“Maybe,” I said, squinting at the rover’s dust, which seemed to be veering off to the right. “C.J. said Evelyn got in this morning.”
“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.