Wormhole Interfaces were ripped from their anchor-sites in the Mantle and hurled downward into the Core. Armies, grim-faced, lanced through the wormholes in improvised ships. The technologies which had once built the discontinuity drives were pirated to craft immense weapons.

“The Core Wars,” Hork said slowly. “Then they really happened.”

Hork’s anger was intense; it was as if, Dura thought, the huge injustice of abandonment had occurred only yesterday, not generations before.

The Colonists, insubstantial Core-ghosts as they were, had nevertheless retained immense material power. The War was brief.

Power failed; weapons exploded, or dissolved, killing their operators. The Interfaces were dragged into the Core, or fell into uselessness, their linking wormhole tunnels collapsed. Once the Mantle had sustained a single community of Star-humans, united by the wormhole network. In a few heartbeats that Star-wide culture collapsed.

Humans, naked, defenseless, fell into the Air.

A huge silence fell over the Star.

With the War ended, the Colonists retreated into the Core and prepared for eternal life.

Hork pounded his fist into his palm. “The bastards. The cowardly bastards. They abandoned us, to generations of suffering. Illness, disease, Glitches. But we showed them. We built Parz City, didn’t we? We survived. And now, five centuries after dumping us, they need us again…”

Dura couldn’t drag her eyes away from the Ring. Lights flickered over the huge construct, dancing silently. “What’s happening to the Ring? I don’t understand.”

Hork snorted. “Isn’t it obvious? The Ring is under attack. It’s a war, Dura; someone is attacking the Xeelee.”

He pointed at the incongruously delicate patterns of light. “And it would be too much of a coincidence for us to arrive here, aboard this Star, just as the first battle is being waged. Dura, this war — the assaults on the Ring — must have been enduring for a long time.” He rubbed his chin. “Generations, perhaps; centuries of war…”

She felt a pulse pound in her throat. “Humans? Are they Ur-human ships?” She stared at the tableau, willing herself to see more clearly, seeking the huge ships of those spectral giants.

The battle unfolded, slowly, even as she watched. Some of the sparkling ships disappeared, evidently destroyed by Xeelee defenders. Others plummeted through the Ring, she saw; and if the old stories were correct those ships were now lost in different universes. She wondered if the crews of those ships would survive… and if they did, what strange tales they would have to tell.

“Oh, yes,” Hork said grimly. “Yes, the assailants are humans. Ur-humans, anyway.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because the Star is heading straight for the Ring. Don’t you see it yet, Dura? The Star has been aimed at the Ring. We’re going to collide with it…”

Dura stared at the remote, twinkling battlefire. Was Hork right? “I don’t know how big the Ring is. Perhaps it’s bigger than the Star; perhaps it will survive. But surely the Star is going to be devastated.”

Hork raised his fists to his chest. “No wonder the Xeelee have been attacking the Star; they’re trying to destroy it before it gets to the Ring. Dura, the Star has been launched on this trajectory, straight at the Xeelee artifact, as a missile.” His tone had become hushed, almost reverent. Dura looked at him curiously; his eyes were locked on the images of distant battle, evidently fascinated.

She wondered if he were still quite sane. The thought disturbed her.

So that is why we are here, she thought. That’s the purpose of the whole project. The Colonists, the manufacture of Star-humans… That is the meaning, the purpose of my race. My life.

We are expendable weapons’ manufacturers, serving a huge war beyond our comprehension.

And when the Star destroyed itself against the Ring — or was destroyed first, by the Xeelee starbreakers — then they would all die with it, their purpose fulfilled.

No.

The word was like a shout in the turmoil of her mind. She had to do something.

Without allowing herself to think about the consequences, she Waved briskly across the chamber toward the floating control seat.

“What are you doing? Dura, there’s nothing we can do here. We’re in the grip of immense forces; forces we barely understand. And…”

She took her place in the seat. Around her the ghostly Ur-human seat swiveled, trembling in response to her touch. She grasped the twin handles fixed to the seat’s arms.

A globe swelled into existence in the Air, fat and sullen red; a neat grid covered its surface, laid out like the anchor-bands around Parz City.

Dura, startled by this sudden apparition, lost her nerve; she screamed.

Hork laughed at her. His voice, thin and shrill, betrayed his own tension. “Damn it, Dura, you’ve just witnessed a battle, immense beyond our capacity to comprehend. You’ve learned that our world is doomed. And yet you’re scared by a simple conjuring trick like this!”

“But what is it?”

The globe was about a mansheight across; it hovered just in front of the seat. “Isn’t it obvious?” Hork snapped. “Take your hands off the levers.” She did so; the globe persisted for a few seconds, then deflated gracelessly, finally disappearing. “It’s an aid,” Hork said briskly. “Like…” He gestured vaguely. “Like a window in an Air-car. An aid to a pilot.”

She tried to focus on this new puzzle. She glanced across the chamber and out at the Star, that scowling yellow-red speck at the center of its immense setting of gas and light. “But that globe looked like the Star itself.”

Hork laughed, the shrill edge still present in his voice; his eyecups were wide with excitement. “Of course it did! Don’t you see? Dura, one is meant to pilot the Star with these wonderful levers…”

“But that’s absurd,” she protested. “How can a Star — a whole world — be driven, directed like one of your Air-cars?”

“But, my dear, someone has already done so. The Star has been launched at the Ring, with deliberate intent. That we have found a device to do this is hardly a surprise. And this is a map-Star, to help you pilot a world…”

She grasped the handles again and the globe sprang into existence, wide, delicate and ominous. She gathered her scattered courage. “Hork, we can’t let our world be destroyed.”

He moved closer to her. His eyecups were wide and empty, his breathing shallow. He seemed huge. His hands were held away from his body. She closed her fingers tighter around the chair handles, watching, half-expecting him to lunge at her.

“Dura, get out of the chair. For a thousand years our Star has crossed space. We have a duty to fulfill, a destiny.”

She shook her head. “You’ve lost yourself in this, Hork. In the glamor of it all… It’s not our battle.”

He frowned at her, his bearded face a ferocious mask. “If it wasn’t for the battle we wouldn’t even exist. Generations of humans have lived, died and suffered for this moment. This is the purpose of our race, its apotheosis! I see this now… How can a person like you take the fate of a world in your hands?”

“But I can’t — accept — this. I’ve got to try something. We must try to save ourselves.”

Doubt — a kind of longing — spread across Hork’s broad face. “Then consider this. Suppose we’re right. Suppose our world really is a missile aimed at the Xeelee. Then — if it really is possible to aim the Star with this device — why is the device here?”

She was frightened of him — not just physically, but of this new, unexpected side of his character, this self-immolating fanaticism.

“Think,” he demanded. “If you were the designer, the Ur-human who planned this fantastic mission, what would you intend the occupant of that seat to do, now, at the climax of the project?”