The hope and fear came suddenly out of hiding: hope that maybe, even now, godshatter could do something about the Blight; and fear, that Pham would die in the process. The artifact's twisting evolution slowed. The light hung at the pale edge of blue. Pham's eyes opened. His head turned toward her. "The Riders' Myth is real, Ravna." His voice was distant. She heard the whisper of a laugh. "The Riders should know, I guess. They learned the last time. There are Things that don't like the Blight. Things my Old One only guessed at...." Powers beyond the Powers? Ravna sank to the floor. The display on her wrist glowed up at here. Less than forty-five hours left. Pham saw her downward glance, "I know. Nothing has slowed the fleet. It's a pitiful thing so far down here ... but more than powerful enough to destroy this world, this solar system. And that's what the Blight wants now. The Blight knows I can destroy it ... just as it was destroyed before." Ravna was vaguely aware that Pilgrim had crawled in close on all sides. Every face was fixed on the blue froth and the human enmeshed within. "How, Pham?" Ravna whispered. Silence. Then, "All the zone turbulence ... that was Countermeasure trying to act, but without coordination. Now I'm guiding it. I've begun ... the reverse surge. It's drawing on local energy sources. Can't you feel it?" Reverse surge? What was Pham talking about? She glanced again at her wrist -- and gasped. Enemy speed had jumped to twenty light-years per hour, as fast as might be expected in the Middle Beyond. What had been almost two days of grace was barely two hours. And now the display said twenty-five light-years per hour. Thirty. Someone was pounding on the hatch. Scrupilo was delinquent. He should be supervising the move up the hillside. He knew that,
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