The Next Continent

by Issui Ogawa

  Sohya answered without hesitation. “For Portland cement: clay, limestone, and gypsum. For calcium aluminate cement, we’d need limestone and bauxite.”

  Sando nodded. “We can produce calcium aluminate cement relatively easily with moon rock, which is mostly anorthite. If we heat anorthite to around fourteen hundred degrees, the constituents we don’t need for cement production will melt out. Further heating should yield something close to aluminate clinker. We should be able to produce it in a solar furnace. There are two other things we need to produce concrete: aggregate and water.”

  Sando lifted his teacup and sloshed the contents back and forth. “Here’s the problem. There’s none of this on the moon.”

  “Well, of course,” said Reika. “It’s nothing but a huge desert.”

  “Not quite.” Sando shook his head. “True, there’s no water on the surface. The moon is very dry, with almost no hydrogen in its composition. This is a consequence of the moon’s formation. The giant impact theory posits that the moon was created around four and a half billion years ago after a collision between the primitive earth and a planet-size body. A large amount of the earth’s mantle was melted and blown into space, where it coalesced as the moon. The heat of collision drove off most of the lighter elements in the mantle, including hydrogen.”

  “Then how do you propose to make concrete?”

  “With water from somewhere else.” Sando narrowed his eyes mischievously and chuckled. “Comets. A comet’s core is like a slushy snowball. It contains large amounts of water. What do you suppose happens when a comet strikes the moon?”

  “It blows apart and evaporates, I guess,” said Reika.

  “Right—if it hits where the surface receives sunlight. In twenty-four hours or so, the water molecules are broken apart and scattered by photons coming from the sun. But if the comet strikes where the sun can’t reach, ice might accumulate on the surface.”

  “On the moon’s far side then. Water could stay frozen there.” As soon as she spoke, Reika realized her mistake. “But the moon revolves with the earth around the sun, so sunlight would reach wherever a comet would hit.”

  “Actually, no. The earth is covered with ice at the poles, where the sun is extremely weak. Sunlight is also limited at the moon’s poles. Furthermore, the moon’s axis is nowhere near as inclined as Earth’s—it’s tilted off the vertical by only one and a half degrees or so. Sunlight has never penetrated some of the craters at the moon’s poles. If a lump of ice fell into a zone of eternal shadow—”

  “But has that happened?”

  “There’s no reason to think it hasn’t. We’re talking about a several-billion year time span. Logically, there must have been such impacts. Since the temperature in these permanent shadow zones is 220 degrees below freezing, there could even be large amounts of accumulated ice.”

  “Fascinating,” said Reika.

  “Do we have confirmation of that?” Sohya’s tone was challenging and skeptical. Reika was unused to arguing on scientific grounds and was easily convinced by “expert” opinion. Not Sohya; he was trained to accept logical arguments only when buttressed with facts.

  Sando returned his gaze with a half-amused, half-frustrated expression, and shook his head. “Allow me to rephrase your question. What would we need to confirm it?”

  “And…?”

  “This goes back to NASA’s Clementine lunar orbiter and radar data indicating the possible presence of ice at the moon’s south pole. In 1998, the neutron spectrometer aboard NASA’s Lunar Prospector also indicated the presence of polar hydrogen. At the conclusion of the mission, the orbiter was deliberately crashed into a crater near the south pole. NASA hoped the impact would raise a plume of water vapor that could be observed from Earth, but the experiment failed. No such plume was observed.

  “Subsequent missions by the U.S. and Japan have also suggested the presence of ice, at least based on radar and laser data. So is this confirmed then? Strictly speaking, no. There are other ways to check for ice, including evaluation of near-infrared absorption spectra, X-ray diffraction imaging, construction of phase diagrams, and so on. Still, at some point you have to draw a line and say you’ve got enough data. Of course, the only way to be really certain is to bring back a sample.”

  His specialty was construction engineering, but Sando was a veteran scientist, thoroughly familiar with a broad range of disciplines. His explanation was beyond Sohya’s ability to challenge, much less Reika’s. Sohya conceded the point. “All right, understood. In other words, we can’t start till we’ve confirmed the presence of ice.”

  “Yes. We need to put a probe on the surface. But for the moment, let’s assume the ice is there. Two thousand square kilometers are in perpetual shadow at the south pole, with what some say is as much as six billion tons of ice. That’s several times more water than you’d find in a large reservoir and certainly all the water we need to make our concrete. All this is in the proposal we received from ELE.” He looked at Tae.

  “The proposal was that detailed?” Reika looked confused.

  “Hardly,” said Tae. “After all, it came from ELE’s planning division. I mean, even I can understand it. The difficult part will be figuring out how to do it.”

  “Out of the loop?” Sohya asked Reika coolly.

  Reika looked down, flushed with embarrassment. “Only a few people at ELE besides the chairman were copied on the plan. All I had were the topline numbers.”

  Iwaki, sitting toward the back, grunted. Sohya looked round and caught a warning glance. If Tae was privy to things even Reika didn’t know, then close liaison with her was even more important than they’d thought. But for a girl of junior high school age to be let in on the most confidential aspects of the plan also had its risks. Iwaki seemed to be indicating caution on both counts.

  Reika regained her composure. “So Gotoba Engineering has a detailed plan?”

  “Yes,” answered Sando. “The rest of this presentation is about why you were right to choose us. Given the long time frame, we propose dividing the work into three phases. Phase One will use unmanned equipment to prepare the site for the arrival of humans.” Sando called up a project flowchart on the room’s wallmounted display.

  “To start, we’ll launch a probe as soon as possible within the next four years. The probe will determine where we build. The site must be adjacent to a zone of permanent shadow with in situ ice, but the site itself must be in sunlight. Without sunlight we can’t generate power. There must be easy access to anorthite for cement production. By the time the site is selected, we’ll have developed temporary habitats to support manned construction work. These units will probably be similar to the modules used at Kunlun Base. Phase One will consist of site selection, dispatch of habitats sufficient for a crew of ten, and development of specialized engineering equipment. This phase will last for six years, until 2031.”

  A bar extended across the top of the screen as far as the six-year mark. Another bar now appeared below and extended past Phase One with what looked like ten times the number of milestones and processes.

  “Phase Two: construction. The base will be progressively expanded, prioritizing elements needed to support a human presence: first a landing facility, then power generation, oxygen production, water supply, a concrete production plant, transport facility, and an operations center, in that order. Only after this infrastructure is in place will we be able to start building concrete structures, and only then will we be in a position to send up large amounts of engineering equipment. This phase will probably be the most demanding and challenging.

  “The first task will be to prepare the site and build the landing facility for spacecraft arrivals. The exhaust from the landers will throw up a lot of regolith that will contaminate anything nearby. Next comes placement of solar power panels and laying of superconducting cables. Electric bulldozers and scrapers powered by these cables will collect regolith and ice, which will be transported by skid loaders. Concrete will be produced usin
g a solar furnace, a roller mill, and a rotary kiln. A large amount of energy will be needed to melt the ice, so most of it will be crushed and mixed directly with the cement or aggregate. The concrete will be poured into carbon fiber–reinforced forms to make precast blocks. The blocks will be prestressed and cured for several days in a solar furnace, then transported to the site with a forklift or skip loader, where they will be assembled into structures. Then they’ll be bonded to each other using a liquid water sprinkler, much the way the Inuit build their igloos. This is also how early Antarctic bases were created. Given the constant low temperature, an ice shield guarantees an airtight seal. It will also be an effective cosmic ray barrier.”

  Sando called up an artist’s rendering of the base under construction. The base modules looked like extended Quonset huts linked together in a lattice formation. An inset showed the completed layout, which resembled a circuit diagram. Tae seemed slightly startled.

  “The key to Phase Two will be constant feedback between Earth and the construction site,” Sando continued. “Nothing on this scale has ever been attempted in vacuum conditions. Anything can happen. If a problem occurs, data must be relayed to Earth immediately, and the robotic engineering equipment must be capable of responding precisely. Operational and safety protocols will be established during this phase. With everything that needs to be done, the phase beginning six years out and continuing for two years after that will be the most difficult.” The bar extending to 2033 ended, and below it, a new bar appeared.

  “Phase Three starts when the concrete habitat facilities are complete. At this point, all engineering equipment will be on-site and operations will be standardized. There will be fewer vehicles arriving from Earth with equipment, and on-site operations will be the main focus. We’ll continue expanding the habitats and the number of personnel while enlarging areas of the base for other uses and fitting out the interior of the structures. Around this time we’ll also start receiving ELE staff as well as additional personnel from Gotoba. And others as well—”

  Sando suddenly broke off his narrative. After a short pause, he began again.

  “Phase Three extends to 2035. This marks the completion of the work Gotoba has been commissioned to execute. In ten years the base will be complete.”

  Sando’s listeners murmured their approval. Sohya realized his clenched fists were trembling. The presentation had brought a sense of reality to the project that left him shaking with excitement.

  Sando continued matter-of-factly, “Our equipment and materials projections are nearly complete. Assuming everything goes as planned, 189 tons of engineering equipment, construction material, fuel, provisions, water, and personnel must be sent to the moon. Say two hundred tons with contingent requirements. This is the total we propose to send.”

  “So that’s where the two hundred tons came from,” said Reika.

  “Yes.” Sando nodded gravely. “To deliver that to the surface, we’ll have to put additional payload in orbit around the moon. Spacecraft will be needed to rotate personnel back to Earth. After adding in this additional payload, as well as the cost to develop and build the necessary engineering equipment, the total costs amount to 1.2 trillion yen.” Sando looked at Reika questioningly. “But I understand ELE has discovered a magic method to reduce the launch costs by 95 percent.”

  “Yes, I saw it myself.” Reika leaned forward as if impatient to present her views. “We have a solution. We discovered that Tenryu Galaxy Transport is working on a revolutionary new type of rocket. If it succeeds, we’ll be able to send everything with just a few launches!”

  “Not likely,” said Sohya dismissively. “It wouldn’t be practical to divide all the cargo needed for a ten-year project into just a few payloads. And the impact if we lost a rocket would be too significant. The launch vehicles will probably be smaller, which will make them cheaper. We’ll launch twenty or thirty of them.”

  “Oh…Yes, I suppose you’re right.”

  Sando was observing Sohya and Reika’s exchange with deep interest. He smiled and nodded. “In any event, TROPHY will definitely improve our prospects. Good. This will make all of our hard work worth it.”

  Sando motioned to the rest of the large room. Everything was in complete disarray. In a mere two months, Sando’s engineers had completed the design for an unprecedented construction project. Judging from the state of the design lab, it looked as if the task had consumed the mental and physical energy of the entire Technology Development Division. The room was awash in documents, maps, and printouts. Several of the younger staff were in the back of the room and under desks, immobile in sleeping bags.

  Suddenly Iwaki, who had been silent till now, raised a hand. “Sando, I’ve got one concern. You said there’d be other people coming to the base. Do you know who they are?”

  Sando furrowed his brows in puzzlement. “Guests, I suppose. In fact, ELE’s specifications include the construction of several meeting halls, restaurants, and an unusual glassed-in room. Clearly the base is intended for VIPs of some sort.” Sando noticed Reika staring at him and paused to cleared his throat. “Of course, we don’t need to know everything. Still, the fact that we haven’t been briefed on the intended use of such an extensive facility does make our job somewhat more challenging.”

  “Mr. Sando?” It was Tae. He looked at her, tolerating the interruption. Iwaki and Sohya leaned forward expectantly—but she changed the topic.

  “When you decide where the base is going to be, I have a request.”

  “A request?”

  “I want it to have a nice view.”

  “A nice view?” Sando, Iwaki, and Sohya looked at each other.

  “So you do plan to bring tourists to the base?” asked Sohya.

  “Tourists…Yes, tourism will probably be one of the uses,” said Tae. Then she smiled. “Mr. Sando, I basically understand how you are going to build the buildings. But there’s something you haven’t talked about yet.” It was unbelievable that such a young girl could have grasped Sando’s complex presentation, but what she said next was even more surprising.

  “Is Gotoba going to handle all the embellishments?”

  “The embellishments?” Sando looked blank.

  “Yes, like beautiful towers, bay windows, little paths with pretty arches, and fountains surrounded by flower beds. Of course, the walls will be white, but it’ll be boring if everything is white, so let’s use colors like green and pink for decoration. You can use templates for frescos, but will it be hard to make statues?”

  “Listen, Tae,” Sohya broke in, astonished. “What kind of a base is this going to be?”

  “I told you, didn’t I? A place ordinary people can enjoy.” Tae stood and motioned to Reika. “Let’s go, Reika. I have to report back to Grandfather.”

  “Ah, okay.” Reika turned to the others. “Well, goodbye.” The bewildered men watched her back as she left.

  TWO DAYS LATER, a list of additional requirements arrived from Eden Leisure Entertainment that seemed to have little to do with a lunar base.

  The document began with a list of stringent standards for the base’s interior environment: temperature, humidity, ambient noise, vibration, odors, illumination, and more. These parameters were not to be maintained at some minimum level but within the optimum range for comfort. The minimum residential volume per occupant was fifty cubic meters—nearly three times the minimum considered necessary for a space facility—including ten cubic meters of private space. Living quarters for visitors had to be strictly separated from those for base staff. Meal service was to offer a choice of five cuisines: Japanese, French, Chinese, Italian, and pan-Asian fusion, with chefs and staff to oversee each menu. All equipment, piping, ducts, cables, and other infrastructure would be hidden inside the walls. Colors and furnishings were to be commensurate with commercial standards on Earth, and occupant safety had to be fully ensured by means of at least three different safety systems: an escape vehicle, space suits, and an emergency escape tunnel. These syst
ems had to be concealed so as not to clash with the furnishings. Operating personnel were to be provided with a comfortable working environment to enable them to provide the highest levels of service to base visitors. Et cetera. Et cetera.

  In all there were more than 150 of these stipulations. In effect, Gotoba was being ordered to build a first-class hotel on the moon. The engineer responsible for designing the habitat interiors, where most of the impact would fall, went into shock and sent up a distress rocket to his superiors.

  “How the hell am I supposed to meet these requirements? You can’t lay paint inside a space station. What about the fumes while it’s curing? Resin-based wallpaper? Wood fittings? How do we handle off-gassing and flammability? I can’t work with this!”

  The complaints went all the way up the chain to the president, but he brushed them off and told his people to stop complaining. The engineer racked his brains and came up with the idea of polishing the interior walls, finishing them with a special compound that would reflect visible light the same way as a butterfly’s wing or a peacock’s tail, to create the effect of color without pigments.

  Some of the requirements could be solved through similar kinds of innovation, but others would mean sending extra equipment and material. This would add directly to costs. And the 360 square-meter ball court—one each for guests and staff, “if possible”—would mean further expansion of the habitat area. Even Gotoba himself found this hard to swallow and was forced to summon Sohya to his office.

  “Have you seen these new requirements? ELE wants a volleyball court for the staff. We’d have to add the equivalent of two new habitat modules. It would push the time required for Phase Two another 10 percent. Do you have any idea why they’re doing this to us?”

  “Maybe they’re planning to send really athletic people,” ventured Sohya.

  “Very funny. These guys seem to think the moon is just another Polynesian island. They don’t realize that it costs a million yen to send a volleyball. I want you to go to Nagoya, Sohya. Bow low. Try to get them to cut some of this out.”