The Next Continent

by Issui Ogawa

  On Kyushu, they took a roundabout route by taxi and train as far as Miyazaki. As they boarded the late-afternoon train north to Kokura, they started wondering if they might be taking things a bit too seriously. When they saw the news on the train, they changed their minds.

  Top of the evening news was an in-depth report on Tae—an “exposé” of how a selfish rich girl had foisted a foolhardy and accident-plagued project on her hapless father’s company. Obviously her stock was in the toilet as far as the media was concerned. Before the program broke for a commercial, the host announced the focus for the next segment: Tae’s yes-man, Sohya Aomine…

  It was time to move. They jumped off at the next station and caught a ferry for Shikoku. The station cameras would eventually allow them to be traced. They would have to stay away from the national railway.

  They also switched off their wearcoms. It still might take the authorities a few days to get a warrant to track their signals, but then again the police didn’t always follow the legal niceties.

  Once on Shikoku, the men stayed at a youth hostel. The next day they started moving east across the island, taking local trains and scanning the newspapers and occasional public terminals for updates.

  Like a dam venting pent-up floodwaters, the media unleashed a wave of bitter condemnation. Their main thrust—that Tae and Hibiki made serious misjudgments leading to Shinji’s death, and that Apple’s designers displayed an astonishing lack of foresight in not allowing for the possibility that going through the top hatch in a space suit might save a life—was tame compared to their other accusations.

  One station did an interview with Shinji’s grieving parents—heavily edited—to highlight the perils of manned spaceflight. The next day, the station apologized for “selectively” editing the interview but would not disclose what was taken out. Sohya had listened as Shinji took a phone call of encouragement from his parents shortly before boarding Apple 7, so he could guess what had been omitted.

  One webpaper did an investigative report that accused Tenryu Galaxy Transport of misusing public funds—specifically its infrastructure, which once had been state property—without any attempt to return some of its massive profits to the public. Concerning the privatization of Japan’s space program two decades earlier and of TGT’s years of struggle without public support, the report was silent.

  This was the reaction from major media, those shapers of public opinion. When it came to the tabloid press, their articles could hardly be read without laughing. A bizarre love triangle between Shinji, Tae, and Sohya. Secret military links to NASA. Enormous kickbacks from China’s space agency.

  The three men left the train and trudged the final ten kilometers to the hot springs inn at Hakoné. When an exhausted Sohya arrived at his room late that night, Iwaki was waiting.

  “Has everyone gone totally nuts?” said Sohya, throwing his bags on the floor. “Before, we couldn’t do anything wrong. Now we’re outcasts.”

  “That’s the way this country works,” said Iwaki, comfortably cross-legged at a low table. “It’s fun to see people fail. If everything goes without a hitch for too long, the media gets fed up. Anyway, I’m glad you made it in one piece.”

  Iwaki poured him a beer from the refrigerator. Sohya downed it and sighed. “Now I feel human again. The past two days felt like being a criminal on the run.”

  “Relax. In a month, the media will move on. They’re going after the wrong people.”

  “I just hope they don’t forget Shinji. Nothing can bring him back.”

  “I know. Poor guy.” Iwaki looked intently at Sohya. “Have you heard what Tae’s been up to?”

  “How would I?”

  “Sounds like you don’t care anymore. I sympathize, but don’t let your personal feelings get in the way. She’s really hanging in there.”

  “And how is she doing that?”

  “Her public relations and TV commercials are hitting back hard. Two days after she got back she put a commercial out confirming that Sixth Continent would go on. The same channel aired a special later the same day, criticizing the project. Broadcasters are such pimps.”

  “Is that it?”

  “I guess, if you think worldwide coverage isn’t worth much. The reaction overseas has been positive. Experts in the U.S. and Europe have been pretty unanimous in saying there was no negligence. That kind of thing will start having an effect here soon. She’s also suing the Russians for compensation. At least she’s not accusing them of murder.”

  “Another lawsuit?” Sohya shrugged his shoulders.

  “No. This time it’s different. I doubt she thinks she can actually win. The Russians are steel-reinforced assholes. All the suit will do is get their back up, and they’ll refuse to apologize. Remember the nuclear waste storage facility we built in Novaya Zemlya? They ask us to build it, then they sue us for supposedly violating their environmental regulations.”

  “So what’s the point of going after them?”

  “We’ve got cause. The UN Committee on the Peaceful Uses of Outer Space requires nations to clean up their space junk. But there’s no way to enforce it. The Russians will probably say that dealing with all that debris isn’t practical. I think that’s what Tae’s looking for.”

  “She wants to lose? That’s new.”

  “She wants to focus the public’s indignation on the Russians. She’s going to highlight how uncaring they are.”

  Sohya downed another glass of beer. “I can’t understand what she gets out of all this maneuvering. Is it a game for her?”

  “I thought you knew the answer to that.”

  “Not after what happened up there.”

  “That could be a problem. We met at headquarters yesterday to decide whether to proceed with this project. The decision was unanimous: we proceed. We need our communications conduit with our sponsor more than ever now.”

  “Is that what I am, a conduit?” Sohya shook his head. “What does TGT say?”

  “Business as usual. They’re still on board. We can make money here on Earth, but TGT’s only business is in space. Did you hear Yaenami’s statement?”

  “Yeah. I think he was a little premature.” Sohya sipped a fresh beer. “And too optimistic. I was checking the news on the way up here. There’s this new organization pushing the debris issue, questioning the whole idea of space development. Every time anyone puts something in space, it creates more junk, and that just makes going into space more dangerous. They’re saying we’re going to choke on our own trash. Once we cross the threshold and the debris cascade starts, junk will collide with junk, generating so many more fragments and collisions that low earth orbit will be blanketed with one-inch devils. How did they put it? ‘Space development is inherently self-limiting.’”

  Iwaki glanced at him sharply, but Sohya was staring at the floor. “It’s not like this just started.” Sohya shook his head. “Why are they making an issue of it now? They’re either out of touch or just trying to make trouble.”

  “They’re making a lot of trouble, my friend.” Sohya looked up, puzzled. Iwaki frowned as he peeled an edamame.

  “They started getting their message out right after Shinji was killed. Of course the whole thing is nothing new to us, but it’s news to the public, and it frightens them. These are the people Sixth Continent is trying to appeal to.”

  “What are you so worried about? The whole thing is just as stupid as the rest of the flack we’ve been getting.”

  “You know, Aomine, I’m not sure if you really grasp what’s going on here.” Iwaki shook his head and looked at the wall clock. “He should be out of the bath soon.”

  “Who? The other guys are asleep already.”

  “Sennosuke Toenji.”

  Sohya put his glass down. “What’s the chairman doing here?”

  “He’s not the chairman anymore. I’m here because he is. You think I came down here just for you guys?”

  Footsteps were already coming down the corridor. The sliding door opened, an
d the portly old man, wearing a cotton kimono and slippers, paused on the threshold and bowed deeply.

  “Mr. Aomine. I see you’ve arrived safely. I’m just a private citizen now. I may need to rely on Gotoba Engineering’s kindness and support for some time. Allow me to thank you.”

  “I don’t understand.” Sohya looked from Sennosuke to Iwaki, stunned.

  “Mr. Toenji was fired this morning by ELE’s president,” said Iwaki. “As of now, he’s unemployed.”

  “But—what about the project?”

  Sennosuke sat down at the table, looking grim. “It’s going forward, at least for the moment. Now it’s up to me to finance it, though my bank account is not quite that large.”

  “Your bank account? The budget’s 150 billion. How can you pay for that?”

  “Including the money ELE has spent so far, which I’m afraid I’ll have to repay, I can provide 130 and change. That’s everything I have.”

  Sohya was staggered that one person could control so much wealth, but that wasn’t important now. “So how are you going to get another twenty billion?”

  “The banks seem willing to help us. If so, we’ll be able to make the budget.”

  Iwaki had the same grim expression as the old man. “But of course, we’ll have to pay it back. We can’t expect any more help from ELE. In other words, we’ll be flying without a safety net. We can’t make any more mistakes.”

  No more mistakes? That was totally impossible. Sohya felt a cold void opening beneath his feet. Sixth Continent had been destined to be a string of problems; it had to be. There certainly had been many setbacks so far, large and small. Sohya was not privy to the financial details, but with every new obstacle they faced, the line between black ink and red moved up and down like a dinghy in heavy seas. What he did know was that right now, their projections showed them barely breaking even. The next shock might send their ship straight to the bottom of the ocean. And that was just the money side of the problem.

  “What about Tae?”

  “She’s in the same situation,” said Sennosuke. “She doesn’t represent ELE anymore. She’s using her network of connections for everything from PR to suing the Russian government. We haven’t announced any of this yet. We will soon though.”

  “How can she do all that by herself?” Sohya suddenly felt cold sober. Sennosuke leaned toward him.

  “I have a favor to ask, Sohya. Watch over her, please. Support her. She needs it more than ever.”

  “That group you were talking about,” said Iwaki. “It’s called Joyful Homeland. At first glance they don’t look like much, but their arguments are based on hard science, and they have a lot of influential people behind them. Pretty soon they’re going to start threatening Sixth Continent’s base of support. And they have a backer: Kiichiro Toenji. He wants to make sure ELE isn’t tarnished by everything that’s happened. So he jettisoned Sixth Continent.”

  “Sohya, do you know Eden Leisure Entertainment’s motto?” asked Sennosuke. “‘Paradise on Earth.’ It was my idea. Somehow it sounds like someone else’s motto now. But for seventy years, we’ve tried to show the public an ideal world. It may surprise you to learn that people whose business it is to bring an ideal world to the public can’t be dreamers themselves. In fact, they have to be brutally pragmatic. We brought our ideal world to the public by shouldering the burden of reality for them. I instilled this in my son from the beginning, and he’s doing what I taught him. He’s never been a dreamer. He’s convinced that reality and ideals are incompatible. That’s what enables him to do his job. It’s thanks mostly to Kiichiro that ELE has grown to its present size. In fact, that’s the problem. It’s too big. ELE is so good at creating ideal worlds it’s trapped by its own success.”

  Sennosuke rested his fists on his knees and spoke haltingly. “Sixth Continent is a dream of people…who are in the business of making dreams reality. It’s the real thing. There’s no guarantee we can make everyone happy. But my son thinks that dream is a threat to ELE.”

  “And he’s washing his hands of it while he still has the chance. Now it’s up to Tae—and you,” said Iwaki. Sennosuke nodded sadly.

  “So thanks to her own father, Tae is an outcast,” said Sohya.

  “Unfortunately, you are correct.” Sennosuke put his hands on the table in front of him and lowered his head. “My granddaughter’s back is against the wall. If she doesn’t have someone she trusts to give her support, she’s going to fall apart. Sohya, we need your help.”

  Sohya was speechless. The mission had left him disillusioned and fed up. But now her single-minded pursuit made a little more sense.

  There was nothing he could say. He was completely hemmed in by his own feelings.

  THE TAXI PULLED into the graveled driveway of the mansion on the shore of Lake Makino and stopped at the entrance. Tae was waiting, wearing a beret and lugging a suitcase almost larger than she was. She maneuvered it into the backseat and was about to get in when a voice called to her.

  “Where do you suppose you’re going?”

  Kiichiro was standing at the columned entrance to the Toenji mansion. This place, and her father, had never felt as if they belonged to her. But she turned to look at him, almost against her will.

  “Are you going to stop me?”

  “Do you want to be stopped?”

  “Why are you always like this?”

  “I’m just trying to respect your wishes.”

  “How kind. Have you turned over a new leaf?” She stared daggers at him. “I’m not your toy. And neither was Mother.”

  “That was an accident. How many times do we have to drag that swamp?”

  “We don’t. I’ve heard enough.” She raised her hand in farewell.

  “Wait!” Kiichiro stepped toward her. “Sixth Continent will fail.”

  “You mean you’ll make it fail. I was impressed. You not only paid off the board, you created an ‘independent’ group to harass us. A textbook example of a conspiracy. You taught me something new.”

  “The board backed me 100 percent! Everyone in the company—”

  “What about Reika? She quit, didn’t she? Do you know where she is? Tanegashima. If everyone had her guts, ELE would be deserted.”

  “The threat from debris is real. It killed a man.”

  “I know what he would say if he were alive. Challenges are something to face, not run away from. And TGT has the solution.”

  “You actually think they can neutralize the danger? Do you have the funds for that?”

  “It doesn’t concern you.”

  “Tae—”

  “Don’t talk to me.” She looked at him icily. “You never even met him. Now he’s dead, and you’re using him to further your agenda. It’s disgusting. I have nothing left to say to you.”

  “Tae!”

  “Goodbye.” She got into the taxi. The car drove slowly through the gates.

  Kiichiro slammed his fist into a column. In the taxi, Tae’s face was buried in her hands. Her beret had fallen to the floor.

  [4]

  EDEN CRATER, THE lunar south pole. White multidozers shuttled back and forth under the sun, fulfilling their tasks. Several hundred meters away, in the darkness of a smaller crater, the only source of heat was a single linear motor.

  The Turtle squatting here was different from its compatriots. It bore a machine, a powerful computing unit in a shielded oblong container, topped by a fifteen-meter parabolic antenna that scanned the heavens with exquisite deliberation.

  Something had drawn the machine’s attention. The antenna was motionless now, pointing toward a distant star. A signal, an anomalous stream of energy emerging from the cosmic background, had stirred the machine’s circuits into activity.

  Wavelength: sixty megahertz. Flux density: fifty millijanskys. No antenna on Earth could have caught this whisper from space. The atmosphere would have masked it.

  The machine began running a transform analysis. The signal might be something unremarkable: perhaps the
radiation signature of a stream of hot gas, accreting from one star to another in a distant binary system. The machine searched for matches between the signal and known natural sources. It found none.

  Could the signal be intelligent, from beyond the solar system?

  The machine was inorganic, free of preconceptions. Without a tremor of anticipation or interest, it initiated its verification subroutine.

  If the signal were intelligent, its maker would want someone to notice; it should persist long enough to reliably detect and interpret. But five minutes later, it disappeared. The diagnostic software could discern no pattern in that strange signature.

  The machine consigned its findings to the database. The parabolic antenna resumed its slow revolving scan.

  Forty minutes later, another signal flashed from Eden Crater toward the star. The machine did not detect it. Its antenna was pointed skyward.

  CHAPTER 7

  SECOND ENVIRONMENTAL ASSESSMENT AND NEW CONSTRUCTION PLAN

  [1]

  THE DESCENT MODULE’S engine was small but innovative, capable of fifteen successive ignitions without reconditioning. On November 24, 2032, it fired once to leave lunar orbit and once more to touch down outside Eden Crater.

  The square hatch of the core module opened forty minutes later. A figure in a sleek green space suit with a compact life-support backpack emerged from the cone and cautiously climbed down a ladder to the surface. His left foot touched the hard-packed surface first, followed by his right. He released the ladder and slowly turned to survey his surroundings.

  Ten long shadows—six multidozers, two moon rovers, and a pair of carpenter robots—stretched from both sides of the graded road surface that even now was being extended from the landing site. In the distance, to his right, was a glistening array of solar panels. In the opposite direction lay the regolith-shrouded bulk of Xiwangmu 6.

  These were the first sights that met thirty-one-year-old Sohya Aomine’s excited gaze on this, his second trip to the moon.

  He looked down. The landing pad was an immaculately packed disk of black regolith, like a freshly scrubbed stone porch. His insulated boots left no impression.