And above it all the gray Qax shell loomed, a rocky sky. Beneath its grand curvature, light globes clustered like stars. Some of the floating buildings nuzzled against the shell of the dome itself; perhaps they had penthouses built through the dome, to reach the sky.
Pirius reached for Torec’s hand, and they clung to each other. It was a city designed for giants, not mere humans like themselves.
Nilis hurried, barefoot as ever, his arms full of data desks. “We mustn’t be late. Mustn’t be late! All Luru Parz’s morally dubious arm-twisting has won us is a hearing before Minister Gramm and his subcommittee. It has to go well today, this latest war of words, or all our technological achievements will count for nothing.”
At last Nilis brought them to a doorway. It was itself huge, but was a mere detail at the base of the building above it. This, said Nilis, was a center of the Grand Conclave itself, the Coalition’s supreme body.
In the foyer they were subjected to yet more searches, by yet more Guardians. Nilis wasn’t allowed to take any equipment beyond here, and he had to download his data from his bots and data desks into copies provided by the Guardians. He had been prepared for this, but he fretted at the continuing delays.
When they were released, they hurried across the foyer to a narrow, silver-walled elevator shaft. In this expensive machine there was no sense of acceleration; Pirius had no idea how high they climbed — or perhaps, descended.
The doors slid back to reveal a conference room. Nilis hurried forward, muttering apologies for his lateness. Pirius and Torec followed more slowly, eyes wide.
They were in another vast chamber, a rectangular box eight or ten meters high, and maybe a hundred meters deep. There must have been hundreds of people in this one room. It was dominated by a table, a single vast piece of furniture large enough to seat fifty. Every seat was occupied, with the portly figure of Minister Gramm at the head of the table, and his advisor Pila beside him. Behind those at the table itself were more rows of chairs; the attendees all seemed to have brought teams of advisors, in some cases stacked three or four rows deep. Bots hovered, drifting over the gleaming tabletop, serving drinks and topping up bowls of food.
It wasn’t the size of the gathering that startled Pirius, though, but the decor. The shining tabletop was deep brown, and obviously grained. It was that strange substance called wood. More panels of the stuff covered the walls, and even the ceiling. Pirius had never seen wood before he had come to Sol system. Evidently, somewhere on Earth, trees still grew, and gave up their strange flesh to rooms like this; it was hard to imagine a more powerful statement of wealth.
But the ensigns were dawdling, staring. Heads were beginning to turn, sophisticated mouths turning up with mocking smiles. Nilis frantically beckoned them. Shamed, Pirius and Torec hurried to the Commissary.
Commander Darc was already here. Sitting bolt upright, evidently uncomfortable, he ignored the ensigns. The three of them were Nilis’s only “advisors,” and rows of empty seats stretched behind them. But then, who else could Nilis have brought? Luru Parz, the jasoft? A Coalescent Archivist from Mars? A Silver Ghost? The marginal nature of Nilis’s project, and his motley crew of misfits, aliens, and illegals had never been more apparent than now, as it faced its greatest political test.
Nilis sorted through his data desks. He said to the ensigns, “I will make the presentation today. You shouldn’t have to talk.”
Pirius said fervently, “Good.”
“As far as I’m concerned you two are here to make a point with your very presence. You are what this war is about. You may be asked questions; there’s nothing I can do about that. If so, confer with me or Commander Darc before answering. That’s quite acceptable in terms of the etiquette of meetings like this.”
Torec whispered, “I thought we were only presenting to Minister Gramm.”
Nilis sighed. “I’m afraid life here at the center of the Coalition is a little more complicated than that, child.”
Gramm, as Minister of Economic Warfare, served on something called the War Cabinet. Under the chairmanship of a Grand Conclave member called the Plenipotentiary for Total War, this subcommittee was dedicated to the prosecution of the Xeelee war in all its aspects. Now Gramm had been appointed head of the interagency committee which had been given the responsibility of overseeing Nilis’s Project Prime Radiant.
“But most of the great agencies have representatives on our oversight committee,” Nilis said cynically, “as they do on most initiatives that might affect their interests. Around this table there are ambassadors from the Army and Navy, the Guardians, the Ministry of Psychological Warfare who do their best to outguess the Xeelee, with no notable success, and some of the specialist guilds like the Communicators and Engineers and Navigators, and the Surveyors of Revenues, and the Auditor General’s Office. Even the Benefactors are here! — though I don’t see what our greenships have to do with their free hospitals and dole handouts. And of course, there are representatives of the many arms of the Commission for Historical Truth. Gramm, as chair of the committee, has a lot of sway. But any decision is a collective one.”
Darc grunted. “It’s amazing the Coalition doesn’t collapse under its own bureaucracy. And look at all those black robes.” Glancing around the table, Pirius saw that the few martial uniforms, like Darc’s, were far outnumbered by the glum robes of Commissaries; they seemed to swarm through the big room, a black-clothed plague. Darc said, “We are at war. But we seem to divert an awful lot of our energies to policing our own ideological drift.”
Nilis said sternly, “This is politics, Commander.”
“Hmmph. Give me combat any day!”
Minister Gramm hammered at the tabletop with a gavel — a wooden hammer on a wooden table, a remarkably archaic gesture. The susurrus of conversation around the table died. Without preliminaries, Gramm called on Nilis to make his opening remarks.
Nilis lumbered to his feet, a smile fixed on his lined face. His voice was forceful. But Pirius could see the beads of sweat on his neck.
Formally speaking, this was just another stage in the decision-making process: the mandate actually to go to war with this new weapon would not be given today. All this committee was being asked to approve was to release a further tranche of funding — granted a much bigger tranche, as Nilis was asking to establish a new Navy squadron equipped with his new technology at the center of the Galaxy. But still, Pirius knew it was the most important decision point in the project’s uncertain progress so far.
The Commissary quickly sketched the objectives of Project Prime Radiant. He set out his familiar argument that striking at the Prime Radiant, a target “logically upstream” of the many secondary targets in the Core, would if not finish the war, then at least shorten it. He described the problems to be overcome if that ultimate target was to be hit, and set out his three proposals for doing so: the use of gravastar shielding to defeat the Xeelee’s ability to see the strike force coming before it even set off; the revolutionary CTC processors to outmaneuver the Xeelee’s last line of defenses; and the black-hole cannon to strike at Chandra itself. All this was illustrated with Virtual displays, technical summaries, maps of the war zone, and bits of imagery from the Project’s work so far.
Pirius thought he spoke well, uncharacteristically avoiding excessively technical language. And Nilis included plenty of spectacular action images, such as shots of Pirius Blue’s jaunt to Chandra, the captive Xeelee ship being baffled by the grav shield, and finally yielding to the black hole cannonade. For armchair generals, he always said, there was nothing so impressive as a bit of footage of actual hardware.