes and how “Pursuant to proprietorship, planets are not owned.”

I looked over at Ev. “You’re right. It is presentable-looking.”

Bult finished writing up his fines, and we started out across it. He was still keeping close to the Tongue, and after half a klom he got out his binocs, looked through them at the water, and shook his head, and we plodded on.

It was already after noon, and I thought about getting lunch out of my pack, but the ponies were starting to drag and Ev was intent on the Wall, which was close to the Tongue here, so I waited.

The Wall disappeared behind a low step-mesa for a hundred meters and then curved down almost to the Tongue, and Carson’s pony apparently decided he’d gone far enough and stopped, swaying.

“Uh-oh,” I said.

“What is it?” Ev said, dragging his eyes away from the Wall.

“Rest stop. Remember how I told you they’re not dangerous?” I said, watching Carson, who’d gotten down off his pony and was standing clear. “Well, that’s if they don’t fall over with your legs under ’em. Think you can get down off him faster than you got on?”

“Yes,” Ev said, jumping down and away like he expected Speedy to explode.

I tightened the straps on the computer, dismounted, and stepped back. Up ahead, Carson’s pony had stopped swaying, and Carson had gone back up to it and was trying to untie the food packs.

Ev and I walked up and watched him struggle with the line. The pony dumped a pile practically on Carson’s foot and started swaying again.

“Tim-berr,” I said, and Carson jumped back. The pony took a couple of tottering steps forward and fell over, its legs out stiff at its side.

The pack was half under it, and Carson started yanking it out from under the motionless carcass. Bult unfolded himself and stepped decorously off his pony holding his umbrella, and the rest of the ponies went over like dominoes.

Ev went over to Carson and stood looking down on him. “Don’t make any sudden movements,” he said.

Carson stomped past me. “What are you laughing at?” he said.

We had lunch and incurred a few fines, but I didn’t get a chance to talk to Carson alone. Bult stuck like glue to us, talking into his log, and Ev kept asking questions about the Wall.

“So they make the chambers one at a time,” he said, looking across at it. We were on the wrong side of the Wall here, so all you could see were the back walls of the chambers, looking like they’d been plastered and painted a whitish-pink. “How do they build them?”

“We don’t know. Nobody’s ever seen them doing it,” Carson said. “Or seen them doing anything worthwhile,” he added darkly, watching Bult tallying up, “like finding us a way across it so we can get on with this expedition.”

He went over to Bult and started talking to him in an inappropriate manner.

“And what are the chambers?” Ev asked. “Dwellings?”

“And storerooms for all the stuff Bult buys, and landfills. Some of them are decorated, with flowers hanging in the opening and nibbler bones laid out in a design in front of the door. Most of them stand empty.”

Carson stomped back, his mustache quaking. “He says we can’t cross here either.”

“The other break’s been repaired, too?” I said.

“No. Now he says there’s something in the water. Tssi mitss. ”

I looked over at the Tongue. It was flowing over quartzite sand here and was clear as glass. “What’s that?”

“Your guess is as good as mine. It translates as ‘not there.’ I asked him how much farther we have to go, and all he’ll say is ‘sahhth.’”

Sahhth apparently meant halfway to the Ponypiles because he didn’t even glance at the Tongue again once we had the ponies up and moving, and he didn’t even bother to lead. He motioned Ev and me ahead and went back to ride with Carson.

Not that we could get lost. We’d charted all this territory before, and all we had to do was keep close to the Tongue. The Wall dipped away from the water and off toward a line of mesas, and we went up a hill through a herd of luggage, grazing on dirt, and came out at another Scenic Point.

The thing about these long vistas is that you’re not going to see anything else for a while, and we’d already catalogued the f-and-f along here. There weren’t any, anyway—a lot of luggage, some tinder grass, an occasional roadkill. I ran geological contours and double-checked the topographicals, and then, since Ev was busy gawking at the scenery, ran the whereabouts.

Wulfmeier was on Starting Gate after all. He’d been picked up by Big Brother for removing ore samples. So he wasn’t in Sector 248-76, and we could’ve spent another day at King’s X, eating C.J.’s cooking and catching up on reports.

Speaking of which, I figured I might as well finish them up now. I asked for Bult’s purchase orders.

He must’ve worked fast while we were at King’s X. He’d spent all his fines and then some. I wondered if that was why we were heading south, because he’d tchopped himself into a hole.

I went through the list, weeding out weapons and artificial building materials and trying to figure out what he was going to do with three dozen dictionaries and a chandelier.

“What are you doing?” Ev said, leaning across to look at the log.

“Screening out contraband,” I said. “Bult’s not allowed to order anything with weapon potential, which in his case should have included umbrellas. It’s hard to catch everything.”

He leaned farther across. “You’re marking them ‘out of stock.’”

“Yeah. If we tell him he can’t order them, he fines us for discrimination, and he hasn’t figured out yet that he doesn’t have to pay for out-of-stock items, which keeps him from ordering even more stuff.”

He looked like he was going to keep asking questions, so I called up the topographical instead and said, “Tell me some more about these mating customs you’re an expert on. Are there any species who give their girlfriends dictionaries?”

He grinned. “Not that I’ve run across so far. Gift-giving is a major part of a majority of species’ courtship rituals, though, including Homo sapiens . Engagement rings, and the traditional candy and flowers.”

“Mink coats. Condos. Islands in the Tobo Sea.”

“There are several theories about its significance,” Ev said. “Most zoologists think the bestowing of a gift proves the male’s ability to obtain and defend territory. Some socioexozoologists believe gift-giving is a symbolic enactment of the sex act itself.”

“Romantic,” I said.

“One study found gift-giving triggered pheromones in the female, which in turn produced chemical changes in the male that led to the next phase of the courtship ritual. It’s hardwired into the brain. Sexual instincts pretty much override rational thought.”