“You won’t be surprised that the Silver Ghosts once dabbled with this kind of technology,” Nilis said ruefully. “They created microscopic black holes, with information and processing instructions encoded in the formative collapse. Small enough holes evaporate very quickly — they explode, in fact. The computation’s output is encoded in the radiation they emit in the process. You can solve some spectacularly hard problems that way.” He sniffed. “The Ghosts did get it to work. But each micro-hole computer was a one-off; you could only run one program, because it blew itself up in the process! Even the Ghosts couldn’t find a way to make the technology practical.”
“And,” Torec prompted, “this is what the Xeelee are doing?”
“Yes. But they don’t restrict themselves to mere microscopic holes.”
He showed them data extracted from Pirius Blue’s jaunt into the Cavity. They still had no good close- up images of Chandra, but somehow the Xeelee were controlling the inflow of matter to the event horizon. And through that control, they were “programming” the monstrous black hole. They allowed the Planck scale dynamics of the event horizon to process the input information, and were “reading” the results by analyzing the Hawking radiation the black hole gave off.
“At least that’s what I think they are doing,” Nilis said. “There is still a great deal we don’t know about black holes. For instance, there must be structure in the deep interior, close to the singularity. There the strings and membranes that underlie subatomic particles must be torn and stretched, perhaps reaching dimensions comparable to the black hole itself. Can this ’fuzzball’ be used for computing purposes? I don’t know — I can’t rule it out. Or perhaps the Xeelee work on some other principle entirely…
“It’s remarkable,” he breathed. “A black hole is a convergence of information and physics, a junction in the structure of our universe. And the Xeelee are using this miracle as a tactical computer!” He grinned. “No wonder they were able to fend us off so easily. But now, thanks to your CTC computer, we’ve changed the rules — eh, Ensigns? Even a black hole computer can’t beat that.
“But I don’t think I’ve got to the bottom of it yet.”
“Of what, sir?”
“Of Chandra.”
His proximity to the Galaxy’s center had inspired him to start a whole new line of research, he said. He would go to the Navy’s archives for tactical material from three thousand years’ worth of scouting missions, and perhaps even hunt out scientific data from more innocent times, when Chandra had been thought to be a mere astrophysical marvel, not a military target. “In the quagmites and the Xeelee we have already found two layers of life, from quite different cosmic epochs — and a third, if you include us! I’m beginning to wonder what else is there in Chandra’s nested layers, waiting to be uncovered. Perhaps there is more life to be found in there, still more ancient and strange, perhaps permeating the singularity itself.
“We understand so little,” he said, “even now. If you look back at the theories of the ancients you can see how they groped for understanding. Their physics made them capable of recognizing a black hole, say, and describing its broad features. But their science gave them no real understanding of what it is. Some of what we are capable of today would have seemed impossible to the ancients, as if we were defying the laws of physics themselves! But you have to wonder how incomplete our own precious theories may be.”
Pirius kept his face blank. With Torec’s hand curled warmly in his own, he daydreamed of other things.
After a week, Nilis set up his “showdown” with Marshal Kimmer in a conference room in Officer Country. Pirius and Torec were summoned to attend.
The Marshal was thin as a blade and impossibly tall, so tall that outside Officer’s Country he had to stoop or else his bald head would have scraped the ceiling. His cheekbones were so sharp they looked as if they would cut through his flesh, and his mouth was invisibly small. But he had space- hardened eyes implanted in his face, tokens of the battlefield. They masked Kimmer’s expression completely, as was perhaps their intention.
The Marshal didn’t so much as acknowledge Pirius’s presence, as if the ensign didn’t even exist. But officially, Pirius supposed, given his future crime, he didn’t.
Nilis opened with a bumbling presentation on the latest incarnation of his Project Prime Radiant, and how it would be carried out. The operational details were starting to be refined, through work with Darc, Torec, Pirius, and others. Nilis described how a squadron of modified greenships would sail into the Cavity behind a single, carefully selected Rock, known as Orion Rock, which would be used for cover.
Commander Darc sat alongside Nilis. Pila was here, Minister Gramm’s aide, and now his representative at the Core. She sat silently, obviously not wanting to be here; she seemed to regard the Base, the Core, and the whole messy business of the war with utter disdain. And here were Pirius and Torec, sitting awkwardly at the table, hoping nobody would notice them.
Marshal Kimmer sat motionless and expressionless through the presentation. He had brought various aides who sat behind him, whispering to each other.
At last Nilis finished, to everyone’s relief, including his own. He dispersed his last Virtual image with a wave of his hand and sat down, mopping sweat from his brow with his robe’s grimy sleeve. “Marshal, the floor is yours.”
The Marshal remained silent for long heartbeats, his expression thunderous. Pirius didn’t dare so much as breathe.
When the Marshal did speak, his voice was so soft Pirius could barely hear it. “Let me see if I’ve got this straight. You want twenty greenships.”
“A full squadron of ten, yes, plus reserve craft, and others for development and training—”
“Twenty ships. And it’s not just the ships you want. There’s the crew as well, plus backups. And the ground crew. And all the facilities that will be required to modify these ships with your gadgets, and to train up the crews in their use. You want me to draw away these resources from the front line, for this wild scheme of striking at Chandra itself. Is that what you’re asking me?”
“Marshal—”
“Next, your tactical plan. You will sail into the Cavity behind a Rock. Fine, but not just any Rock. You want Orion Rock itself! Commissary, we have been developing stratagems based on Orion for a thousand years.” His voice was rising steadily. “And you want to throw away all that work, all that preparation, on this?”
Nilis was sweating harder. “Marshal, this could win the war.”
Kimmer stood grandly, and his aides scuttled to their feet. “Every few years we have to put up with one or another of you gadgeteers or armchair strategists who imagine you know how this war should be fought, better than those who have served the Coalition over three thousand years. You may have fooled them on Earth, Commissary. But this is the Front. And you don’t fool me.” He made to stalk out of the room.
Pirius glanced at Torec. He had anticipated Kimmer’s reaction, but even so he felt numb despair. There was none of the brute wisdom he had sensed in Minister Gramm in Kimmer. Gramm was a flawed man, but he had a deep, troubled sense of a responsibility for the conduct of the war. In Kimmer there was nothing but resistance to a challenge to his own power. Pirius could hardly believe that they had come all this way, achieved so much, only to be faced by yet another block.
Unexpectedly, Commander Darc spoke up. “Wait, Marshal.”
Kimmer turned, his expression cold. “Did you speak, Commander?”
“Sir, you’re my superior officer. I apologize for speaking out of turn. But I have to point out you’re wrong. The Commissary isn’t asking you for anything. The Grand Conclave has issued an executive order, and the Commissary is merely passing on its instructions. We have to give Nilis what he needs to do the job.”