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Not an experiment she wanted to try.
Blinded by the collapsing tunnel, she ran into the side of the Chi and bumped
her knee and her nose. She yelped in pain and flung the silk upward, trying to
get beneath it to reach the tunnel's opening.
Several of Nerno's creatures hugged the seam between the tunnel and the
Chi. They extruded a gluey, fibrous substance that stuck the organic fabric to
the inorganic hull. But the creatures had exhausted themselves. Escaping air
hissed around a broken seal.
J.D. held her breath and plunged into the airlock.
"Seal!" She spoke through her link, conserving her air.
The Chi obeyed. The hatch slid, but caught on a swath of silk that tangled
around J.D.'s foot. She grabbed the fabric, ripped it, freed the opening.
The webbing parted in her hands like old cobwebs.
The hatch closed in silence, its motion barely vibrating the deck. The air was
too thin to carry sound. As the hatch seated, J.D. thought she saw a patch of
black space and bright stars, unshielded by silk or air or glass.
METAPHASE 327
A heavy warm draft from the Chi poured in around her. Tired in every way a
person could be tired, J.D. lay on the floor. She breathed long and slow and
deep. Once more she thanked good fortune and habit that she had not allowed
her metabolic enhancer to atrophy.
The inner hatch slid open. J.D. stayed where she was, resting, gathering her
energy.
She had no vital tasks. Nemo's shell was headed for Europa's transition point.
J.D. could control the shell, but she feared interfering with
Nerno's navigation till she had caught up to Starfarer. She wondered how long
that would take.
Claws scuttled on metal.
J.D. bolted upright.
Several of Nemo's symbionts scuttled across the floor, scrabbling at the hatch
with clawed, feathery legs.
J.D. gazed at them fondly.
Rising to her knees, she gathered up the creatures in the scrap of soft frail
webbing.
Flecks of iridescence covered J.D.'s hands. The tiny scales from Nemo's wings
gilded her, and when she rose, a scatter of the glitter shimmered to the
floor.
Transition surrounded Starfarer.
Arachne continued, strong and steady, indifferent to the border Starfarer had
crossed, leaving normal space behind. Victoria let out her breath and
unclenched her teeth.
"The web's intact," she said.
Jenny stared out into transition. Tears pooled in her eyes, collected at her
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upper and lower eyelids, and drifted into the air in droplets when she
blinked.
"It's over," she said softly. "It's finally done. We're safe."
"I hope so," Victoria said.
And then they smiled at each other, and Jenny laughed, her laughter warring
with her tears. She sniffled and coughed and pulled a handkerchief out of her
328 VONDA N. McINTYRE
pocket and waved it over the floating teardrops to catch them, and blew her
nose.
"Safe!" Jenny said. "Halfway through transition and going where we've been
told not to. For all we know they'll blast us out of the sky when we get
there."
"That's not allowed," Victoria said. "Their only weapon is coercion."
"Unless they get desperate enough to break the rules to stop us. I think
Civilization works by peer pressure."
"You don't mean that as a compliment, do you?"
"I do not. There's nothing more brutal. People will do anything to get other
people to do what they think is allowed. Or right. Or holy.
Especially holy. The end always justifies the means."
Victoria said nothing. She did not want to think about ends justifying the
means; the charge hit too close to her own doubts and fears.
This wits the third time Starfarer had crossed into transition, the first time
Arachne had been able to record, and the first time Victoria had been able to
watch. On the journey from Earth to Tau Ceti, she had been helping Satoshi
drag Stephen Thomas out of the genetics building. On the journey from Tau Ceti
to Sirius, she had been trying, and failing, to save Feral's life.
The recordings did not do transition justice. They showed nothing but a
formless gray fog. Transition was much more than that.
Victoria wondered if she would be able to describe it afterward. She wondered
if Arachne would be able to reproduce a view of it.
The sailhouse hung suspended and isolated in a silver flurry of sparks.
Now and then a streak of color or a shape coalesced from the storm, then
disappeared. Victoria could not tell whether she was seeing something real, or
if her mind was creating pictures from random intersections of the matrix
around her.
"It's like the maze," she said. "We kept thinking we saw a pattern in it, but
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