The delay was not even measurable; it was barely longer than the smallest theoretical subdivision of quantised time. But it existed. And, small though it was, it was sufficient to send ripples of causal shock propagating back into the future.
These ripples of causal shock met the incoming particles and established a grid of causal interference, a standing wave extending symmetrically into the past and the future.
Enmeshed in this grid, the collapsed object was no longer sure that it was meant to be a black hole. The initial conditions had always been borderline, and perhaps these entanglements could be avoided if it remained poised above its Schwarzschild radius; if it collapsed down to a stable configuration of strange quarks and degenerate neutrons instead.
It flickered indeterminately between the two states. The indeterminacy crystallised, and what remained behind was something unique in the universe — except that elsewhere, similar transformations were being wrought on other black holes, similar causal paradoxes coming into being.
The object settled on a stable configuration whereby its paradoxical nature was not immediately obvious to the outside universe. Externally, it resembled a neutron star — for the first few centimetres of its crust, at least. Below, the nuclear matter had been catalysed into intricate forms capable of lightning-swift computation, a self-organisation which had emerged spontaneously from the resolution of its two opposed states. The crust seethed and processed, containing information at the theoretical maximum density of storage of matter, anywhere in the universe.
And it thought.
Below, the crust blended seamlessly with a flickering storm of unresolved possibility, as the interior of the collapsed object danced to the music of acausality. While the crust ran endless simulations, endless computations, the core bridged the future and the past, allowing information to channel effortlessly between them. The crust, in effect, had become one element of a massive parallel-processor, except that the other elements in its array were the future and past versions of itself.
And it knew.
It knew that, even with this totality of processing power strewn across the aeons, it was only part of something much larger.
And it had a name.
Sylveste had to let his mind rest for a moment. The immensity of it was dwindling now, leaving only the ringing aftertones, like the last echoes of the final chord of the greatest symphony ever played. In a few moments, he doubted that he would remember much at all. There was simply insufficient room in his head for it all. And, strangely, he did not feel the slightest sorrow at its passing. For those few moments, it had been wonderful to taste that transhuman knowledge, but it was simply too much for one man to know. It was better to live; better to carry a memory of a memory, than suffer the vast burden of knowing.
He was not meant to think like a god.
After many minutes, he checked his suit clock, and was only mildly surprised to find that he had lost several hours, assuming his last check on the time had been correct. There was still time to get out, he thought; still time to make it to the surface before the bridgehead closed.
He looked at the jewel; no less enigmatic for all that he had now experienced. It had not ceased its constant fluxing, and he still felt its beguiling attraction. He felt that he knew more about it now; that his time in the porthole to the Hades matrix had taught him something — but for a moment the memories were too thickly integrated into the other experiences he had gained, and he could not quite bring them to conscious examination.
All he knew was that he felt a foreboding which had not been there before.
Still, he moved towards it.
The agonised red eye of Hades was noticeably larger now, but the neutron star at the heart of that burning point would never amount to more than a glint; it was only a few tens of kilometres across, and they would be dead long before they were close enough to resolve it properly, shredded by the intense differential force of gravity.
‘I feel I should tell you,’ Pascale Sylveste said, ‘I don’t think it will be fast, what’s going to happen to us. Not unless we’re very lucky.’
Khouri tried her best not to sound irritated at the woman’s tone of superior understanding, admitting to herself that Pascale was probably quite justified in adopting that manner.
‘How do you know so much? You’re no astrophysicist.’
‘No, but I remember Dan telling me about how the tidal forces would limit the close approach of any of the probes he wanted to send here.’
‘You’re talking as if he’s dead already.’
‘I don’t think he is,’ Pascale said. ‘I think he might even survive. But we’re not going to. I’m sorry, but it amounts to the same thing.’
‘You still love that bastard, don’t you?’
‘He loved me too, believe it or not. I know from the way he acted — what he did — the way he seemed so driven, it must have been hard for outsiders to see. But he did care. More than anyone will ever know.’
‘Maybe people won’t be so hard on him when they find out the way he was manipulated.’
‘You think anyone’s going to find out? We’re the only ones who know, Khouri. As far as the rest of the universe is concerned, he was just a monomaniac. They don’t understand that he used people because he had no choice. Because something bigger than any of us was driving him forward.’
Khouri nodded. ‘I wanted to kill him once — but only because it was a way to get back to Fazil. There was never any hatred in it. Matter of fact, I can’t say I honestly disliked him. I admired anyone who could carry around that much arrogance, like it was his birthright, or something. Most people, they don’t carry it off. But he wore it like a king. It stopped being arrogance, then — became something else. Something you could admire.’
Pascale elected not to reply, but Khouri could tell that she was not in complete disagreement. Maybe she was just not quite ready to come out and say it aloud. That she had loved Sylveste because he was such a self-important bastard and made something noble of being a self-important bastard, did it with such utter aplomb that it became a kind of virtue, like the wearing of sackcloth.
‘Listen,’ Khouri said, eventually. ‘I’ve got an idea. When those tides begin to bite, do you want to be fully conscious, or would you rather approach the matter with a little fortification?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Ilia always told me this place was built to show clients around the outside of the ship; the kind of clients you wanted to impress if you wanted to keep the contract. So I’m thinking, somewhere on board there has to be a drinks cabinet. Probably well-stocked, assuming it hasn’t been drunk dry over the last few centuries. And then again, it might even be self-replenishing. Are you with me?’
Pascale said nothing, during which time the gravitational sinkhole of Hades crept closer. Finally, just when Khouri assumed that the other woman had elected not to hear her proposition, Pascale released herself from her seat and headed rearwards, to the unexplored realms of plush and brass behind them.
THIRTY-NINE
The jewel shone with a noticeable bluish radiance now, as if his proximity had stilled its spectral transformations; forced it towards some temporary quiescence. Sylveste still felt that it was wrong to approach it, but now his own curiosity — and a sense of predestiny — was impelling him forwards. Maybe it was something springing from the basal parts of his mind; a need to confront the dangerous and thereby tame it. It was an instinct which must have driven the first touching of fire, the first flinch of pain and the wisdom that came with that pain.