And yet frustration was knotting up inside him. He was after all a flyer, and his crewmate from the last, fated mission of Assimilator’s Claw was at this moment flying into a pit of Xeelee fighters at the center of the Galaxy, and he, Hope, wasn’t there. He was stranded here on Arches Base, and until and unless those ships came home, there wasn’t a thing he could do about it.
Some consolation his creed was now, he thought dismally. He did believe intellectually that all he lived through was just one road among many, all to be resolved at the confluence at the end of time. But it certainly didn’t feel like that, not at moments like this. He wished he could talk it over with This Burden Must Pass — but Burden too was fighting at Chandra.
Lacking a better alternative, Enduring Hope made his way to his barracks. Perhaps he could get some sleep. He had a duty to keep fresh; when the ships came limping home again, the skills of himself and his engineering crews would be crucial.
But at the barracks a runner found him. He was to report to Officer Country. Hope was even more surprised when the runner led him to Arches’ main operations room.
He stood in the doorway, mouth agape. The room was a broad, deep arena, with walkways on several levels surrounding a huge Virtual display at the center. Today the main display was a diorama of the center of the Galaxy, with a brilliant pinpoint that must be Chandra itself, surrounded by an accretion disc and other astrophysical monstrosities. This main display was surrounded by more Virtuals, graphs, diagrams, and scrolling text that were, he recognized, diagnostic data on the Exultant ships themselves. Some of the walkways crossed the pit so that you could walk through the displays, studying them as closely as you liked. Around this pit of ever-changing information, staff worked, talking rapidly, tapping bits of data into the desks they carried. On one high balcony, Hope glimpsed Marshal Kimmer himself, standing gravely with his hands clasped behind his back, surrounded by a cluster of aides.
It was a Navy ops room at the height of a major operation; it was a nest of tense, coordinated activity. But the discipline and organization were obvious, and despite the complexity of the task and the tension of the hour, not a voice was raised.
And the information displays changed constantly. The central diorama had obviously been based on the information retrieved by Pirius Blue during his earlier pass through the central regions. But Hope saw now that sections of it were changing all the time, evidently updated with data returned from the ships of Exultant themselves.
Which meant they got through, he thought hotly. Exultant Squadron had survived, and had pushed through to its target, the very center of the Galaxy. He clenched his fist.
And now he looked more closely he saw a little cluster of brave green sparks, hovering above the accretion disc. One of those green gems broke from the cluster and was swooping down toward the accretion disc. It was utterly dwarfed, like a fly dropping toward a carpet, but it was advancing anyway. It had begun, Hope realized, thrilled; they were going in for the raid. And if he had survived, that lead spark must be Pirius Red himself.
“I know you.”
A woman approached him. She wore a plain white robe, and was short, shorter than he was. The skin of her face was smooth, but it was not the smoothness of youth, and her eyes were hard and sharp, like bits of stone. She said, “You’re Tuta. Who calls himself Enduring Hope.” She opened her mouth and laughed. It was an ugly, throaty noise, and her teeth were black.
He replied, “I think I know you, too. After he returned from Sol system, Pirius told me about you.”
“My fame spreads across the Galaxy,” Luru Parz said dryly. “I’m sure Pirius is much happier now that he’s away from Earth’s politicking and scheming, and is able to fly his toys around the center of the Galaxy again.”
Enduring Hope stared at her; he couldn’t help it.
Luru snapped, “Speak, boy! Tell me what you’re thinking.”
Hope licked his lips. “I’m thinking I don’t know whether I should offer you a chair, or report you to the Guardians.”
She laughed again. “You have a better sense of humor than Pirius, that’s for sure. I think I like you, Tuta.”
He asked hesitantly, “And is it true?”
“Is what true?”
“That you are” — he glanced around and spoke quietly — “immortal?”
“Oh, I doubt that very much. I just haven’t gotten around to dying yet.”
“Why are you here? And how are you here?”
“As it happens I played a major part in initiating this project in the first place — as Pirius ought to have told you, though I doubt he understood it himself, Pirius or his bed warmer, those poor baffled children. I’ve come here to see the climax of what I started. I think I’m entitled to that much. As to how I got here, I leaned on Nilis to arrange it. Even so detached a Commissary as that bumbling oaf can still pull strings.”
“Where is the Commissary?”
“Frankly he was getting so anxious he was making a nuisance of himself, and the officer in command of the room sent him away. But he was distracted anyway. He’s still analyzing his fragments of data about Chandra, still seeking to discern what he calls its ’true nature.’ No doubt you know about that. But of course Chandra’s importance to the Xeelee is all that counts. And if we get a chance, we should smash it, simple as that. That’s why I supported this project in the first place. If it were up to me I would stop Nilis’s pointless rootling. All he is likely to find is a reason to pull our punches, and what use would that be?”
If this woman was one-tenth as old as Pirius’s unbelievable claims, then she must have seen so much, lived so much: Hope’s imagination failed as he tried to grasp what that must mean. “I wouldn’t have thought you would care what happens today, one way or another.”
“It’s a significant day in the long history of mankind, Tuta, whichever way it turns out. And I intend to be here to see it, triumph or disaster — or, more likely and a lot more fun, a bit of both — eh?” And she opened that hideous mouth again.
A bustling form emerged onto one of the higher walkways. It was Nilis himself, back despite his banishment. The Commissary recognized Hope and summoned him with a wave. Hope climbed a staircase, and found himself, dauntingly, on the balcony with Marshal Kimmer himself.
It turned out that it was Nilis who had called for Hope to come to the ops room, during this crucial hour. “I think I know you people by now. You would rather be there — but, given that you’re stuck out here, you will burn up if you don’t know what is becoming of your friends. I asked for Cohl, too, but she’s in sick bay. I arranged a data feed for her though.” He smiled at Hope almost fondly, and again Hope had thought how strange it was that such a gentle, thoughtful man should be responsible for a weapons system of such stunning destructive power.
Kimmer said softly, “Commissary. The moment approaches.”
Nilis looked at the display. “So it does. Oh, my eyes…” He went to stand with the still, statuesque form of Marshal Kimmer.
The room grew silent. That lone green spark was creeping toward the center of the main display. The Commissary’s hands were folded over each other, his knuckles white with tension.
In a series of short FTL hops, Pirius flew low over the surface of the accretion disc. He and his crew were alone now, the rest of the squadron lost in the glare behind him.
Below him fled a broadly flat, curdled surface, glowing white, a pool of gas that rotated visibly, churning like storm clouds on Earth. This was all that was left of the mass of stars and planets and living things that had been unlucky enough to fall into this lethal pit. He knew that a black hole destroyed all information about the matter it took into its event horizon, everything but spin, mass, and charge; but whatever the turbulent plasma below had once been, it was already reduced to nothing but fodder for the endlessly voracious Chandra.