There's a concerning amount of deviating factors here, none of which Rush is entirely sure he's in the mental state to examine at the moment. He has achieved mental-physical exhaustion, he has achieved sufficient sleep deprivation that his mind should be operating at apical productivity, but the overwhelming stimulus of being transplanted from a cold ship overlooking lacunar space to the sun and grass of Earth has severely damaged his internal workaround time.

And. The Rift. The undefined thing that lent him transport. He has no idea where one would set about determining its nature. Does it operate algorithmically? Rush imagines it must. Certain laws are invariant. The illusion of randomness is easily surmountable. There will be form and function and he will need to evaluate its structure, physical or nonphysical, determine its wavelength and to what extent it operates solely in this brane compared to the others it apparently -

Rush blinks, recrystallizes his awareness, and comes to the slow realization that they have stopped. The area that Rush is approximating to be Central Park appears to end here.

His seeming guide is still beside him and he looks at her. Has she already explained their direction? She seems to be awaiting a response of some kind, but Rush has not been actively awaiting any verbal cues.