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.
He drew it together in a simple graphic summary — more sophisticated than Pirius’s old asterisk diagram, but not much. Then he sat down, visibly trembling, and mopped his brow. “Now for the hard part,” he whispered.
Gramm said there would be a recess before detailed questioning began. But he opened the floor for first reactions.
A Commissary raised a finger. With a head like a skull, and paper-thin flesh stretched tight over angular bones, he was one of the oldest people Pirius had ever seen — aside from Luru Parz, of course — older than anyone was supposed to get, according to the Doctrines. He seemed to be so prominent in this company he didn’t need to introduce himself.
Pirius was shocked when the very first question was directed at him, not Nilis.
“I’d like to ask our hero ensign what he thinks of this.” The old man’s voice was soft as a whisper. “Would he be willing to fly this lash-up into the Xeelee nest?”
Pirius glanced at Nilis and Darc; Nilis shrugged.
Pirius stood. Every face turned to him, the hard expressions of military commanders, the softer curiosity of the swarming black-robed Commissaries. “Sir, I would say—”
“What, what? Speak up!” A ripple of laughter passed around the room.
Pirius cleared his throat. “Sir, this technology is unproven in battle. That’s obviously true. But we are proposing many more proving stages before it is deployed. It will require courage to take such a new weapon into battle. I have no doubt that many will give their lives trying. But try we will.”
Nilis gently patted Pirius’s back.
The old Commissary nodded. “All right, Ensign. One thing we are not short of is the courage of our soldiers. But this melange of ancient and possibly illegal technologies — how can it work? Put it this way. If this was such a bright idea, why didn’t somebody think of it long ago?”
Pirius knew he should consult Nilis before replying. But he had heard such comments many times since becoming involved with Nilis’s project, even from military personnel. He said forcefully, “Sir, what’s behind your question is: if this is a good idea, why didn’t the Xeelee have it first?” There was an ominous silence. “I think some people believe that if it didn’t come from the Xeelee it can’t be any good — that Xeelee technology must be better than ours, simply because it is Xeelee. But if we think like that, it’s a recipe for defeat.” The old Commissary’s mouth was round with shock. What am I saying? “With due respect, sir,” he gabbled, and sat down hastily.
Gramm was glaring across the table at him. “Commissary Nilis, I suspect your pet soldier has already lost your case for you — or won it. In any case we must go through the motions. Two-hour recess.” He slammed his gavel on the table.
On the way out, Pirius was the target of amused stares. But Nilis, furious, wouldn’t even look at him.
When the committee reconvened, the grilling was ferocious.
The points raised by the military agencies, Pirius thought, were mostly fair. The representatives of the Green Army and the Navy asked detailed technical questions. Nilis was able to field most of these, others he passed to Darc and the ensigns. When a question came his way, Pirius made sure he referred to Nilis and Darc first — not that the Commissary would have given him any choice. Torec answered more than Pirius, and did so well, Pirius thought enviously — calmly, with no visible sign of nerves, and yet with a control and discipline that Pirius himself had so obviously lacked.
Toward the end of this session, though, with the military representatives still dominating the proceedings, the questioning took a direction that puzzled Pirius. Points were raised about how the technologies could be applied on other battlefields than the very center. There was a great deal of maneuvering, too, about how each military force would place representatives in the project.