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?"
Chuls looked. "The viewport, of course."
"What else?"
"Else? Nothing."
Anger welled up inside Rikud. "All right," he said, "listen. What do you hear?"