He recalled a calculation Wickramsingh had done back on Seeker. Take the Earth and spread it into a bowl the size of this Cupworld and it would be maybe a centimeter thick. Here in the stream-cut hills, he could see cross sections of the land. The soil was a conglomerate, like coffee grounds peppered with chunky gray rock. No strata, of course. There had been no real geology here.

To get hills hundreds of meters tall, the Builders (he thought of them as deserving the capital) must have chewed up Jovian-size masses. They had transformed a whole solar system. That explained the absence of asteroids and other debris around the star. They’d had to be removed; otherwise they could’ve smacked into Cupworld later, punching an unfixable hole, draining the atmosphere. He had to stop thinking of their surroundings as being just a planet. It was … well, a vast contrivance. With all kinds of weirdness living in it. On it.

After resting above the creek, they followed it downhill. The creek bank revealed more conglomerate rocks, round yellowish balls fixed in grainy sand. Cliff wondered how the designers of this place had laid soil and water down on a huge, spinning carousel.

Plainly they had to put down some mass, a meter or two of rock or water, to keep out cosmic rays. But the scale … again and again he came back to the vastness of this place. The whole idea seemed both gargantuan and surrealistic—mute testimony to the deeply alien nature of its builders. Who—what—would do such a thing? Those birds? Somehow, he couldn’t see it. They didn’t seem that smart.

In a while they came to a dense spread of trees and within it found a lake. Flies buzzed around a thick margin of reeds, and they found no easy way to get to the water. Cliff wondered if he could take a swim in it. His skin itched. Maybe later.

A thing buzzed by his head. It had six wings, about the size of a sparrow. Maybe it played the role of dragonflies in freshwater wetlands, he guessed. Convergent adaptation. Willowlike trees hugged the shore, but taller and with twisted, helical trunks. Convergent evolution seemed to have led to pollinator plants, too—bigger stamens and longer, twisted pistils, but the same strategy. Shrubs somewhat like laurel sumac mingled with tall trees vaguely like closed cone pines. Still, some of the plants were bizarre, with canopies permanently pitched toward the star, and bunched leaves like parabolas. There were mosses, too, bryophytes, ferns.

Howard was whispering into his phone. He was loving this.

*   *   *

They camped, but still Cliff thought it a bad idea to light a fire. They slept again, badly, with Howard and Irma taking watch. Voices called in the woods—chirps, snorts, ominous grunts, buzzes and bellows, oddly pleasant trilling songs. Alien melodies.

They circled around the lake, keeping to bristly brush and trees. They were getting better at keeping a clear field of fire; the badger had taught them well. Three people covered while two moved, then the reverse. This meant eyes caught any reaction among the nearby foliage. They startled game but did not fire.

Sharp odors welled up from everywhere and peculiar fowl flitted noisily. They honked and sang and sometimes sounded like fire alarms. Cliff noted that there seemed to be plenty of small birds darting in and out of the bush branches, slipping their pointed snouts into the many long-tubed, sweet flowering plants. Never was there a species he could recognize, yet the patterns were recognizable. Sunbirds, hummingbirds, same strategy. When threatened, some fluffed up their feathers to make themselves look larger and barked odd calls—territorial defense as in most nectar-eaters, like orioles. Others had the sharp beaks of those who preyed on insects, like wrens or the short, triangular beaks of seed eaters like finches and sparrows. Evolution here had produced skills similar to those on Earth; he found this reassuring. In the lesser gravity, birds had apparently beaten out many land animals. They were bigger, too—fat and confident. Apparently a 10 percent or so difference in local g made a big change in the balance of living types.

He’d have to talk this through with Howard when they had the chance.

He had seen flying frogs leap from stream levels to high branches, flapping short distances on webbed legs. The predators of the high sky hovered long before they dived, able to sustain their altitude with big, slow-flapping wings. The insects here were bigger, too, for some reason, though with the same many-legged gaits as on Earth. This was indeed a different place—and how different, how truly alien, they could not fully know yet.

Plus, the smart bird aliens. Was he being narrow-minded at first, thinking smart birds unlikely? But of course, these were huge birdlike ones … and he had not seen any fly. Maybe they resembled ostriches who gave up flying and gained technology.

Howard held up a hand, pointed, hunkered down—they were getting better at hand signals.

Along a narrow stony beach lay some long reddish brown things like bulging crocodiles, lounging in the perpetual noon. They grunted as they moved. Their bodies were long and scaly, with a short, blunt snout. A lazy yawn showed many serrated yellow teeth.

“Those are for tearing chunks out of big prey,” Cliff whispered. “Our crocs dine on small fish, chickens, small pigs. These eat bigger things.”

“Let’s give them plenty room,” Irma said.

Aybe pointed. “But what’s—?”

It rose out of the deeper dark water. A long neck uncurled upward with strands of weeds dripping from its flat, rubbery mouth. The brown eyes gleamed with wet curiosity as it looked at them, mildly interested but taking its slow time.

“An herbivore,” Cliff said, awed. “Like a…”

“Dinosaur,” Howard supplied. “What the hell kind of place is this?”

“Convergent evolution?” But that seemed unlikely, and he stepped back as the thing rose like a slippery mountain—dark with a white belly, legs like pillars, long slick neck and tiny head. “It is. It’s a … dinosaur,” Cliff said, a chill running through him. “From Earth. Has to be.”

Irma said, “The aliens, they stopped at Earth?”

“Must’ve sent ships, anyway. They must’ve picked up some of our—Earth’s—ecology,” Howard said as if entranced, eyes rapt, prophesying. “Like we were doing, bringing species alone in sleepstate—only more so.”

“It’s interested in us,” Aybe said, taking a step backwards.

“How do we know it’s not a meat eater?” Irma said.

“We don’t.” Terry turned to leave.

“Their native ecology here must been overrun with alien species. So … Cliff? It’s too good, this place, too like Earth. That’s why. They imported Earth life.”

“Maybe. Maybe,” Cliff said, grimacing. “Reassuring, isn’t it? If that’s the explanation.”

Irma backed away, too. “Let’s go.”

Cliff smiled. “Don’t miss the lesson. We can eat some things here, and it can eat us.”

“Y’know,” Irma said, “they could’ve just hauled some dinosaur eggs and other life here on ships, passing by our solar system, a long time ago.”

Cliff nodded, eyeing the massive, slow shape with fascination. It grunted. “So the Earth forms could’ve taken over parts of the Cupworld, and lasted this long.”

The huge thing sluggishly waded toward them, pausing to rip reeds and lily pads from the water and gulp them down. A muddy reek came from it on the soft wind. It was slow but steady, and Cliff motioned them to back away. “It’s a herbivore, I’d say, but interested in us.”

“Not for eating, though,” Howard said, “so why—?”

“If it steps on you, what’s the difference?” Aybe was moving faster, towing a grunting Howard by his belt.

They got away from there. Irma led the way, in case some predator moved to block their exit. None did. They faded back into the forest.

Cliff now felt apprehensive. He realized that they had been taking this place as a pseudo-Earth, and indeed in many ways it was—but that also meant it held forms that summoned up in them ancient fears. None of them had seen dinosaurs except in movies, but the sight of one tapped also into a deep reservoir of primate vigilance.