Two hundred and fifty feet below the yellow zone of Silicon Canyon, the air changed. It became cold, filtered, and carried the sub-audible hum of servers.
The reinforced door to the subterranean chamber hissed shut, sealing in fifty-six of Mars's most powerful individuals. CEOs, lead scientists, policy architects—the Caliphate. The door's locking mechanism thudded with finality.
At the room's center, a holographic display pulsed a sterile blue, washing over the assembled faces, making them look like carved statues.
Bryce Onyx, Overseer of the Caliphates, stood at the head of the black obsidian table. He did not sit. His hands were clasped behind his back. "Director Elara," he said, his voice devoid of warmth. "The status of Project 781."
Elara, seated to his right, did not move immediately. "I… can't do that today. I never prepared for this meeting."
Bryce turned his head slowly. The blue light caught the sharp angles of his face. "Explain. What do you mean?"
"The project has no status to report," Elara replied sternly.
"Stand up," Bryce commanded, his tone quiet and absolute. "Address this council. Or I strip your off your position as Orator.
A beat of silence. The hum of the servers seemed to grow louder.
Elara stared at him. The eyes of the room pressed upon her.
Then, she reached up. Her fingers found the temples of her frameless, light-emitting thermal glasses. She removed them.
The effect was instantaneous.
The vibrant hologram, Bryce's stern visage, the faces of the Caliphs—all of it vanished. Swallowed by an absolute, impenetrable black. Her eyes, revealed, were pale orbs where the iris had fully atrophied, leaving only the dark pinpoint of the pupil floating in a sea of milky white. They were Useless.
Her hands found the table's edge. She stood, blind in the silent darkness.
She cleared her throat, her voice finding its anchor in the black. "I know we are all occupied. Schedules are demanding. But an issue has arisen, which our Overseer has deemed critical."
A snort came from mid-table. Lil Lem, the flamboyant musician-Caliph, swirled a drink in his hand. "Seriousness is a toxin, darling. What the masses need is a spectacle. A distraction. Look where grim focus has left us."
"Silence." The word cracked out from a broad-shouldered man with close-cropped fair hair sitting near Bryce. Xax Rask. CEO of Space Y. His glare could have cut alloy.
Bryce's gaze didn't leave Elara, but his words were for Lil Lem. "We are attempting to preserve a civilization. You are peddling palliative entertainment. The fact that we share a title does not make our contributions equal. You should observe the decorum of this chamber."
Elara, sightless, pressed on. "Our civilization is suffocating. A primordial micro black hole, no longer micro, is expanding in the Red Zone. It is consuming habitable zones faster than our models predicted. Our answer was exoplanet colonization. We failed. Our pivot was Europa. Progress is being made, but it is slow. The populace believes a solution should be instantaneous. They are demanding a faster alternative."
The central hologram flickered. The blue light dissolved into the terrifying, graceful swirl of a black hole accretion disk, then resolved into the cracked, icy plains of Europa.
Elara slid her glasses back on. The world snapped into hyper-detailed focus. She locked eyes with the room. "Any Suggestions?"
Raymond Law, Director of the Universal Bureau of Investigations, leaned forward. He was the architect of the Bionic Wax, a man whose history in Earth's CIA–Digital Innovation and Science wing had raised him to the top. "We build a stellar-scale weapon. A plasma lance with magnetic confinement to disrupt the hole's event horizon, paired with a quantum resonance device to destabilize its fundamental bonds."
A few gasps. A muted chuckle from one end of the table. Lil Lem shook his head, murmuring to his neighbor.
"That is not a solution," a new voice stated, clean and analytical. Stella Vex. Lead Astrocomputer scientist for WASA. She bore a striking, younger resemblance to Elara. "It is a potentially cataclysmic new problem."
Bryce's eyes narrowed to slits. "You are proposing we return to the age of atomic, biological, and nuclear devastation. The very weapons that scorched Earth and killed billions. I enacted a permanent ban on such research. That ban is absolute. It will never be lifted. We will fall to nature before I allow us to self-destruct again."
Raymond Law sank back into his couch, defeated. "It is just a suggestion," he muttered. Around him, faces had tightened, old ghosts of World War III flashing in their eyes.
Stella continued, her voice calm. "Furthermore, destroying a celestial object of that nature could cause profound cosmological instability. We need data, not destruction. Exploration is the safer vector."
Xax Rask gave a single, firm nod. "The logic is sound. But Bryce, you would need a probe capable of surviving a data-gathering mission inside the phenomenon."
Bryce steepled his fingers. "I can design a wireless data stream. A signal that can adapt its carrier wave to the unique spacetime geometry within the event horizon. It would transmit sensor data back in real-time."
Another scientist, an older woman from Onyx's astrophysics division, chimed in. "Make it a full-spectrum sensory probe. Visual, gravitational, temporal. We need to see what's in there not just the diagram."
"Is that even feasible?" another challenged. "Given the time dilation? The spaghettification effects?"
Elara answered, her voice cutting through. "In science, 'impossible' is a temporary condition. It is a function of resource scarcity. We have the resources."
Bryce's gaze swept the table. "Which entity has the capital and the manufacturing capacity to undertake this?"
Xax Rask met his look. "Onyx Technology and Space Y. WASA's reserves are committed to Project 781's Europa operations. You have the foundries. The cognitive capital. You take the lead, Bryce. But be swift. We are measuring this in lives, not fiscal quarters."
"Six months," Elara declared. She put her glasses back on, the world resolving into razor focus—a deliberate re-arming before delivering her verdict. "Onyx Technology will spearhead Project 782. Should you fail to meet a six-month proof-of-concept deadline, lead authority reverts to Space Y."
Xax leaned forward, his presence imposing. "Six months, Bryce. Fail, and I will finish it. The hole has taken lives."
Bryce nodded once. A shallow, decisive dip of his chin.
"It is decided," Elara said, standing. "Onyx Technology owns Project 782. This Conclave is dismissed."
The central hologram winked out. The room was left in the sudden, sobering glare of ordinary light, the weight of the impossible task hanging in the chilled air.