Free Uncharted Territory by Connie Willis Page B

can’t! It’s too dangerous!”
    “Who’s that supposed to be?” I said, sticking my finger into the accordion.
    “Stop,” Ev said, and the scene froze. “That’s Bult.” “Where’s his log?” I said.
    “I told you things were different from what I’d expected,” he said, sounding embarrassed. “Go back.”
    There was a flicker, and we were back at the beginning of the scene.
    “He’s been gone too long!” Tight Pants said.
    “If that’s Bult, then who’s that supposed to be?” I said.
    “You,” he said, sounding surprised. “Where’s Carson?” I said. “In the next scene.”
    There was another flicker, and we were at the foot of a cliff, with big, fake-looking boulders all around. Carson was sitting at the bottom of the cliff, sprawled out against one of the boulders with a big gash in the side of his head and a fancy mustache that curled at the ends. Carson’s mustache had never looked that good, not even the first time I saw him, and they had the nibblers all wrong, too—they looked like guinea pigs with false teeth—but what they were doing to Carson’s foot was pretty realistic. I hoped they got to the part where I found him pretty soon.
    “Next scene,” I said, and it flickered to me coming straight down the cliff in those tight pants, blasting at the nibblers with a laser.
    Which wasn’t the way it happened at all. Unless I’d wanted to go down the same way Carson did, there was no way off the cliff. The nibblers had run off when I yelled, but I’d had to go back along the cliff till I came to a chimney and work my way down and back around, and it took three hours. The nibblers had run off again when they heard me coming, but they hadn’t been gone long.
    Tight Pants jumped the last ten feet and knelt down beside Carson, and started tearing strips she couldn’t afford to lose off her shirt and tying them around Carson’s foot, which only looked a little bloody around the toes, sobbing her eyes out.
    “I didn’t cry,” I said. “You got any others?”
    “Episode Eleven,” Ev said, and the cliff flicked into a silvershim grove. Tight Pants and Fancy Mustache were surveying the grove with an old-fashioned transit and sextant, and the accordion was writing down the measurements.
    It looked like somebody’d cut up pieces of aluminum foil and hung them on a dead branch, and Carson was wearing a blue fuzzy vest that I had a feeling was supposed to be luggage fur.
    “Findriddy!” the accordion said, looking up sharply. “I hear someone coming!”
    “What are you two doing?” Carson said and walked right into a silvershim. He looked around, his arms full of sticks. “What on hell is this?”
    “You and me,” I said.
    “A pop-up,” Ev said.
    “Turn it off!” Carson said, and the other Carson and Tight Pants and the silvershims compressed into a black nothing. “What on hell’s the matter with you, bringing advanced technology on an expedition? Fin, you were supposed to see to it he followed the regs!” He dumped the sticks with a clatter onto where the accordion’d been standing. “Do you know how big a fine Bult could slap us with for that?”
    “I … I didn’t know …” Ev was stammering, stooping down to pick up the pop-up before Carson stepped on it. “It never occurred to me …”
    “It’s no more advanced than Bult’s binocs,” I said, “or half the stuff he’s ordered. And even if it was, he doesn’t know anything about it. He’s over there tallying up his fines.” I pointed off toward the lights of his umbrella.
    “How do you know he doesn’t know? You can see it for kloms!”
    “And you can hear you twice as far!” I said. “The only way he’s going to find out about it is if he comes over to see what all the hollering’s about!”
    Carson snatched the pop-up away from Ev. “What else did you bring?” he shouted, but softer. “A nuclear reactor? A gate?”
    “Just another disk,” Ev said. “For the pop-up.” He pulled a black