Of all the Galaxy’s hundreds of billions of stars, SO-2 was the one nearest the black hole. And now they were within its orbit. This central place, a cavity within a cavity light-weeks across, was free of stars — because any star that came closer than SO-2 would be torn apart by black hole tides. It was filled with light and matter, though, with glowing plasma, but Pirius’s Virtual filters blocked that out. It was as if the seven of them hovered within a great shell walled by crowded stars, like flies inside a Conurbation dome.
And at the very center of this immense space was a pool of light. From this distance it was like a glowing toy, small enough to cover with a thumbnail held at arm’s length. It was a floor of curdled and glowing gas, as wide as planetary orbits in Sol system. This was the black hole’s accretion disc, the penultimate destination of debris infalling from the rest of the Galaxy — the place where doomed matter was compressed and smashed together, whirling around the hole like water around a leak in a bucket, before it fell into the black hole.
Of the monstrous black hole itself Pirius could see only a pinpoint spark, an innocent light like a young sun, set in the center of the disc. Somewhere in there was an event horizon that would have engulfed ten Sols side by side; indeed, in Sol system it would have stretched to the orbit of the innermost planet, Mercury. The glow was the final cry of matter, compressed and heated as it fell into the hole, the flaw in the universe into which the Galaxy was steadily draining.
And it was Pirius’s target.
Cabel was studying magnified images of the accretion disc. He found a bright arc, traced across the churning surface of the disc, glowing brightly. “What’s that?”
“I think it’s a star,” Bilson said. “A star that came too close. Lethe, there is still fusion going on there.”
Cabel said slowly, “A star, being torn to pieces. Lethe, what a place we’ve come to.”
Blue called, “Heads up. Take a look at your tactical displays.”
Pirius Red’s Virtual maps of the region lit up with virulent crimson sparks, the locations of Xeelee concentrations. Most of them were around the rim of the accretion disc itself.
Blue reported, “The good news is that I don’t see any nightfighters or other combat ships in this region — none within the orbit of SO-2. So the feint with the grav shield worked. The Xeelee really didn’t anticipate we would get this far, and their reactions are slow. We have some time. But those red points in the accretion disc are Xeelee emplacements, Sugar Lumps, probably used as flak batteries. They are static — they aren’t going to come after us — but they pack a punch.”
So, Pirius thought, studying his display, to get at the black hole his greenships were going to have to fly through a hail of Xeelee flak, as well as pushing through the hazardous zone of the accretion disc.
“Let’s get it done before they wake up,” he said. “I’ll go in first. Engineer? Navigator? Are you with me?”
“Ready, Pilot,” Bilson said, his voice tight with tension.
Cabel called, “It’s what we came here to do.”
“Prep the weapons.”
Pirius worked through his checklist quickly, trying to set aside his own doubts, his fear. He knew they only had a few chances to make this work. Each of the ships carried only one pair of black-hole bombs: they would be able to deliver just one blow each. And this first run, with the Xeelee totally unprepared, was their best chance of all. If he succeeded on this very first strike, they could go home. He desperately hoped he could make it happen.
The other crews were quiet as they worked. He didn’t want to speak to Torec: he felt it would help neither of them. But he couldn’t forget she was there. Even if he got himself killed, he told himself, if he did his job, nobody else had to die today — she wouldn’t have to die.
It occurred to him he hadn’t heard a word from This Burden Must Pass since they had arrived in this cathedral of stars. It was a troubling, niggling thought, but he had no time to deal with it.
Green flags lit up. The ship was ready for the attack run. Pirius said, “Let’s do it.” He clenched his fists around his controls.
With Cohl and the rest of the final evacuees from Orion, Enduring Hope was lifted to Arches Base. The journey took two hours, so Hope arrived six hours after the greenships had been launched — when, he realized, Pirius should be arriving at Chandra.
Hope’s feelings were complex. The weeks he had spent preparing for the moment of the launch were over. He felt a great sense of relief, even anticlimax, that he had managed to get his ships away with only one major foul-up, only one ship lost; it had been better than he had expected, in his heart of hearts. And he was pleased to have been able to pull a few strings to get Cohl off Orion.
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 b
its 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.
He had long passed the closest approach achieved by his older self, Pirius Blue, on his scouting jaunt. Nobody in human history had ever approached the event horizon of a supermassive black hole so closely — and he had to go in a lot closer yet.
Nothing he saw was real, of course. All he saw was a Virtual rendering, reconstructed in wavelengths he was comfortable with, the glare turned down; if he had looked out of his blister he would have been blinded in an instant. But he thought he could sense the churning of this dish of plasma the size of a solar system, perhaps even the gut-wrenching gravities of the event horizon itself. He could feel the vast astrophysical processes around him. He was a mote trapped inside an immense machine.
“One minute to closest approach to the horizon,” Bilson warned.
Pirius felt his heart beat faster, but he tried to keep his voice light. “Remember your training. We practiced on rocks a couple of hundred kilometers across. Today we’re hitting a target a hundred million klicks wide. It ought to be easy.”
“But,” Cabel said dryly, “it’s a hundred million klicks of black-hole event horizon.”
“Shut up,” said Bilson, the fear sharp in his voice.
“No flak,” Cabel said. “They still haven’t seen us. We might actually live through this.”
“Thirty seconds,” the navigator called.
“Stand ready.”
And suddenly it was ahead of him, the center of everything, a sphere of glowing gas like a malevolent sun rising from the curdled accretion disc. The event horizon itself was invisible, of course: dark on dark, it was a surface from which not even light could escape. The glow he saw was the final desperate emission of infalling matter.
Under the control of its CTC processor, the ship rose up from the plane of the disc.
Pirius looked down as the accretion disc fell away. At the disc’s inner edge the infalling matter, having been spun and churned and compressed in its final frantic orbits, at last reached the event horizon. Wisps and tendrils, gaudy and pathetic, snaked in from that inner edge, glowing ever more feverishly.
He looked ahead into the ball of churning gas that surrounded the event horizon. The horizon was a sphere, but vast, a sphere as wide as Mercury’s orbit. The greenship’s path should take it skimming up toward its pole, kissing the surface tangentially at the point of closest approach, a precise one hundred kilometers from the mathematically defined surface of the event horizon itself.
A shining, electric-blue path appeared in the complicated Virtual sky before Pirius. Projected by navigator Bilson it was his computed course, designed to take him to the hundred-kilometer closest approach distance. Though they would pass vanishingly close to the event horizon of a supermassive black hole, there was nothing to fear from tides: Chandra was, paradoxically, too big for that, and in fact they could fall all the way down through the event horizon without feeling a thing.
Seconds left. The last million kilometers fell away, the immense curved surface started to flatten beneath the prow, and the mist of tortured matter cleared ahead of him -
To reveal a shining netting.
“Pull up!” Bilson screamed.
Pirius dragged at his controls, but the ship’s proximity sensors had reacted before he did. The ship climbed up and away. The electric-blue path disintegrated and vanished.
Suddenly the texture of that wall was fleeing beneath his prow. He made out an i
rregular mesh of shining threads, spread out like the lights of an immense city, all of it obscured by a storm of infalling plasma. This close he could see no signs of curvature; the event horizon was effectively a plain above which the greenship fled.
Bilson started to bring up magnified images. That structure really was a kind of net, a mesh of silvery threads. Small black shapes crawled along those threads — but they were “small” only on this tremendous scale; the shortest of those threads must have been a thousand kilometers long. The dominant structure was hexagonal, but the hexagons were not regular, and the effect was more like a spiderweb than a net.
Bilson breathed, “A web big enough to wrap up the whole of the event horizon. I think those black things are ships.”
Cabel asked, “Xeelee?”
“I guess. Not a design we’ve seen before. They seem to be trapping the infalling matter. Feeding off it. And look, there are more ships coming up from inside the mesh.”
“Then this is the central Xeelee machinery,” Bilson said. “What they use to make their nightfighters, to run their computing. This netting is the engine of the Prime Radiant. It must have taken a billion years to build.”
Lethe, Pirius thought. What have we got ourselves into?
Cabel called, “I hate to hurry you. But those flak batteries are waking up.”
Pirius called, “Bilson—”
“Understood, Pilot.”
A new path was laid in, a shining blue road that ducked down into the netting. The ship started to track the new course — but it bucked and swept up again.
“It’s that mesh,” Bilson shouted. “We weren’t expecting structure over the event horizon. The netting is actually under our hundred-kilometer ceiling, but the ship’s fail-safes won’t let us get close enough.”
Pirius thrust his hands into the controls. “I’ll override.” Even as he pushed the ship’s nose down, the systems fought back, and the ride was bumpy. “But I can’t hold this for long. Cabel, get the range finder working.”
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