Why had it taken me so long to remember New Earth was artificially constructed? Stupid, Festina: very stupid. But now that my eyes were open, everything made sense.

Some time far in the past — long enough ago that history didn't record it — members of the League must have visited Old Earth. They made the same proposal then that they made to humanity in the twenty-first century: prove your sentience by renouncing violence, and we will give you the stars. As in the more recent contact, some prehistoric people must have said yes while others said no… and those who agreed not to kill were given a new home elsewhere in the galaxy.

Here on Melaquin.

This planet must have been built by the League to duplicate Earth at that long-ago time… including the presence of passenger pigeons. Somewhere Melaquin must also have dodos, moas, and other species that hadn't survived recent times on our Earth; unless the humans who came to Melaquin had killed those animals all over again.

No, I thought to myself. They didn't kill the animals, they killed themselves. Either they developed bioengineering on their own, or they received it as a gift from the League; and they had turned themselves into glass creatures like Oar — tougher, stronger, smarter, and a complete evolutionary dead-end.

"Festina," Oar said, "are you becoming crazed again?"

I must have been standing frozen, thinking it all through. "No," I answered, "I'm not crazed… although you may think I am when I tell what I want to do."

"What?"

"We're going to find rocks and look for creatures that probably aren't there."

Paleontology

There is one simple difference between Old and New Earth: the original planet has fossils; the duplicate does not. When the League gave New Earth artificial deposits of sandstone, limestone or shale, they didn't enliven the rock with simulated remnants of ancient life. For the sake of raw materials, they did create fields of petroleum, coal, and other fossil resources… but not the fossils themselves.

I bet Melaquin didn't have fossils either.

The most promising excavation site within view was the shore of a creek half an hour ahead of us. Water cuts down into soil, exposing stones that would otherwise require digging to bring to the surface. The creek bank should have a good sample of easy-to-pry-out rocks; if I checked a few dozen without finding fossils, I could be fairly confident my hunch was right.

"We're going to that creek," I told Oar.

"Yes, Festina," she answered patiently. "Going around it would take a long time."

Creeks were plentiful in that part of the prairies. Most were a few paces wide and barely thigh-deep, so crossing them was no challenge — just cold and wet. The one we approached now was larger than average, but still too small to deserve the name "river": thirty meters across, sluggish and barely over our heads in depth. In spring, it might be deeper; but now the water level was low enough to leave a healthy sweep of gravel uncovered on the near shore.

"Perfect," I said. "As good as we're going to find on short notice."

"Do you want me to clap in admiration of the creek?" Oar asked.

"No need." I climbed down the dirt bank to the gravel and stared around appraisingly. The top layer of stones were worn smooth by water action — whatever fossils they once contained could have eroded to invisibility. Still, I might find better samples underneath; and there were other places to look for exposed deposits.

"Oar," I said, "can you please walk along the bank and see if there are any rocks sticking out of the dirt? I'm looking for rocks with edges… not smooth like these pebbles."

"What shall I do if I find one?"

"Bring it to me."

She looked at me dubiously. "You want me to touch dirty rocks, Festina? That is not very nice."

"You can wash your hands after — the creek's right there."

"Is the creek water clean?"

"Clean enough," I said, stretching a point. It was actually a bit muddy, thanks to silt washed down by the previous day's rain. No doubt, it also contained the usual disease — causing microbes one finds in untreated water: typhoid perhaps, and a cornucopia of viruses for intestinal flu. However, Oar had little to worry about — along with the other improvements in her body, she probably had a nigh-impregnable immune system. Why not? Her designers had built in everything else.

I envied her for that. Since the start of our trip, I'd carefully purified the water we drank, boiling it on the campfire and filling enough canteens to last us through the next day. I also had water purification tablets if the canteens ran dry, but I preferred to use those sparingly, since I could never replenish my supply. Still, I worried about infection. If this planet really was a duplicate of Earth from millennia ago, it might have smallpox, diphtheria, pneumonic plague: famous diseases, extinct in the rest of the galaxy, but possibly still thriving here on Melaquin.

Maybe Oar was right to worry about getting dirty.

With the air of a woman who hopes she doesn't find anything, Oar started walking slowly along the water's edge. I turned my attention to the gravel flat and began to dig down. Sure enough, the stones were not so eroded a few centimeters below the top surface. I was just beginning to examine them for fossil evidence when the Bumbler's alarm went off.

EM Anomaly

I did my programmed roll-and-tuck, having the good fortune to dive in the direction of the Bumbler rather than throwing myself into the nearby creek. With fists ready for trouble, I kicked the Bumbler's SHUT-UP switch and scanned the area.

I saw no threat, but standing on the creek-bed, I was three meters lower than the main level of the prairie. Anything could be up there, lurking just out of sight.

Not far away, Oar opened her mouth to say something. I held up a hand and held my finger to my lips. She closed her mouth and looked around warily.

Think, I told myself. What could the Bumbler detect from here? It might be a false alarm — Bumblers did make mistakes — but Explorers who dismissed such warnings soon had their names entered on the Academy's Memory Wall.

Maybe the Bumbler had suddenly decided to complain about Oar again: unknown organism, help, help. Still, I had programmed the machine's tiny brain to accept her as a friend; her presence hadn't bothered it for days. Best to assume the problem was something else… something I couldn't see.

What could the Bumbler detect that I couldn't? It had a small capacity for peering through the creek banks, but not well — its passive X-ray scans could only penetrate ten to fifteen centimeters of dirt. Naturally, it could see farther if something was emitting large quantities of X-rays… or radio waves…

Radio. Someone nearby might have transmitted a radio message. Quickly, I backtracked the Bumbler's short term memory and looked at the radio bands. Yes: it had picked up a coherent short-wave signal lasting only fifteen seconds. Did that mean an Explorer in the neighborhood? Or someone else? Silently, I turned to Oar and pointed to the creek. Without waiting to see if she understood, I hefted up the Bumbler and headed for the water. We could hide there, just to be on the safe side — the middle of the creek was deep enough to be over our heads. My pack had a tiny scuba rebreather, only two minutes of air, but enough to stay submerged in an emergency. I'd give that to Oar; for myself, I'd have to make do with…

Shit. I'd have to snorkel with the same esophageal airway I'd used on Yarrun.

The Peeper

After whispered instructions to Oar, I lowered myself into the water. It was cold; it was also murky, but that was good. The slight cloudiness would make it hard for someone to see me poised just under the surface. Oar, of course, was invisible as soon as she submerged.