Her awareness seemed to implode. She became aware of her body — of the wide, dilated pores over her skin, the tension in her muscles, the knife still tucked into the frayed rope tight around her waist. She looked into Hork's wide, staring eyes. She saw recklessness there, exhilaration, intoxication, the fringes of insanity. Hork, overwhelmed by the journey, the realm of Ur-humans, Colonists and stars, had forgotten who he was. She hadn't. She knew who she was: Dura, Human Being, daughter of Logue — no more, and no less. And she was no more, no less qualified to speak for the peoples of the Star, at this moment, than anyone else. And that was why it was she who would have to act, now.

Her uncertainty congealed into determination. "Hork, I don't care about the goals of these damn monster-men from the past. All I care about are my people — Farr, my family, the rest of the Human Beings. I won't sacrifice them for some ancient conflict; not while I have some hope of changing things."

The wide, distorted mouth of Karen Macrae was opening again; as she spoke, Dura saw, distracted by the detail, that Karen's lips were not quite synchronized with her rustling words.

Time is long, inside our virtual world. But still, it is coming to an end. The Glitches have damaged us. Some have already lost coherence.

Stop the flight. We discover we do not want to die.

Dura closed her eyes and shuddered. The Colonists could no longer act. And so they had brought Star-humans — they had brought her — to this place, to save their world.

When she looked at Hork he was grinning, throwing his head back like some animal. "Very well, upfluxer. It seems I am outvoted, and not for the first time — although it doesn't usually stop me. We are humans too, whatever our origins, and we must act, rather than die meekly as pawns in somebody else's war!" He shouted, "Do it!"

She cried out; she felt remote, numb. She hauled on the levers as hard as she could.

Crimson fire erupted from the base of the map-Star.

27

BLUE XEELEE LIGHT ILLUMINATED the Air. Fragments of shattered vortex lines hailed around Adda. He Waved furiously, squirming in the Air to avoid the deadly sleet, disregarding the pain in his back and legs. But even Waving wasn't reliable; the strength and direction of the Magfield was changing almost whimsically, and he had to be constantly aware of its newest orientation, of which way his Waving would take him among the lethal vortex fragments.