“I don’t like the way he’s acting,” Carson said. “He was gone half the night, and this morning he left a bunch of dice in my bedroll. And Evie says his pop-up’s missing.”
“Good,” I said, climbing up on Useless. “Ev, tell me again about what males do to impress their females.”
Bult led us south most of the morning, keeping close to the Tongue, even though the Wall was at least two kloms to the west and there was nothing between us and it but one sandblossom and a lot of pink dirt.
Bult kept sending murderous glances back at me, and kicking his pony to make it go faster. Not only did it, our ponies keeping up with it, but they didn’t keel over once all morning. I wondered if Bult had been faking rest stops the way we did dust storms. And what else he’d been faking.
Around noon, I gave up waiting for a rest stop and hauled dehydes out of my pack for lunch, and right after we ate, we came to a creek, which Bult crossed without even looking in, and a handful of silvershims. The whole sky was gray by then, so they didn’t look like much.
“Sorry the sun’s not out,” I told Ev. I looked at their grayish leaves, hanging limp and dusty. “They don’t look much like the pop-ups, do they?”
“I’m sorry I lost the pop-up,” Ev said. “I put it under my bedroll instead of in my boot.” He hesitated. “You didn’t know that was how you got chosen to be Carson’s partner, did you?”
“Are you kidding?” I said. “That’s how Big Brother always does things. C.J. got picked because she was one-sixteenth Navajo.” I looked ahead at Carson.
“Why did you come to Boohte?” Ev said.
“You heard the man,” I said. “I wanted adventure, I wasn’t afraid of danger, I wanted to be famous.”
We rode on a ways. “Is that really why?” Ev said.
“Let’s change the subject,” I said. “Tell me about mating customs. Did you know there’s a fish on Starsi that’s so dumb it thinks it’s being courted when it’s not?”
A half a klom after the silvershims, Bult turned west toward the Wall. It bulged out to meet us, and where it did, a whole section was down, a heap of shiny white rubble with high-water marks on it. A flood must’ve taken it out, even though it was an awfully long way from the Tongue.
Bult led us over the break and, finally, north, keeping next to the Wall all the way back up to the creek we’d crossed. Ev was excited about seeing the front side of the Wall, even though only a few of the chambers looked like they’d been lived in lately, and even more excited about a shuttlewren that tried to divebomb us riding through the break.
“Their territory obviously involves the Wall in some way,” he said, leaning sideways to get a look inside. “Have you ever seen one of their nests in the chambers?”
If he leaned over any farther he was going to fall off his pony. “Rest stop!” I called up to Carson and Bult, and pulled back on the reins. “Come on, Ev,” I said, and dismounted. “It’s against regs to go inside the chambers, but you can peek in.”
He looked up ahead at Bult, who had his log out and was glaring back at us. “What about the fine for leaving footprints?”
“Carson can pay it,” I said. “Bult hasn’t fined him in two days.” I went over to a chamber and looked inside the door.
They’re not real doors, more like a hole poked in the middle of the side, and there’s no floor either. The sides curve up like an egg. There was a bunch of sandblossoms laid out on the bottom of this one, and in the middle of it one of the American flags Bult had bought two expeditions ago.
“Courtship ritual,” I said, but Ev was looking up at the curved ceiling, trying to see if there was a nest. “There are several species of birds that nest in the homes of other species. The panakeet on Yotata, the cuckoo.”
We started back to the ponies. It was starting to sprinkle. Up ahead, Bult was getting his umbrella out of his pack and putting it up. Carson was off his pony stomping back to us. “Fin, what on hell do you think you’re doing?” he said when he got up to us.
“Taking a rest stop,” I said. “We haven’t had one all day.”
“And we’re not going to. We’re finally heading north.” He took hold of Useless’s reins and yanked him forward. “Ev, you stay back here and bring up the rear. Fin’s coming up to ride with me.”
“I like it back here,” I said.
“Too bad,” he said, and dragged my pony forward. “You’re riding with me. Bult, you lead. Fin and I are riding together.”
Bult gave me a murderous glance and lit up his umbrella. He crossed the creek and then rode up along it, going west.
“Now, get on,” Carson said and mounted his pony. “I want to be away from the mountains by nightfall.”
“And that’s why I have to ride with you,” I said, swinging my leg up, “so I can tell you which way’s north? It’s that way.”
I pointed north. There was a high bluff in that direction, and between it and the Ponypiles a strip of flat grayish-pink plain, splotched here and there with whitish and dark patches. Bult was heading catty-corner across the flat, still following the stream, his pony leaving deep pawprints in the soft ground.
“Thanks,” Carson said. “The way you been acting, I didn’t figure you knew which end was up, let alone north.”
“What on hell’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means you haven’t been paying attention to anything since Evelyn showed up and started talking about mating customs. I’d’ve thought you’d’ve run out of species by now.”
“Well, we haven’t,” I snapped.
“You’re supposed to be surveying, not listening to the loaners. In case you haven’t noticed, we’re in uncharted territory, we don’t have any aerials, Bult’s half a klom ahead of us—” He pointed up ahead.
Bult’s pony was drinking out of the stream. It was still sprinkling, but Bult turned off his umbrella and collapsed it.
“—and who knows where he’s going. He could be leading us into a trap. Or around in circles till the food runs out.”
I looked ahead at Bult. He’d crossed the creek and ridden a little way up the other side. His pony was taking another drink.
“Maybe Wulfmeier’s back and Bult’s leading us straight to him. And you haven’t looked at a screen all morning. You’re supposed to be running subsurfaces, not listening to Evie Darling talk about sex.”
“Listening to him is one hell of a lot more fun than listening to you tell me how to do my job!” I kicked the log on and asked for a subsurface. Up ahead, Bult’s pony was stopped and drinking again. I looked down at the stream. Where it cut the low banks, the rock looked like mudstone. “Cancel subsurface,” I said.
“You haven’t been paying attention to anything,” Carson said. “You lose the binocs, you lose the pop-up—”
“Shut up,” I said, looking at the bluff, backing the full length of the plain. The plain tilted slightly to its base. “Terrain,” I said. “No. Terrain cancel.” I looked out at the closest whitish patch. Where the drops of rain were sticking to it, it was pocked with pink.
“You were supposed to keep the pop-up in your boot. If Bult gets hold of it—”
“Shut up,” I said. Where Bult’s pony had walked there were fifteen-centimeter-deep pawprints in the grayish-brown dirt. The ones up ahead were dark on the bottom.
“If you’d have been paying attention, you’d have realized Wulfmeier—” Carson was saying.
“My shit!” I said, “Dust storm!” and jammed the disconnect. “Shit.”
Carson jerked around in the saddlebone as if he expected to see a dust tantrum roaring down on him, and then jerked back and stared at me.
“Subsurface,” I said to the terminal. I pointed at the pony’s paw-prints. “Off-line, and no trace.”
Carson stared at the pawprints. “Is everything off?” he said.