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validating the Sarumpaet rules for every related graph. They could not have been more cautious.
    Rainzi said calmly, “Suppose the novo-vacuum is growing. What happens when it encounters some contamination? It's a coherent state that could only be created in perfect isolation, in the middle of the purest vacuum in the universe. It's fragility incarnate. Once it hits a few stray neutrinos and decoheres, it will be forty-eight flavors of ordinary vacuum—all of them in separate histories, all of them harmless.”
    Livia glanced warily at Cass. It was as if she wanted Cass to be the bearer of bad news for a change, rather than always hearing it from her.
    Cass obliged her. “I wish you were right, Rainzi, but that argument's biased. It's just as correct to say that our own vacuum is a superposition of different curved versions of the novo-vacuum. If there really is a new dynamic law at work here, and if it preserves the novo-vacuum precisely, then according to that law, it's our vacuum that's the delicate quantum object waiting to decohere.”
    Rainzi pondered this. “You're right,” he conceded. “Though even that doesn't tell us much about the border. Neither of the specialized laws that apply on either side can hold there. We'll only understand the fate of the border if we can understand the general law.”
    Cass laughed bitterly. “What difference does it make, what we understand? We won't be able to tell anyone! We won't be able to warn them!” The border wasn't traveling at lightspeed—or they wouldn't have been woken at all before it swept over the femtomachine—but it was unlikely to be spreading so slowly that their originals would see it coming, let alone have a chance to evacuate. In any case, what she and her fellow clones knew was worthless; they had no way to share their knowledge with the outside world. The femtomachine was designed to do no more than compute its inhabitants, for their own benefit. All it would leave behind was debris. Even if they could encode a message in the decay products, no one would be looking for it.
    A lifetime's worth of defensive slogans about the perils of VR started clamoring in her head. She wanted to scrape this whole illusion off her face, like a poisonous, blinding cobweb; she wanted to see and touch reality again. To have real skin, to breathe real air, would change everything . If she could only see the world through her own eyes, and react with the instincts of her own body, she knew she could flee from any danger.
    It was so perverse it was almost funny. She was perceiving the danger a billion times more clearly than she could ever have hoped to if she'd been embodied. She had all her reflexes at her disposal, and all her powers of reasoning, operating a billion times faster than usual.
    It was just a shame that all of these advantages counted for nothing.
    Zulkifli said, “The brightness is increasing.”
    Cass examined the evidence as dispassionately as she could. A slow, steady rise in the rate of particle production was apparent now, clearly distinguishable from the background fluctuations that had initially masked it. That could only mean that the border was growing. Short of some freakishly benign explanation for this—a fractal crinkling that allowed the border to increase in area while the volume of novo-vacuum itself was shrinking—this left little room for doubt about which vacuum was being whittled away to produce the particles they were seeing. The thing she had always thought of as an elegant piece of whimsy—as charming and impractical as a mythical beast that might be bioengineered into existence, and kept alive briefly if it was pampered and protected, but which could never have lasted five minutes outside its glass cage—was now visibly devouring its ancient, wild cousin. She had summoned up, not a lone, defenseless exile from a world that could never have been, but the world itself—and it was proving to be every bit as autonomous and viable as