They were impatient to start to explore the surface of Cuckoo; it was what they were there for. Val apologized, in that voice like the tinkling of sweet bells: their equipment was not yet ready; their flying-belts had to be made to measure, and their new measurements had not been available. They would come soon, she promised. Meanwhile—
Jon halted her. "What I don't know," he said, "is what happened to the other parties that have gone out. I understand they didn't come back. I don't know why."
"They died," Val chimed sweetly.
Zara said, conscious of an unease in her body, "Well, we know that much. We don't know what happened, though." There was something working inside her that she could not quite analyze: a feeling that she should be more terrified—it was death they were talking about— and an opposite, intellectual understanding that said that this life they now had was only an appendage to a "real" life back on Earth, and its death would be only an episode that they "really" might not even ever know. It was fundamentally disturbing, a thought she could not quite deal with and could not wholly suppress.
But Val was answering their questions: "We have dispatched eight individuals to the surface direct from the orbiter, prior to the establishment of this station," she chimed. "All eight have terminated contact with the orbiter. Five are known to be dead. The other three are probably also dead. Six of them were human beings and two Sheliaks—actually," she corrected herself, "one was a human being and one a Sheliak, replicated respectively six and two times."
"Persistent human being," Jon commented grimly. "What killed him?—them?"
"It is not known in all cases," Val said brightly. "Please come." And she spread her great silvery wings and arrowed out of the smaller chamber where they had been talking, into the great central bubble. A Sirian eye was hovering just before a stereostage, patiently studying the scene it portrayed; it did not look around as they came in, but there was a strong sting of ozone in the air. Jon and Zara saw that there was a whole bank of stages beneath the transparent belt that gave them their view out onto the surface of Cuckoo, each with a different scene. Val touched the controls of an unused stage and it filled with a shining silver mist that swirled and hardened into an image of a mountain peak.
"This is the top of the mountain we are on," Val explained. "Observe the bare rocks. Look closely." She waved, and the peak shot nearer so that they could see details. Something that glowed with a faint, unpleasant bluish sheen was clinging to the rock. "That slime," she said, "appears to be a part of a growth process in the mountain. It is violently corrosive—whether through chemical or radioactive reactions we are not sure. The second Sheliak came in contact with it, and literally rotted to death while still in communication."
Zara shuddered. Jon said, "It sounds unpleasant."
Val turned her harshly beautiful stare on him. "It is probably quite undesirable for organic creatures," she agreed. "As you know, Sheliaks do not experience pain in the same way as most sentients. This one was able to describe what was happening until its central nervous system failed entirely. It was not attractive," she finished thoughtfully. Zara wonderingly thought that, whatever the metallic form Val wore as a convenience, in her native state she might well be as frail and delicate, even, as a human.
"There may have been other deaths due to the slime," Val went on. "The three of which we have certain knowledge, however—the other Sheliak and two of the men—were due to flying creatures." She manipulated the controls and displayed an org. "Also," she said, "there are intelligent machine-using creatures of which little is yet known. They may be involved. And, of course, there are analogs of many galactic races. There is no shortage of dangers on Cuckoo. We simply do not yet know what they all are."
Zara Gentry turned slowly, studying the bank of stages. The ones that were in use were panning slowly across a vista of woods, plains, and lakes. These were only monitors, through which the sentients present in Ground Station One could see what was being transmitted to the orbiter and on by tachyon transmission to receivers all through the Galaxy itself, where the images were being recorded and studied. As they watched, one of the stages emitted a harsh electronic squeal for attention. It stopped panning and locked onto something large and winged.
"Found something," Val chimed. "That is one of the flying creatures. The stage is programmed to follow it for a period of time, in case we wish to study it. If not, it will resume scanning shortly. And over there"—she pointed to the stage in front of the Sirian eye—"is what is perhaps the most severe real danger."
The stage revealed a vehicle. Zara asked in astonishment, "The machine users?"
"Yes," the silvery girl agreed. "Those creatures have no analog in the Galaxy. They apparently are evolved autochthons, and may be eligible for participation in the galactic councils. But much of the other life is not native."
She touched the controls again, and displayed a tree that seemed to be emitting a sort of shimmering fog.
Zara looked closer, and gasped in surprise: "Are they bees? No, wait—I think they're Boaty-Bits!"
"Yes," Val chimed. "Bootians. And here is a recording of Sheliaks." She displayed another image, then another and another. "Antarans. Canopan semilizards. Some of these are not to be found in this vicinity, but do exist in other areas of the surface of Cuckoo. Altogether twelve of the sentient races of the Galaxy have been logged on Cuckoo, including—"
And she touched the controls again, and showed the figure of a tall, spare woman in a breechclout, grinding grain.
"Human beings!" Zara Gentry cried. "How did they get here?"
"How did any of them get here?" the silvery girl chimed. "That is a primary mission for us, to find Out how that happened. It is definitely established that, however it happened, it was a long time ago: there have been marked evolutionary changes. You can see some physical differences in your own race, no doubt. And some of the species—Canopans and Antarans in particular—have regressed to nonsentient forms, or at least to nonculture forms. The Bootians may retain hive intelligence, we're not sure because we have not been able to communicate and, as you know, they do not under normal circumstances employ artifacts. The only ones we are sure are nonregressed are your own race, and a small colony of Sheliaks, very far from here."
"It's crazy," Jon Gentry said wonderingly.
The silvery girl laughed like sleighbells. "Of course! Isn't that why the object has its name? It was one of your own people, I think, who originally called it 'Cuckoo.' "
Their tailored flying equipment arrived, designed and built on Sun One and transmitted via tachyon transport to them here. The Gentrys strapped it on awkwardly. None of the other sentients in Ground Station One could be of much help. Val had no need of the flying suits, having wings; as had the Sirian eye, the Scorpian robot, and the T'Worlie. In any case the anatomies were so different that the Sirian, for instance, simply could not understand the concept of a belt.
The first items they put on were wings. Zara stroked them between her fingers doubtfully; they were ridiculously tiny, proportionately smaller than the membranes that supported a flying squirrel. "They are only for directional control," Val chimed. "And perhaps for a gentle landing, if for any reason your drive should fail."
Zara was still doubtful. But her husband seemed to accept it, and she looked further. The drive unit itself strapped to their backs. It was simple pulse-jet. It was designed to require only water as "fuel"—not really fuel, but a working medium that would have to be replaced as it was discharged. The actual energy source was a compact star of radioisotopes, which released heat on command. The heat flash-boiled the water. The exploding gas for the jet was only steam. The water was carried in two kidney-shaped flasks of soft plastic strapped around their waists.