He found an exit to a side-street. He Waved his way down it with brisk thrusts of his legs, trying to ignore the devastation around him.

—

The journey through the wormhole lasted only heartbeats, but it seemed an eternity to Dura. She clung to her place, feeling as helpless and as terrified as the squealing pigs.

Out of control, despite all Hork's vain heavings at the console, the "Flying Pig" rattled against the near-invisible walls of the corridor. Spectacular flashes burst all around the clumsy vessel.

The end came suddenly.

Light — electric blue — blossomed from the infinity point, beneath the plummeting craft at the terminus of the corridor. The light hurtled up the corridor like a fist, unavoidable. Dura stared into it, feeling its intensity sting her eyes.

The light exploded around them, flooding the ship and turning the cabin's lanterns into green wraiths. The pigs screamed.

Then the light died away — no, she realized; the light had congealed into a framework around them, another tetrahedral Interface. The finely drawn cage of light turned around them with stately grace; evidently the "Pig," spewed out of the wormhole, had been brought almost to rest, and was now tumbling slowly.

Beyond the cage of light there was only darkness.

Dura glanced around the ship. There wasn't any obvious sign of damage to the hull, and the turbine was still firmly fixed in place. The squeals of the pigs, the stink of their futile escape-farts, slowly subsided.

Hork remained in the pilot's seat. He stared out of the windows, his large mouth gaping like a third eyecup in the middle of his beard.

Dura drifted down toward him. "Are you all right?"

At first her question seemed not to register; then, slowly, his head swiveled toward her. "I'm not injured." His face twisted into a smile. "After that little trip, I'm not sure how healthy I am, but I'm not injured. You? The pigs?"

"I'm not damaged. Nor are the animals."

"And the turbine?"

She admired his brisk dismissal of the wonders of the journey, his focus on the practical. She shrugged.

He nodded. "Good. Then we have the means to move."

"...Yes," she said slowly. "I suppose so. But only if the Magfield extends this far."

He studied her face, then peered out of the craft uncertainly. "You think it mightn't? That we've moved beyond the Magfield?"

"We've come a long way, Hork."

She turned away, dropping her eyes to her hands. The shadows cast on her skin were soft, silvery; the diffuse glow seemed to smooth over the age-blemishes of her flesh, the wrinkles and the minute scars.

...Silvery?

Outside the ship, the light had changed.