“Not like this,” I said. “Sometimes after we have ’em in the heli they get the runs.”

“Great,” he said. “I suppose sudden movements don’t spook them?”

“Nothing spooks them,” I said, “not even nibblers chewing on their toes. If they’re scared or they don’t want to do something, they just stand there and won’t budge.”

“What don’t they like?”

“People riding them,” I said. “Hills. They won’t go up more than a two percent grade. Backtrailing over their own pawprints. Going more than two abreast. Going more than a klom an hour.”

Ev was looking at me warily, like I was putting him on, too.

I held up my hand. “Scout’s honor,” I said.

“But you can walk faster than that,” he said.

“Not when there’s a fine for footprints.”

He leaned sideways to look at Useless’s paws. “But they leave foot-prints, don’t they?”

“They’re indigenous,” I said.

“But how do you cover any territory?”

“We don’t, and Big Bro yells at us,” I said, looking over at the Tongue. Carson had given up yelling and was watching Bult talk into his log. “Speaking of which, I’d better fill you in on the rest of the regs. No personal holo or picture-taking, no souvenirs, no picking wildflowers, no killing of fauna.”

“What if you’re attacked?”

“Depends. If you think you can survive the heart attack you’ll have when you see the fine and all the reports you’ll have to fill out, go ahead. Letting it kill you might be easier.”

He looked suspicious again.

“We probably won’t run into anything dangerous where we’re going,” I said.

“What about nibblers?”

“They’re farther north. Hardly any of the f-and-f are dangerous, and the indidges are peaceful. They’ll rob you blind, but they won’t hurt you. You wear your mike all the time.” I reached over and took it off and stuck it back on lower down on his chest. “If you get separated, wait where you are. Don’t go trying to find anybody. That’s the surest way to get yourself killed.”