"Won't you eat, Rikud?" Chuls called from somewhere down below.
"Damn the man," Rikud thought. Then aloud: "Yes, I'll eat. Later."
"It's time...." Chuls' voice trailed off again, impotently.
But Rikud forgot the old man completely. A new idea occurred to him,
and for a while he struggled with it. What he saw--what he had always
seen, except that now there was the added factor of change--perhaps did
not exist _in_ the viewport.
Maybe it existed _through_ the viewport.
That was maddening. Rikud turned again to the port, where he could see
nothing but an obscuring cloud of white vapor, murky, swirling, more
confusing than ever.
"Chuls," he called, remembering, "come here."
"I am here," said a voice at his elbow.
Rikud whirled on the little figure and pointed to the swirling cloud of
vapor. "What do you see?"