Forward Momentum -- Chapter 5 (b)

[bracketyjack]

* * * * *

Consulting Chandler and Gregor, and determined to avoid a schoolroom-grid, Miles had arranged the big study carefully.

A low desk for Chandler stood at an angle to a table bearing a larger frame than any Miles had so far seen used; comfortable chairs made a wide half-circle, with Gregor and Laisa in the middle, flanked by Allegre, Vorlynkin, Alys, and Simon on one side, Vorthyses and Vorkosigans on the other. Early afternoon sun fell obliquely on the rear walls, providing sufficient light while dazzling no-one. A side-table bore bottles of water and jugs of apple-juice with an array of glassware. Miles had eventually accepted Ekaterin’s exasperated advice and decided to dispense with the little conference-packs of briefing-notes and give-away implements he still secretly wanted to provide. With everyone settled Chandler went to the desk but leaned back against the front edge, hands in pockets. Here we go. Miles sat back and reached for Ekaterin’s hand. The Terran’s bass voice was still pleasant, despite growing tension in the room.

“Count and Countess Vorbarra, lords and ladies, gentlemen. May I first thank Lord Vorkosigan for inviting you all, and you for coming. The more so as what I am going to do, frankly, is present you with a problem.” Chandler’s hands emerged from his pockets, one going to smooth back his hair, already returning to its usual disarray. “I should first explain I always refer to this problem, even bits of it that have proven true, as an hypothesis. Despite those few proven bits, including this frame”-he gestured-“the vast bulk of the problem is hypothetical. But the corollary is that it could all too easily and rapidly become real in quite the wrong way.” A twitch suggested the dire consequences that might follow. “Let me explain also how I came here, to Barrayar and this juncture. Twenty years ago I was making a career in quantum astro­physics. I enjoyed what I did and I was building a fair record of clearing up niggles in theories-explaining anomalies, if you will.” He nodded at Georg Vorthys. “The paper you mentioned on Schemmerling’s set-theory for quasars was one of those.”

“A most satisfying explanation.”

“Yes, well. One day I was playing with an anomaly I couldn’t explain at all, and thought of another approach. Then … circumstances intervened-a blown instrument, a certain piece of obsolete equipment in storage I happened to know about and thought might do the job, and an unusual chance to work in the lab alone over several weeks. The result was a very strange measurement indeed, and one I kept getting. At first I thought my jury-rig was malfunctioning, and when I could repeat the test with the proper machine, sure enough, the value reverted to what it ought to be. So I took the jury-rig home, took it apart, found nothing wrong, put it back together, and tried again. The anomaly again.” Chandler had mostly been looking at Georg and Gregor, but now looked around. “I won’t bore you with details, but the anomaly proved a loose thread, and when I pulled on it in the right way a lot of what I had supposed well-established cosmological and physical theory spectacularly unravelled. Then I put them back together, very differently, and found myself in a quite new universe.”

There was a pause while Chandler sipped water.

“The wormholes we were discussing at lunch are usually described as a five-space/three-space intereference phenomenon, but the fifth space in five-space might better be described as a matrix within which the dimensions of mass, energy, time, and space may be manipulated and locally controlled. The hypothesis I eventually worked out suggested a new means of approaching that matrix and effecting control over its components.” Chandler smiled without humour. “How wonderful. But then I did some real thinking, and realised what it might mean. And I knew there was a very important question I couldn’t answer at all. Whom did I trust enough to give it to?” He looked down, then back to meet the assembled eyes. “I am a scientist, and have no interest in flattery as a policy. It is nevertheless true that my eventual answer, my only answer, is you. Barrayar.”

“Why so, Doctor?” Gregor spread his hands invitingly. “Please feel free to be frank.”

“Thank you, Count. I do. But that would be another lecture.” Chandler shrugged. “Suffice to say Barrayar is unusual. You combine autocracy with responsibility, honour with pragmatism, in ways I have come to admire. But I believe my reasons will become clearer in due course.”

“Very well. Please go on.”

The Terran glanced at Georg Vorthys with a dry smile, one scientist to another. “I could, perhaps will, provide some mathematics for this, but for now I must ask you to accept two things. First, that when the matrix is approached in the hypothesis, energies needed to enter and control any given dimension are far less than in conventional theory. Orders of magnitude less. As a concrete example, standard fusion plants require very energetic initial conditions-deuterium and tritium are slammed together, mostly by relatively inefficient transfers of heat. According to the hypothesis you might instead invite them politely to fuse, and they will. The resulting energy is highly amenable to control. So power might become much cheaper.” Vorthys was clearly itching for the half-promised mathematics, but Chandler smiled at him again, even more dryly, and went on. “The second thing is that the matrix seems in its nature a meeting place of mass, energy, time, and space. Perhaps the meeting-place. Within it wormholes appear as straight lines across all four axes. But individual access to each dimension is mathematically possible, and that is where trouble really begins.”

The Terran’s hands found his pockets again.

“I shall not begin to describe what might happen if one sought directly to manipulate time on its own. I’m not sure I even know. But the direct manipulation of matter via the matrix has implications to which I will come. And the manipulation of space and energy against time offers an immediate attraction.” He looked at Miles. “Lord Vorkosigan?”

“Ah, yes.” Though he had been intent on Chandler, Miles’s backbrain took a second to recover from visions of what being able to manipulate time-go back in? go forward in?-would have meant to Admiral Naismith. Don’t go there. He nodded formally to Gregor.

“Sire, everyone. With Gregor’s approval I intend now to have two more people join us.” Miles suppressed a smile that would have been purely gleeful. Introducing new technologies did have a pleasing quotient of unavoidable fun. “This also serves as Dr Chandler’s demonstration, for despite their best efforts my parents are still one jump away and will not be able to join us until late this evening.” He paused dramatically as murmurs of surprise sounded. “But for once, though perhaps not the last time, that need not inconvenience us. Dr Chandler?”

The Terran had acquired a tiny remote control for his larger frame, and seemed merely to gesture with his hand. There with the same suddenness and vivid immediacy as before were the Viceroy and Vice­­reine, plainly dressed and clearly in the tiny cabin of an imperial fast courier. The imposing effect of the larger frame made Miles blink and he felt his heart hop with the wonder of it. For others, even Ekaterin and Gregor who had known in principle what was coming, the sudden image was astonishing. Surprise blazed in all eyes and there were muffled exclamations from the Professora and Vorlynkin. Happily, Viceroy and Vicereine beamed at their son and daughter-in-law, then around at everyone.

“Gregor dear, and Laisa.” Cordelia’s voice was warm with amusement. “How nice to see you looking relaxed. I shouldn’t altogether have expected it.” Her gaze switched. “Ekaterin dear. You look well.”

Gregor recovered from his surprise. “We have all been very well fed and entertained, Cordelia. I’m sorry for your present discomforts, but selfishly glad of them as they mean you will soon be here.” He turned to the Viceroy. “Hello, Aral.”

“Sire. A pleasure, as always.”

Georg Vorthys had been taking in the lack of delay in the responses with increasing agitation and turned to Chandler with a rather wild look in his eyes. “They are still a jump out from Barrayar?”

“Yes.”

“Why is there no delay?”

“Because I have so configured a section of the matrix that the time-interval between the points in space represented by this frame and its pair on the courier is zero.”

Vorthys digested this. “The equation is fully dynamic?”

“Oh yes. And to anticipate you, no, there appear to be no limits. A zero-value can be set for any points within the Nexus. Theoretically, I can’t see why it wouldn’t work between galaxies. But I haven’t been able to check, of course, and it’s of no practical use just yet.” Vorthys had gone through red to a paler colour than normal, making Miles feel better about his own first crogglement at the implications.

“I’ll be damned.” Scientific caution took over again. “You really do mean, Jack, this technique provides real-time communication Nexus-wide? Here to Terra as much as here to there?” Vorthys looked from Chandler’s nod to the smiling agreement of Viceroy and Vicereine. “Hoo. Well, there’s something to think about.” He cast an appraising glance at Miles then Allegre and Vorlynkin. Alys and Illyan, too, beyond them, had preoccupied looks. Miles thought he could hear mental humming and wondered who would reach a formulation first, but as he thought about offering a prod of some kind Gregor waved him to wait, let the silence stretch, then intervened himself.

“I’d like first reactions, please. Yuri?”

Vorlynkin blinked and straightened in his seat. “It qualifies as a military secret, Sire. Any fleet equipped with real-time communications between ships and with HQ would have a massive advantage.”

“Indeed. Guy?”

“For security it’s a double-edged sword. I’d suppress it if I could, and begin to appreciate Dr Chandler’s hypothesis closely. But I suspect these things will out. And I don’t like any of the implications.”

Chandler sat forward. “If I may, Count Vorbarra, suppression is possible. The only hard evidence is the frames themselves, which I can cause to make themselves unavailable.” The Terran grinned without humour. “And I have a sure means of closing off the only other possible source of information, which is my own mouth.” Seven Barrayarans, a Komarran, and a Betan regarded him steadily. None showed disbelief. “Lord Auditor Vorthys might disagree-he’s as optimistic an engineer as I’ve ever met-but even with what I’ve said here today I don’t think you could find the way into the matrix I found. Certainly not soon, or easily. Few would even know how to begin to look, and none would know where.” He looked around the company. “But please, bear with me. There is more to come. And I would not have burdened Barrayar with the spectre of this decision if I did not think there was truly a decision to make.”

Alys was nodding. “So I trust, Dr Chandler. How gloomily you see things, Guy.”

“Indeed.” Cordelia was not looking amused. “You know, Yuri, I don’t disrespect military issues, nor security ones, Guy.” Allegre muffled what Miles suspected would have been a memorable snort. “But neither of you mentioned even one of the real positives. For Sergyarans, for all families with members off-world, it’s the best technological advance there could be. And for the Nexus as a whole it’s a profound change in fundamental conditions. To suppress it for a narrow, personal or even planetary fear would be … very wrong.”

Beside her the Viceroy sat forward. “I can see the security risks, Guy. And the military side, Yuri, though you know no technological edge lasts for long. But my own reaction, Gregor, second as well as first, is that Cordelia’s right. The political change frames offer redetermines other issues.” His hands spread and tilted, turning in the light. “Dr Chandler, how hard are these frames to make?”

“Simple. There would of course have to be initial investment in plant to mass-produce them, but one end of the hypothesis certainly includes a new Nexus-wide realtime comnet.”

“Ah. Then suppose, Sire, we went the other way-not suppression but maximal manufacture and distribution. What would it mean, in security terms, to have instant connections throughout the Imperium, and with the Fleet? I would have seized that chance with both hands during my Regency. Surely it is a double-edged sword, but my hands would have been on the hilt, as yours would be now.” Ooh, nicely done, Da. “And what of the effects of distributing this device on social and administrative relations with Komarr and Sergyar,? And on external relations, military and mercantile, with Pol, Vervain, and Aslund? With Marilac?”

Aral looked at Miles, whose admiring nod acknowledged the smooth­ness of the cue as he sat forward again. “Suppose we could talk to Eta Ceta, too. What then?”

Allegre’s and Vorlynkin’s heads cranked round sharply to stare at him, and they spoke almost in unison. “Give it to the Cetagandans?”

Miles looked back levelly. “First, if I heard Dr Chandler correctly, we are anticipating ourselves. He has not yet irrevocably decided to give it to us. And second, yes, perhaps. I suggest we think about it, at least.” Time to start corralling. “You said yourself, Yuri, military secrets can’t stay that way long, and you’ve heard my father agree. In the case of us and the Cetagandans, therefore, what we should be weighing is the advantage-and the nature of the advantage-to be gained militarily, in the short term, and the advantages potentially gained politically, in the longer term, by forgoing that military advantage.”

Allegre’s hands were clenched, but his brow was furrowed in thought. “I see that, Miles, and concede your logic, but you will never get co-operation with the Cetas past the Council of Counts.”

“Ordinarily I’d agree, Guy. But times are not ordinary”-he gestured at Chandler-“and just now I don’t have to get it past the Council because they are not here. Bear with me, Guy.” He caught his father’s eye. “Your experience in the War of the Hegen Hub, sir, suggests the value of rapid communications in responding to a Cetagandan threat.”

Miles had had to think about this approach carefully. Illyan, and Allegre through his ImpSec files, would know just what part Admiral Naismith and one Greg Bleakman had played in those communications. He suspected Gregor had brought Laisa into that little circle, but Gregor’s secrets were not his to dispense, even to Ekaterin. His father’s mouth twitched slightly.

“Indeed. I judge the greater military advantage by far to lie in inter­planetary not intership communications. Sending frames to all govern­ments of the Hegen Hub alliance and Marilac would be necessary.”

“Just so, sir. Timely and coordinated responses to any threat would become far easier. Yet the threat will remain. Are we to talk to our friends and shun the Cetagandans?” Miles turned back to Allegre and Vorlynkin. “Truth to tell, gentlemen, these days I am much less worried about deliberate Cetagandan aggression than by the possibility that some idiot somewhere, Barrayaran or Cetagandan, will manage to explode one of the many minor frictions that remain between us and land us all in a bloody frontier war that will mean less than nothing to anyone except the close relatives of its dead.”

That brought rueful acknowledgements from both officers, and Allegre spoke, eyeing Gregor. “It’s true, Sire, that for all the steady improvement in Cetagandan relations every contact between us remains tense. Cetagandan affairs continue to occupy a large slice of my budget, as they do Yuri’s, where they necessarily dominate almost all planning”-a sharp miltary nod and mutter of agreement confirmed that aside-“and welcome as it is the reducing threat cannot yet justify any military or security cuts.”

“Just so, Guy. But we get ahead of ourselves, again, I fancy.” Miles didn’t want to go further down the Cetagandan road just yet. “Dr Chandler said he had something else for us to consider.” He turned back to the Terran. “If you would, Doctor.”

“Of course. But I am done with demonstrations for the day, so absent the math I must ask you again to take my word for certain things.” Chandler remained propped against the desk, but his look was inward, visualising, Miles thought, whatever wonderland of equations turned in his head. “These frames fold space and time to allow energy to pass. Because transmission between them-though it is not really any such thing-is concerned purely with wave-functions, little bulk is necessary in the devices themselves. But the dimension of mass is another story. As things stand I can see no prospect of, ah, transmitting matter; nor of time travel. But with resources on a more industrial scale, direct manipulation of mass at sub-atomic levels is another implication of the hypothesis.”

“And in practical terms, Doctor, what does that mean?”

“Tell me, Lord Vorkosigan, how long does it take Barrayar to build a spaceship? A battleship, if you will.”

“The actual construction-time is usually several years at least. Design of course may be slower or faster than that.”

“And it takes that length of time because …?”

“Sheer logistics of assemblage, personnel shortages, manufacturing bottlenecks for more complex environmental, command, and weapons control systems.” Admiral Naismith had for all his brilliant distractions and personal limitations taught Miles about battleship construction and maintenance. His father winked and Vorlynkin nodded emphatically at his bluntness. Production delays in naval shipyards were a persistent bane of General Staff life. Chandler was oblivious to the byplay.

“As I imagined. I can do nothing regarding personnel, but within the hypothesis lie devices that would reduce your other delays. Complex circuit-boards and the like could easily be scanned and duplicated on site. They could also be manufactured from pretty much any raw material supplied. In flight, with a little miniaturisation, I would imagine shipboard waste could be turned into replacement munitions, or fuel.”

Vorlynkin’s face was a picture but Chandler was not being carelessly provocative. The irony was that there was none, and the Terran’s face showed for the first time that day the deep tiredness Miles had noticed. How long have you been carrying all this really, Doctor?

To Chandler’s side his mother smiled acerbically. “Swords into plough­shares, eh, Doctor? But also ploughshares into swords.”

His surprised look suggested neither the origin nor cutting percep­tion of the Vicereine’s phrase was lost on Chandler. “Indeed, ah, my Lady.” Miles heard the feudal pronoun with satisfaction. He had bet himself his egalitarian mother, as a good Betan supposedly a committed democrat but in fact, like most Betans of any stripe, really a committed technocrat, would first win it from the Terran. “And hoes into plasma arcs or needlers, if one was not exceptionally careful.” Chandler rubbed his forehead. “The true limits are not clear to me, entirely, but I am sure in practice both physical size and absolute mass will provide sharply limiting parameters to any production process. The low energy demands I mentioned hold good up to a point; beyond that the power plant needed and concomitant shielding would rapidly become prohibitive, I think.” He gave a massive, weary shrug. “But where relatively few tens of billions of atoms at a time are involved, well … no more shortages of rare metals, nor any compound, and hence no existing chemical or electronic manufacturing process that cannot be radically short-circuited.”

He turned to Georg Vorthys. “Besides redefining the economy it sets a flow problem in logistics I think you’ll appreciate. Theoretically one could work with pure hydrogen and build everything up from there. Anything up from there. But if you wanted, say, something using osmium, or mercury, it would take you longer to get them than to make a helium-oxygen mix. Climb up to the transuranics and you have all the intrinsic nuclear instability problems to deal with as well, of course. But if you were to start with mercury, say, you could get to a transuranic more easily and cheaply than hydrogen could be made into anything much bigger than oxygen. I can give you relative energy values.”

Laisa’s business brain clearly had no trouble with any of this. “You’re saying efficiency of manufacturing will depend on the chemical signature of raw materials provided? And so on efficiency of supply? Normal economics applies, but with a different and variable set of parameters?”

“Exactly so, Countess. The hypothesis can entirely eliminate a whole raft of present impossibilities, but has its own practicalities.”

“Huh.” She turned to Gregor. “I think I find that comforting, on the whole.”

Allegre and Vorlynkin, Miles saw, did not. They were looking consternation at one another; this time Vorlynkin drew the short straw. He swung to face Gregor but stole a glance at the Viceroy and Vicereine.

“Sire.” Vorlynkin swallowed, looking deeply unhappy. “I remember another exercise from the Academy. One I also feel acutely in my present post. It asked, what is the minimum advantage Barrayar would need for a successful attack on the Cetagandan Imperium? The answer has always been a very substantial edge in materiel, personnel, or technology, a condition that has never applied.”

“Nor does it now.” His father’s voice was level and clear, and Miles felt himself breath easier. “Consider, Yuri, the timescale required, even with this new technology. Time to amass forces adequate for a general campaign against Cetaganda must still be measured in years at least. Not to mention the personnel problem.” There was an enquiring tilt of the viceregal head. “Tell me, Guy, for how long do you suppose we could conceal from Cetagandan Imperial Intelligence a programme for constructing and crewing a fleet of many hundred battleships?” There was a silence. Miles looked at his father with admiration for the surgical precision of strike and received the ghost of another wink. “Yuri, if there were no surprise to go with your military edge, would you still fancy all-out war with Cetaganda? Could we seriously hope to win a slugging-match, d’you think? And incidentally, Guy, supposing we could amass all those ships and actually use them somehow to conquer all eight Cetagandan planets and the eight satrapies, what kind of security would you think of imposing on them at that stage? Do you have a hankering for Dag Benin’s job as well as your own?”

“Hardly, my Lord Viceroy. As you know very well.” Allegre’s pained glare came to rest on Miles. “It is a lot to digest. And it seems uncommon hard such amazing advantages as Dr Chandler seems to offer should even on first reflection become their own worst enemies.”

Behind him Illyan stirred and spoke for the first time. “You know, I had been wondering what I was doing here. Being more retired than the rest of you. But that observation, Guy, crystallises my own experience in your office.” He gave a mirthless grin. “Not just with Admiral Naismith, Miles, who was a complicated case. But in general, yes, what I think Cordelia calls great gifts carry the immediate punishment of accepting them. Through the memory my chip gave me I came to see security paradigms as small, applied versions of a bigger … not law, certainly, but tendency.” Beside him Alys frowned. “The thing is, as they seem to reverse, so they can again. I don’t see these astonishing technologies as enemies, though they are perilous. They remain opportunities, Guy, though we are more aware of the potentials for disaster as well as success.”

Allegre looked lost. Alys was still frowning. “Success with what, dear?” Her mouth pursed with distaste. “Are we back to some kind of attack on Cetaganda? Surely Aral is right, and even if we won such a war we’d just give ourselves a new set of problems. Helen, you’ve said nothing, but surely history tells us this kind of secret plan never works anyway?”

“Ah …” The Professora cleared her throat but did not duck the question. “More or less. I was silent with fascination. And I wondered if Simon did mean a military option. Forgive me, gentlemen, are we not replaying with this second surprise of Dr Chandler’s the mistake we made with the first?” Ah, thank you, Helen. Miles raised his arm and muttered into his wrist-com. Beside him Ekaterin shifted slightly in her seat. “The twists Guy and Simon describe, or imagine, seem to me the same evolution of the military into the political the Viceroy pointed to with the frames. Miles said then we should be weighing one advantage against another, of forgoing the first. And what we have not discussed so far are those other advantages, in either instance.”

Bravo, Professora. The academic mind, Miles reflected, had serious advantages of its own. “You are right, Helen. And we must. But the afternoon has worn on and we should take a break.” With exquisite timing a tiny light winked on his wrist-com; Pym must have been anticipating the needs of the human bladder too. “And after all this hard talking we should be able to do Ma Kosti’s tea justice.” He grinned at his parents. “Sorry. At least you can make up for it tomorrow.” It was relief to stand, Ekaterin rising smoothly beside him, and he gestured Gregor and Laisa to join them. “Everything is on the terrace again, so shall we say half-an-hour? Good.” Last lap but one. Forwards.