She was struggling from beneath two large male components, cheek bleeding from a shallow cut. "There was trouble with the overmind," said the machine. "And the last R'Actolian?" asked N'Trol, pulling A'Tir to her feet. "S'Hdag escaped, Lord. A pod-modified, jump-enabled scout craft." "Are the master computers free of all R'Actolian influence?" asked N'Trol. "Yes, Lord," said the computers. "They could use us for their filthy ends, they could subordinate our programming to theirs, but direct evidence of your presence, Lord, abrogated all their commands." "What are you, N'Trol?" said A'Tir, watching N'Trol warily. "A demigod?" N'Trol shrugged. "Just a man with one slightly different chromosome than anyone else—a man who needs your help, witch," he said, looking up at her with frank brown eyes. "We're going to lead these ships—crew them with men and women returned to life after centuries of darkness. And then we're going to throw a lot of those lives away, into the teeth of those silver specks coming our way through the Rift.
