by Issui Ogawa
“How much do you know about Sixth Continent’s construction plans?”
“Just what I see on the website,” said Jiang, noncommittal.
“We’ll be building with concrete. Until the main structures are in place, we’ll need temporary quarters for people on-site. We need a solution.” Sohya looked up at the rocket behind him. “Japan started launching pencil rockets after World War II. We worked hard to develop our space technology. That’s a Lambda, the first Japanese launch vehicle to put a satellite in orbit. One hundred percent Made in Nippon. Later we borrowed some American technology, but today our rockets are completely homegrown.”
“The rockets.”
“Yes. Only the rockets.” Sohya nodded. “Our manned spacecraft technology is way behind. Developing a spacecraft has monopolized our resources. We haven’t been able to keep the Phase Two habitats on schedule. On paper our plans for construction look foolproof, but once we start building we can’t predict what problems we might run into. The Xiwangmu design is proven. We could learn a lot from it.”
“Why don’t you ask the Americans for help?”
“We owe them too much already.”
“For what?”
“Our space tug is a modified Titan X second stage. We’re hoping to start trial runs next spring. We plan to have it in service the year after that. The Americans are building up there too, you know. We can’t afford to put ourselves any deeper in their debt.”
Jiang chuckled. “What about the Russians? They have more experience building habitat modules than we do. Xiwangmu is just an extension of the Mir design.”
“Russia is participating in ISS. They’ll have their hands full as long as the station is operating. And they’re in no position to irritate the U.S. by helping us.”
“I see what you mean.” Jiang folded his arms across his chest.
“Not only that, Xiwangmu is the only module we have any direct experience with. We need it. It’s versatile. We think it would answer our requirements.”
“You’ve got me cornered.” Jiang shook his head wryly and glanced at Sohya. “Tell me something. If I wasn’t a National Hero, would you still have come to see me?”
“What do you mean? Of course.” Sohya smiled broadly. “I came to see you as a friend I met on a long journey. I’d be happy to show you all over Japan, not just to a museum.”
“Okay.” Jiang’s eyes narrowed. He nodded several times. “Okay. I’ll talk to the CNSA administrator. Would that do it?”
“That would be great. Our senior people are already talking to the National Space Subcommittee, but we could use some covering fire from a local source.”
“Well, for the first time I’m glad they made me a National Hero.”
Sohya clapped his shoulder in gratitude. “When do you think we could get them? You’d need six months or a year to build one, right? Do you think you could supply them in 2032, when we get the space tug into service?”
“If things go smoothly you can have them next month.”
“No way!”
Jiang shrugged. “There are at least two units at China Great Wall Industry Corporation in Szechuan. We were going to use them to expand Kunlun Base. They were about a month away from launching on a Long March rocket. Then everything was frozen.”
“What happened, anyway?”
“Budget problems. We’ll reactivate the base eventually. The habitat modules were sealed and put in storage for when the time comes.”
“When will that be?”
“I don’t know. More than ten years, I’d guess. Maybe twenty or thirty. Not until nuclear fusion technology is ready.”
“Nuclear fusion? Are you going to mine helium-3?”
“Yes.” Jiang nodded confidently. “Kunlun’s ultimate purpose was to mine helium-3 for pollution-free power generation. We finished the base, but fusion technology is far behind. Still, all we have to do is wait. Once the technology is perfected, we’ll be in a good position to supply the fuel. We can mine enough helium-3 to supply Earth with power for a millennium. It’s worth waiting thirty years. No need to get impatient.”
“You’re making our wedding palace sound like a kid’s toy.”
“Why not? It definitely sounds like fun.” Jiang laughed. “If you can put those modules to use now, I don’t see a problem. It’ll be an investment. Maybe we can barter for access to your SETI data.”
“SETI…That’s not Sixth Continent’s main purpose, though.” Sohya was evasive. Jiang looked at him in surprise.
“Really? We were all excited when we heard about it. It’s a brilliant idea.”
“Brilliant? I wonder.”
“Of course it is. Fusion may take thirty years, but meeting people from another star might be a century away. Pretty impressive to be planning that far into the future.”
“All right. We’ll share any SETI data we come up with on a preferential basis. This is Ms. Toenji’s decision to make, but I can speak for her.”
“Tae, that’s right. How’s she doing?” Jiang looked suddenly nostalgic.
“She’s eighteen. Just as strong willed as ever. She’s got all three partners wrapped around her finger.”
“I can see why. I’d like to see her again.”
“Unfortunately she’s overseas right now. South Africa.”
“Really? Too bad.” Jiang looked up at the sky and sighed. Sohya got to his feet.
“Well, that’s it. Maybe we better be getting back. Your guard will be worried.”
“Don’t be a party pooper. He can wait,” said Jiang as he stood up. Sohya started back toward the station, but Jiang stopped him. “Hold it a minute, okay? Let’s walk around the park first. This is Ueno, right? There’s something I want to see—that statue of Saigo, the general who stirred up a rebellion against the government. If people tried to put up a statue of someone like that in China, the government would come and knock it down. I’d really like to see it.”
“If you say so. But it’s just him and a dog. Don’t expect something grand, like one of those statues of Guan Yu. Actually, there’s someone I’d like you to meet. His name is Tai. He’s with TGT. I think you two would hit it off.”
“Sure. Let’s save it for later. First, let’s go see Saigo!”
The men walked away through the autumn leaves like two old school chums deep in conversation.
TAE SIGHED AND tossed the résumé back on the pile in front of her. She was sitting in a window seat on a South African Air Force Falcon SST transport plane. Reika, in the adjacent seat, plucked the folder from the pile and gazed at it sadly.
“Not even a chef from Le Grand Vefour?”
“He’s not right.”
“His restaurant has three Michelin stars.”
“I don’t care whether he’s from Vefour or La Tour d’Argent. He’s not right.”
“I see. What about the others?”
“No one seems right for the job.” Tae stared out the window. Reika reluctantly tidied the pile of folders and began perusing them again. Any gourmet would have been staggered by this collection of topflight résumés from famous restaurants in Paris, Milan, Beijing, and Tokyo.
These were the gleanings of Sixth Continent’s global search for a head chef. Over three hundred professionals had responded to Tae’s call for candidates to head the first “off-world restaurant.” Famous establishments had even offered to open a branch on the moon. Yet for Tae, none of them were right. Reika was beginning to lose patience.
“I think we’re wasting an opportunity here. If it were me, I’d be bowing in gratitude to these people just for applying.”
“But we only need one.” Tae looked out the window again at the featureless white landscape below. “The number of people the base can support is fixed. A wedding palace needs a big staff as it is, and we don’t have room for two or three chefs. Someone who’s an expert in just French or Chinese cuisine won’t work. I want one person who can do it all. Someone versatile.”
“I’d think a three-star
chef could manage any kind of cuisine.”
“First-rate chefs are sensitive and proud. They wouldn’t tolerate the living conditions on the moon. They’d lose their edge. You’re cooped up. Entertainment is limited. You’re far away from home, and the culinary challenge is enormous…”
Reika had nothing to say. Tae had been there.
“We need someone tougher. Someone with all-around skills who can manage anywhere. Someone with the ability to keep surprising our guests.”
“Is that why we came all the way here?” Reika leaned over and looked out the window. Below, Antarctica’s Enderby Land was a single, glistening blue-white expanse.
The two women looked down on the snowfield—pure, without a single stone, much less any human presence. Reika was doubtful. “Is there really a chef down there?”
“Yes. I just hope he’s surviving in this environment.”
Tae had gone straight to the president of South Africa for a seat on the Falcon. The transport began to descend. It landed on a strip cut into the fantastically shaped snow ridges carved by the constant wind.
A parched, freezing blast struck their faces as the door opened. The pilot stayed in the cockpit. Hooded and swathed in heavy winter gear, Tae and Reika walked down the steps to find seven flimsy-looking, one-story prefab buildings, surrounded by several snowmobiles and thousands of supply containers. A sign stood just off the runway.
DOME FUJI
They were a thousand kilometers and three weeks by snowmobile from the Indian Ocean coast. Japan was carrying out its Deep Ice Coring project here.
Reika looked round at the unchanging colors from zenith to horizon—a bowl of blue sky over a blue-white ice sheet—and said to Tae, “A top-class chef? In this place?”
“I’m telling you, he’s here. See—here they come.” She pointed. People were coming out of the buildings wearing bulky parkas that hid their shape and size. Everyone wore goggles. The only exposed skin was their cheeks, reddened by the wind or browned by the sun. Except for the location, they could just as easily have been Inuits.
A knot of six base members approached. One motioned for the others to stop and approached Reika and Tae alone. He stopped in front of Tae and peeled off his goggles. His face, covered with stubble and far from clean, was rough-hewn and weathered. His eyes widened in surprise.
“Are you the mogul with weird ideas who wanted to meet me?”
“I am indeed. Tae Toenji. And you would be Yoshihisa Kashiwabara?” So saying, Tae pulled back her hood. Her long black hair streamed out in the wind.
There was instant pandemonium. The group that had been hanging back gave a shout and rushed forward. They surrounded the two women and began babbling excitedly.
“It’s really her! It’s Tae Toenji!”
“You’re eighteen, right? Out of high school yet?”
“Hey, this one’s female too. She’s good-looking!”
Reika shrank back. Tae looked wide eyed at the men.
“Welcome to Dome Fuji! C’mon, let’s go inside!” The men crowded closer and began tugging at the women. Suddenly Kashiwabara pulled a kitchen cleaver from his parka. He held the flashing blade out menacingly.
“Back off and shut up! They’re just ordinary people!” His colleagues seemed to come to their senses and fell silent. “What are you, teenagers?” Kashiwabara was furious. “You call yourselves scientists! What’s gotten into you, Chief? You’re as bad as the rest of them!”
“Um, sorry about that.” The base chief, burnt darker than the others, turned out to be a woman in her forties. A ponytail fell to one side as she removed her hood. “Haven’t seen a young person in I don’t know how long. Guess I’m letting myself get carried away. But she sure is cute.”
“Step aside,” growled Kashiwabara. “These people are my guests.” He put the cleaver away and bowed apologetically. “You’ll have to excuse them. We almost never have visitors. Most of the year we’re stuck in a freezing cellar staring at the same ugly faces day in and day out. After a while you forget how to act.” He laughed. “Don’t worry, I’m not crazy. I’ve fed this mob without a single case of food poisoning—not that anything’s going to spoil in this climate.”
Tae whispered to Reika, “See? It’s him.”
“But he looks like a barbarian.” Reika shook her head, but Tae turned to the chef.
“Mr. Kashiwabara, I have a proposal for you. But first, I wonder if I could make a request.”
“What?”
“I’d like to taste your cooking.” Tae smiled playfully.
Kashiwabara took a step closer and squinted at her, puzzled.
“All we have is pouch food and freeze-dried.”
“Yes, I know. I also know what a great chef you are. You’re ex-Ichinose, right? The restaurant in Shimonoseki.”
He grunted, “You know about that, huh? If that’s why you came all the way to this godforsaken place, then we’d better get on with it. I’ll give you a meal you won’t forget.”
Reika still looked doubtful. Tae grabbed her arm and started off after him.
EVEN AFTER THE Falcon transport reached cruising altitude, Reika kept her palms against her reddened cheeks. “That was unbelievable. Everything started out frozen, but I’ve never had better sushi.”
“Ichinose is a fugu restaurant. One slip of the knife and someone could die of poisoning. Of course he’s good. With skills like that he can do anything from French to Indian.”
“But why is he in Antarctica?”
“Because he’s good.” Tae began tapping at her pendant wearcom. She seemed pleased. “When you live with the same people in a closed environment for a long time, it’s stressful. People get on each other’s nerves. That’s how it was at Kunlun. The same thing happened at Biosphere 2 in the 1990s. It happens on submarines and ships at sea. The best way to deal with it is with delicious food. Kashiwabara was chosen for Dome Fuji because of his culinary skills. He’s there to help people get along.”
“That makes sense,” said Reika. “But why him? Why not some other chef?”
“You saw how he stopped the others from bothering us. He’s fearless.” Tae glanced at the pile of résumés. “Not many chefs would’ve been as bold as that. He has the patience to work exclusively with frozen and preserved foods. He creates meals no one can fault. He has the imagination to develop a culinary repertoire out of a limited range of ingredients. Don’t you think those skills would be very useful for a base on the moon?”
Reika nodded. So this was what Tae had been seeking. The man had attributes one wouldn’t expect to find in a chef from a top city restaurant.
“Now I understand. It’s like he’s already in training for Sixth Continent.”
Tae nodded and looked at her wearcom. The display showed a template for a list of names, but at the moment it was empty.
It was a staffing list for Sixth Continent. The Bridal Department required a head chef, a sous chef, three banquet servers, a minister, a beautician, and a photographer: eight staff to conduct the weddings and serve at the banquet.
Sending eight people to the moon would cost more than a billion yen, but this was the minimum feasible number of staff. In fact, it really wasn’t enough. To service a wedding on Earth with eighty guests would require at least twenty kitchen staff just for the banquet. Add a host, attendants for each set of in-laws, a train bearer, a drink server, four food servers, a manager and an assistant, and perhaps six people to act as receptionists and in backup roles. That meant something like forty staff members.
Weddings at Sixth Continent would have twenty guests, including the bride and groom. Much of the food preparation would be standardized. Still, eight staff was the bare minimum. The same people would also have to serve in hotel and housekeeping roles. They would be extremely busy.
But Sixth Continent would require more than just a bridal crew. Keeping the base functioning would require specialists in multiple disciplines—building and machine maintenance, hospitality, medicine, transport
, communications, climate control, electric power. These specialists would be on call 24/7, so backup would be a must. Tae was planning for seventeen nonwedding staff.
The base would have a total of twenty-five staff. Add twenty wedding guests, a pilot, and four backup staff, and the base’s occupancy would be maxed out.
Sixth Continent would be a specialized environment without precedent. Problems were inevitable. Each staff member had to be a trained professional—not only as a member of a lunar base but in terms of customer service. Visitors would be paying a fortune to make the journey. Justifying the fee based on hardware and transport costs alone would not be acceptable. Tae’s guests would expect to be pampered.
Even with the right staff, intensive training would be needed before the facility was launched. Pulling this all together was Tae’s job.
“This just keeps getting bigger…” she whispered.
In the beginning, it had been just her and her grandfather. Since then it had grown far beyond that—Sohya, then Takumichi Gotoba, Ryuichi Yaenami, and the employees of three companies; people throughout Japan, throughout the world, had extended a hand to help. By now the number had grown too large to count.
None of these people were the kind of friends who would call her as she lay awake at night, unable to sleep. Even Sohya was different. But on some basic level, relationships with all these individuals brought Tae satisfaction. Being the driving force behind large numbers of people building a huge pyramid—this brought her pleasure. It helped ease her loneliness.
“Do your best, everyone.”
She smiled and input the first name to her list.
“DR. TAI, WAKE up. Dr. Tai!”
Shinji was curled up on a sofa under a thin blanket. Someone was shaking his shoulder. He opened his eyes, groped around and found his glasses. He sat up and shivered.
“It’s chilly in here.”
“It’s getting to where one blanket isn’t enough. Look there.”
The controller threw back the curtains. Shinji squinted against the sunlight flooding the Gotenba Ground Support staff lounge.
“First snow of the year, they say.”
